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Post by privateryan on Nov 16, 2007 9:45:08 GMT -5
The air was brutally cold, a thunderous rushing sound filled his ears as his heart struggled to stay inside his body. A stifled scream froze in his larynx as he plummeted from the sky. His hands fumbled with his pack as he frantically tried to grab at the rip-cord connected to his parachute pack. Ripping the cord free from its position his body wretched upwards at the sudden stop of his downward momentum. The chute mushroomed out from his pack with a hiss and the sound of sliding nylon and canvas as his head almost snapped itself off at the neck from the whiplash. His two feet, probably getting the least blood out of his whole body dangled beneath him.
The ground was rushing closer and closer and he could make out the silouthette's of trees in the dim fog of morning. Greasing his landing he immediatly went for the knife at his ankle and sliced through the cords connecting his parachute to his pack. Scanning the horizon for light and friendly airborne Private Harris scrambled towards a copse of trees to stash his pack away and out of sight.
The early morning dew frosted up and the grass crunched soflty beneath his combat boots as he scurried towards the trees. Stuffing his pack underneath a bush he checked his rifle and pulling back the bolt slammed in a stripper clip. The gun felt cold, but it made him feel warm inside. It gave him comfort, like a candle in a dark room. This was his life-line, this was his only hope to survive. Gripping the stock and barrel he hefted himself up and scanned the terrain.
He didn't even notice it but his chest was heaving and his breath was being expelled like a steam engine. Not even aware of his actual physiology, Frank realized that he may end up being a good soldier after all.
His body took over for his mind and his instincts drove every motion he made during the drop. Had he thought, second-guessed, or even hesitated he may have botched the drop and ended up dead. He looked down, his hands shook a bit and suddenly a spasm slammed into him like a ton of bricks to the chest.
He dropped his rifle and lurched forward, hands on his knees and his back stiffened as he vomited. He hadn't eaten anything before the drop except for some air-sick pills so it was just a dry heave with a little liquid. Wiping his mouth with the back of a shaky, gloved hand, he reached for his gun and stood up.
A speck of light, a glint of something, caught his eye and he quickly snapped back to reality. He saw a parachute descend past the trees 20 yards to his left. High-stepping it out Private Harris trudged forward into the misty morning haze.
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Post by tordenskjold on Nov 16, 2007 10:20:39 GMT -5
Oh! Fan fiction is also one of your talents Ryan! Like it, like it very much Focusing on a single soldier instead of a Squad/platoon/ad hoc group is a little used angle to the WW2 fiction genre, and I think you lay the ground work for a very well functioning sole-character story. The reader already has sympathy for Jake Harris, most of all because you manage to make the experience of the jump very intense and personal. The intense action continues with the focus on the rifle and Jake's feelings: "The gun felt cold, but it made him feel warm inside... This was his life-line, this was his only hope to survive." Good stuff. My greatest complaint must be the "letter intro" IMO, it's an old cliché that hurts a nice story. Its too obviously patos, meant to increase our sympathy for Jake by reminding us of what he fights for, and I think it kind of tries to "force" the reader to like him - You can only feel sympathy for a guy with kids back home, right? This isn't necessary, the rest of the story is enough to make us interested in Jake. Of course, this could be because I'm a european and have a slightly different attitude towards patos driven fiction than the American audience (Please don't take this personal, I'm only writing it as constructive critisisme)
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Post by privateryan on Nov 16, 2007 14:31:38 GMT -5
I totally agree with you. It's cliche beyond cliche. And please, do NOT hesitate to give feedback. I especially want to hear how I may be off in terms of historical accuracy and weapon / gear details. This story will be mostly historical, but the gripper is defintely pulp, you'll love it!!!
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Post by Darkson on Nov 16, 2007 14:42:29 GMT -5
The story is good so far. I agree with the above comments. When writing it is always good to look up the time period and check out thinks like names. Jake just struck me as an odd name for the time. Stuff like this link will help in future stories: www.thenewparentsguide.com/most-popular-baby-names-1940.htmCheers, Robert
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Post by xeoran on Nov 16, 2007 15:03:37 GMT -5
Good fun, love the cliche- makes it more pulp!
