Einar Fridgeirs
Posts: 90
Joined: 1/21/2006 Status: offline
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Shielded by the massive volume of firepower being put out by their compatriots, Harper and his three squads of engineers sprinted across the open grassland. Once more and not for the last time, Harper cursed himself for having picked the MOS of engineer. It had looked so good on paper. Ooh, engineer, Iīll get hazard pay and some practical education as well, building bridges and s#!t". Instead he got to experience all the wonders of infantry life, with the added bonus of dozens of pounds of high explosives strapped to his body. Well, at least he wasnīt private Hesky. That dumbo had voulenteered for flamethrower duty and was immensely proud of it. Harper wasnīt sure if Hesky was all right in the head. Come to think of it, were any of them? Firing his Thompson from the hip Harper and the engineers crashed into the shrubbery and took cover. Turning left they could see the french positions, logs hastily gathered together and foxholes barely deep enough to lie down in. At least they werenīt firmly entrenced. Well, time to get to it. Signalling to Hesky to light up his flamethrower, Harper took stock of the situation. It looked like every single man had gotten across safely, a testament to 1st platoonīs excellent job in supressing the enemy. Now it way payback time. ordering 2nd squad to move up front, the engineers swooped down on the Vichy troops already reeling after the shells of the Shermans. Not that they didnīt try. Several french troops had spotted the engineers and fired at them, and were now ready to defend their position. Moving from treetrunk to treetrunk, Harperīs men advanced into sporadic rifle fire and descended on the french. It was close quarters, almost hand to hand at times, but as soon as Hesky let loose the first volley from his flamethrower the frenchies had had enough. They began to withdraw, at first in an organized fashion that quickly turned into a headlong rout. The only real obstacle was about 50 yards down the line where a second squad of Vichy troops had repositioned a light 7.5mm machine gun to cover their retreat. Harperīs tossed a satchel charge into their foxhole and that was it. The french troops scattered, seeking safety on the other side of the woodland only to run into lt. Curleyīs Stuart who had circled around on his scouting mission for 3rd platoon on the left flank. Realizing the game was up, the few survivors surrendered. As the smoke cleared, Harper waved the all clear to Cpt. Owen. soon the entire line was moving forward. Apart from private Nash, who had been pierced by wood splinters from a nearby tree during the exchange of fire, not a single one of Harperīs men had been hit. This truly was a lucky day. Owen entered the copse, grinning ear to ear. "Good to see somebody in this outfit knows his ass from his elbow! Good work lieutenant, Take five and catch your breath, I have a feeling there will be plenty of work for you before the day is out." "Yes sir!" Harper plopped down up, resting his back up against a treetrunk. Fishing a Lucky Strike out of his pocket, he lit up while Owens examined a nearby french trooperīs body, lying face down in the grass. "Aw Jesus....Harper? Do you know who these men were?" "No, what do you mean who were they? Not Free French!?" "If only. Check this out..." Hanging from the dead soldiers breast pocket was a curious diamond-shaped insignia, a black bird on a white background. "These f@&kers are Legionaries. Elite. Damn Harper, you just went head to head the biggest hardasses in Europe and didnīt even know it!" Harper dropped his cigarette stub and lit another. He hated chain-smoking, but somehow the situation seemed to warrant it. "Legionaires. This is going to be a long day"
< Message edited by Einar Fridgeirs -- 2/7/2006 7:47:48 PM >
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