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Post by privateryan on Nov 16, 2007 16:01:27 GMT -5
Clambering around in the tangle of parachute and limbs, another American Airborne from the 501st was having an incredibally bad time with his chute considering his feet were up by his head in such a contorted position. Frank almost chuckled to himself. "Hey Lou, you're a good target for a Kraut up there, didn't they teach ya how to cut a cord or land before you got your wings?" The man named Lou, very upset about his bad landing furiously sawed at his cord and clattered to the ground in a heap and a thud. "That you Harris? Keep your voice down, let's find the others." Private Louis Terry motioned with his hand further down the tree line.
A few hours later the squad had formed up, 11 men, they had lost Private Conner, he hadn't made it to the DZ. So the whole stick was there, minus one, and morale was high all things considered. Lt. Vance gave the usual drill and order, there mission was to assist with the taking of Carentan. The boys of the 101st were pounding Normandy, and the men of the 501st were itching to get their hands on some Kraut gear.
The air was brisk, the adrenaline was pumping and Frank didn't feel the cold at all. Scrambling ahead of the squad on point he motioned back to continue following the bumpy terrain. Low lying grass and rolling hills marked the area with an assortment of tree groupings here or there serving as good cover in their approach from the South of Carentan. It was a German controlled city, maybe civillians being held there, that was about all the info he had to go on.
His rifle felt light in his hands, his mind anxious to get into combat to get his jittery nervousness out of his system. He thought to himself that the throwing up just a few hours earlier was just about the end of his combat anxiety. The second a bullet whizzed by his head he'd be right at home again letting his instincts and training take over. For now he was just supposed to get the squad to where they were going.
They came to a small stream lined by trees and across it, Private Harris could make out what looked like a cobblestone road. Suddenly, from the haze in front of him, Harris saw a flash of light and instantly became aware of a soldier standing a fifty yards out straight ahead of the squad. Motioning the squad that he had a contact, the rest of the team spread out along the riverbank and formed up into a defensive arc. It must have been a cigarette because Frank noticed another figure approach and there was another flash of light. It must be a German patrol following the road.
The minutes seemed to feel like hours and the weight of time never felt so oppressive. Breathing ever so shallow, Harris could see four, now five, now six german troopers walking along the road towards their position. He could see their breath in the morning air now and could almost make out the disgusting german they were muttering to one another. Turning to Lt. Vance to see his reaction, Harris noticed Vance thumbing the safety to his Thompson. He brought his hand up to his eyes and made the signal to hold still.
The crunch of the footstops suddenly stopped. There was a quick pointing and a spout of German as one of the troopers had signalled with his hand directly past there position. Looking backwards to where they were pointing, Harris's lungs froze. The white of the parachute that belonged to Louie was fluttering in the canopy of the tree he had landed in. That goddamn bastard's gunna get us killed now, he thought to himself.
As if things could not have gotten worse, another figure came stumbling out from past the tree line a couple yards to the right of where the squad was hiding. He was dressed in Airborne gear with the 501 on his shoulder patch. It had to be Conner. Lt. Vance moved slowly to the end of the line nearest to Conner and tried to motion with his hand to get his attention. The poor kid had no idea what was going on, he walked with a limp and looked pretty confused. He must have had a bad drop.
Harris watched in horror as Conner broke from the cover of the trees onto the road. The German troopers scurried to the sides of the road and shouted out to Conner. Totally confused, Conner knelt down and hastily opened fire. The first crack of gunfire rattled Harris's spine and startled him. Missing wildly, Conner scrambled to get to cover on the other side of the road. Before he could make it across one of the German troopers fired his rifle and with a sickening snap it tore into Conner's lower stomach.
Lt. Vance gave the order to open-fire and the tree line was a blaze of gunfire. Completely taken off guard, four of the six German soldiers dropped immediatly, smoke lazily trailing from the bloody holes in their smocks. The other two scrambled backwards behind a small stone wall lining the road. Screaming in pain, Conner was trying to pull himself up and away from the road. The squad's medic used the advantage of the ambush and scrambled up over the road towards Conner. The wind blew and Harris felt a chill up his spine, smoke still rising from the barrel of his rifle.
There was a shout in german and immediatly the entire treeline was ablaze with MG fire. Hot lead poured out from the darkness ahead of them. Slamming his head down, Harris and the rest of the squad frantically tried to cover as a hail of leaves and splintered wood rained down on them from the MG fire. "Get a grenade in there!" Vance screamed over the buzz of fire. Louie fumbled with the grenade on his shoulder strap. "Covering fire!" The squad returned a hail of rifle fire of their own as Louie pulled the pin with a shaking hand and scrambled up and over the stream bed tossing the grenade in the direction of the MG fire.
A mound of dirt and stone erupted from the area the grenade went off. Harris could hear screaming as the other two troopers began firing back, one with a submachine gun, the other with a rifle. The medic, Anderson was fumbling with his medic bag trying to find his gauzes. Dumping a packet of Sulfanilamide onto the wound the medic immediatly applied a hard compress to the hole in his stomach. Howling in pain Conner convulsed on the side of the road. Anderson looked over his shoulder to make sure he was still in cover and that the german patrol was being supressed by the Airborne squad.
There was a loud ding and a sickening squishing sound that startled Anderson. He was just about finished wrapping the guaze around Conner's stomach when he looked up. Blood was streaming down Conner's face coming from a hole in his helmet. His eyes were icy cold and staring painfully straight ahead. Slamming his fist into the ground and cursing God Anderson gathered up the rest of his gear and scurried back across the road towards the squad.
Harris focused down the barrel of his rifle and squeezed the cold metal trigger. The recoil slammed the stock back into his shoulder slightly but his aim was true. The officer with the SMG took the bullet in the shoulder and spun around in a fit of agony. Vance sprayed the rocky wall with his Thompson and a few minutes later, no fire was coming from the other side of the road.
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Post by privateryan on Nov 17, 2007 11:39:09 GMT -5
Walking carefully, gun in hand out of cover, Harris crept over to the position the German's had taken up over the wall along the roadside. Blood spattered the cobblestones and glistenend in the dawn morning light. Mounds of churned up earth clumped up all across the road as a few metal fragments stuck out from in between the mud. Harris's breath quickened, his hands clenched his rifle tighter as he peered over the small stone wall into the ditch on the other side.
There, crumpled in a pathetic heap was a German officer, the very one he had shot. His hand was broken and his shoulder dislocated and awkwardly stuck underneath his back. He struggled to get up as his other arm was free but his body weight was pinning his broken limb behind his back. His lips quivered and he stuttered something that sounded like "Gott in Himmell... Gott in Himmell..." Harris knelt down.
Something stirred inside him. It was subtle at first, almost unoticeable. Like an itching from the inside, like his stomach needed to be scratched. It traveled up into his throat and into his face and his head twitched from side to side to rid himself of the strange sensation. It angered him, and Harris flew into a rage so violent he screamed out with his neck snapped back with his gaze up into the sky. He gazed down at this pathetic form of life desperately clinging to his pride beneath him. The itching grew stronger until Harris felt it down into his legs and arms and fingers. His blood vessels dialated and his veins began to pop out on his neck. He felt like he was going to explode. He raged, eyes blurry, and forced the German soldier's mouth open with the butt of his rifle.
Harris, completely taken over by this inhuman violence raised his rifle up above his shoulder and brought it down with a sickening crack. He smashed the soldier's front teeth in with the butt of his rifle and continued, over and over again with each thrust feeling like part of the rage was flowing out of him. The german's feeble hand from his good arm lifted up, in one last pathetic protest when the final rifle slam snapped his neck as he spattered out a convulsion of blood.
* * * * * * * * *
Drenched in sweat Private Harris sat bolt upright. He was lying on a spring mattress in the cold dark morning of a barracks. His white cotton sheets were itchy but drenched with sweat and his whole body ached like he had hit the gym for the first time. His head ached and he drew a hand up to hold his pounding temples. What the hell was all that?! Was that a dream? Did we even make the drop into Carentan? Harris felt like he was completely out of touch with reality, the dream, if that was what it was, was so vivid and real. It was brutal, and the scratchy rage that he had felt nagged at his mind. His sheets almost felt itchy in the same way, an ungodly clawing from the inside out. I must really be losing it! C'mon Frank, get yourself together man, what the hell, it was just a dream. Harris dozed back off to sleep with the strange tingling sensation burning deep within his body.
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Post by privateryan on Nov 17, 2007 11:43:33 GMT -5
Also, I wanted to find out... is this too vivid or too violent? I sort of feel like it is, but I'd like to hear somebody else's opinion about it!
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Post by tordenskjold on Nov 17, 2007 14:18:22 GMT -5
Also, I wanted to find out... is this too vivid or too violent? I sort of feel like it is, but I'd like to hear somebody else's opinion about it! I wouldn't say it is too violent - The murder is described in a way that really makes it sound horrible, as murder should be. If you want the kind of story where your heroes make the Germans drop like leaves in autumn, the description might be a little misplaced. You can't have the reader consider every one of the 100+ killings of Germans horrible, stomach turning acts. If, on the other hand, we are talking about a few combat scenes this kind of detail adds a lot to the story, as the soldiers struggle not only with the enemy without, but also tries to retain their humanity under the inhuman circumstances of war. I think the combat scene is great. In my first post, I mentioned that you are good at making the action intense, which is just what this skirmish is, very intense and spell-binding. The reader isn't bugged by too many adjectives or too long descriptions, it's just fast action. Very nicely written. (Btw, I'm not good at German, but I think you would say "Gott in himmell" not "Mein gott in himmell")
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Post by privateryan on Nov 26, 2007 21:32:41 GMT -5
The loud voice of Lt. Vance barking out orders to the 501 shattered Harris's reverie mid-dream. Sitting bolt upright and still a little dazed from the nights previous haunting visions he rubbed the dirt from his eyes and rolled over to one side to grab at his combat boots tucked beneath his bed spring. Vance was ordering his share of the company to line up in formation just outside the barracks.
The men were lined up and being scrutinized by Vance and the captain as they paced up and down the lines. A little stiff and terribly confused about the night, Harris stood rigid, gaze forward in formation. After call the men were ushered into a tent for briefing. Today was the day of the drop into France. England was nice but the men were itching for some combat to get their jitters out of their system. The lush grass of France was prime for the slogging boots of the 501st.
The briefing was terse and objective. DZ was a few miles outside of Carentan with the Germans being spotted within the actual town and held up in buildings. There would be French civillians throughout the town and great care must be taken to minimize civillian casualties. The 501st would be responsible for holding the village after the assault until armor could move into the position and secure. Very little information was given on the actual enemy emplacement or numbers, but then again, who jumps out of an airplane into the thick of enemy territory and cares about numbers.
The drone of the Seargent lulled Harris back into a daydream as his eyelids felt heavy. He felt a warmth on his face and saw himself back in Iowa on a warm day with his wife and he working in the small garden they made for themselves in their backyard. His kids were laughing and playing on the rusty swingset as the clouds drifted lazily overhead. The sky was so big back home. A sharp pain snapped him back as Private Conner next to him jabbed him with his elbow. "Sarge's starin' right at you Frank, you're about as dumb as you are crazy you know that kid?" Conner whispered through clenched teeth. The dreary British sky was a gray death compared to his warm little reverie. Harris shivered and brought his chin up to hear the last bits of the briefing.
The troopers were packing up their things at the barracks during their short time before they would board the plane and make their drop. Harris was carefully arranging his foot locker and emptying it out of anything he may need. A small stack of envelopes tied together with a rubberband lay at the bottom of the locker. Harris knelt down and slipped out the first one on the top and opened it. A letter from his wife with his two sons' signatures scribbled on the bottom. Harris brougth the letter up to his chest over his heart and sighed a little prayer before stuffing the letter back into the pack and closing his foot locker. Fingering the cross around his neck he brought the cross up to his lips and kissed it as he always did for God's blessings. He prayed that he would make it home to see his wife and kids again.
"Hey Lou, you know your pack limits only 60 lbs. that small smut collection ya got in yet locker ain't gunna fit, you think you'll survive without it?" Conner slapped Lou on the back as Lou was rifling through his foot locker which was a complete mess. Conner knelt down next to Lou and put his arm around him and shook him a bit. "Lou, there isn't a center spread big enough to fit the lady of your dreams. She'd take up the whole magazine fer chrissake! When we were on leave in town at that pub, i'da swore you had dark glasses on or somethin' when you were messin' with that whale!" Lou shrugged off Conner's hand and stood up quickly. "Conner, if your wife gets any bigger... she's like a hot air balloon, every winter she gets all full up of hot air and puffs out like a.... " Conner shoved Lou as he rose to his feet interuptting his comeback and knocking Lou over his foot locker onto his bed. "Just make sure ya got my back when we touch down in France, Lou, got that asshole!" Conner was always touchy when anybody commented on his wife. Especially Lou.
Gathered in a huddle, the second squad of the 501st was making last minute checks on their gear before they would be ushered into the plane. Guns were checked and cleaned last minute followed by chutes and packs checked and double checked. The Medic, Anderson was stuffing some Sulfidamide packets into his messanger bag medkit and checking the bottles of morphine in case any cracked or were damaged in any way. The air was tense and the men's faces were painted a dirty brown / green. Not a smile but just straight faces in the chill morning air. Everyone knew what was coming...
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Post by privateryan on Nov 28, 2007 9:40:19 GMT -5
The airplane shook, buffeted by the turbulent wind in the cold morning dark. The hum and drone of propellers left most Airborne unsettled as they gripped their rifles in the belly of the plane. Harris looked around. To his left was Conner, eyes flitting back and forth and hands a bit jittery with Anderson and Terry on his right. Across from Harris was a soldier he had never seen before.
A flash of light broke the dark dingy shadows of the plane as the man across from Harris flicked a silver lighter out. In his other hand was a pack of Lucky Strikes. Then something caught his eye. Harris noticed what almost looked like the German Eagle embossed on the side of the silver lighter. Turning his gaze up to the strange figure he noticed two piercing blue eyes staring back at him. The guy wasn't wearing a helmet and his bright blond hair shined a straw colored orange/yellow in the warm glow of the lit cigarette. Harris turned to Conner and nudged him with his shoulder and motioned towards the mysterious soldier. Conner whispered back, "That's Captain Wolf, special forces division."
Wolf lazily, almost looking bored, smoked the cigarette in the terribly tense confines of the plane. Clad in almost similar gear as the rest except for a helmet and rifle, he looked more like a Kraut then an actual American officer. He had two holsters on his left side with pistols nestled snugly in them. Suddenly Wolf spoke to Harris. "So this is going to be you yanks first drop eh? Nervous?" His voice had a hint of a German accent to it. Startled, Harris stuttered out a reply. "Uh, yes sir, can't wait to get my hands on some Krauts, show 'em what the Red White and Blue's made of sir." Chuckling to himself, Wolf returned, "The Germans waiting for us in Carentan are saying the same thing, accept in German." Even more unsettled than before, Harris closed his mouth and clenched his teeth. God he was nervous.
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Post by privateryan on Nov 28, 2007 16:53:50 GMT -5
Oh. I see that this may be a violation of the copyright rules. Should I change the name of this guy to something else instead of wolf?
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Post by Darkson on Nov 28, 2007 18:27:35 GMT -5
You are fine. Its on the AE-WWII forum so you are safe. Great work.
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Post by tordenskjold on Nov 29, 2007 8:49:16 GMT -5
Really like where this is going Nice job on describing Wolf, in just a few line the reader gets a good impression of what type he is.
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