The Tale of the Troops

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Historical Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Private Johnson, newly recruited marine, is about to be rudely awaken to his experience with the marines. His first combat mission-to capture Normandy Beach. Led by Sergeant Price, Johnson will be tested by his wit and courage in order to survive against the Nazis. Through trenches and tanks, Johnson will discover some horrors of war...

Submitted: March 21, 2017

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Submitted: March 21, 2017

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Ocean waves glided the troop carriers to Normandy Beach. Private Johnson was just about ready to tackle his first mission as a marine, with a few nerves racking that is.

“In a couple of klicks, we haul ass and take that beach! “  Sergeant Price barked. Exchanges of hurrahs took place between the marines.

The carrier suddenly came to a screeching halt. Private Johnson followed his sergeant’s lead, attempting to avoid incoming fire from enemy machine guns. His squad was pinned down at the beach front. “Sir, what are your orders?” Johnson asked Price.

“Our orders are to clear the beach and I intend on doing just that,” Price replied while readying his rifle. “Men take position, Johnson on my left flank.”

“Yes sir,” Private Johnson tried composing himself. You’re fighting for your country, family, and friends. Show your American pride, he thought.

“Light these bastards up!” Price yelled, but Johnson could hardly tell with bullets whizzing by. Johnson’s instinct to fight back came to him. His Springfield rifle’s sights were aimed on a German soldier near a bunker. He squeezed the trigger and felt the adrenaline as the Nazi tumbled to his death.

“Take that German pig!’ Johnson celebrated after a clean head shot finished off his foe.

“Nice shooting kid! Just don’t get too cocky,” Sergeant Price said. A mortar shell impacted nearby the trench. “Brace yourselves men!”

“Medic! We need a medic! We got a man down!” Johnson was worried about the man’s life and what his family might feel due to his sacrifice.

“I’m afraid we’re out of medical supplies kid,” Price stated grimly. “Sometimes in war we lose our comrades. He did his duty and sacrificed his life. Not all of us will make it out alive.”

Private Johnson nodded in agreement, with tears streaking down his face, like a waterfall. He understood the horrors of war, but also planned to honor the fallen soldier’s sacrifice, by taking out as many German troops as he can.

Johnson raised his rifle, trembling, and went to town on the Nazis, “Die scum!” Bodies dropped left and right. A bullet squeaked by Johnson, “Too close,” he muttered underneath his breath.

After many volleys of bullets, Sergeant Price barked an order, “Push forward marines! Push forward!” The marines obliged his order. “Alright, we need to take out this bunker and cease enemy fire so more of our men can get through. Corporal, show us what you got.”

The corporal-the squad’s demolition expert- reached in his bag and handed each of his squad mates hand grenades. “Let’s light em up!” He said with a sly grin.

“On my mark!” Price ordered. “Three…two…one…now!  Bombs away!” The marines all tossed the grenades as if they were pitching a baseball in the bunker and waited for the explosive outcome.

Boom! Shrapnel flew across the bunker, decapitating the enemy soldiers. “Yeah! That got em!” Johnson exclaimed.

“Great work marines. Our men can break through, but we still have a beach to secure. Switch to close quarter weapons, we’re going to storm the trenches and eliminate any enemy encampments we can find, understand?” Price inquired his men.

“Sir yes sir!” A chorus of marines who were battle ready responded.

“Any questions? No? Alright marines, let’s give these Nazis hell,” Price said.

Johnson covered the rear and swapped his Springfield rifle for his Thompson submachine gun as his squad entered the labyrinth of trenches, at first, they made no contact with enemy personnel. “I spot German soldiers. Repeat. I spot German soldiers!” Johnson reported.

Squads of Nazi soldiers flanked across the trenches, guns blazing at Price and his men. Johnson laid down suppressive fire, emptying half a clip. Rats, he thought. “Anyone have some spare mags? I’m running low,” he enquired his squad.

“Here Private! Catch!” One of the squad’s munitions experts tossed him a couple magazines. “Promise me one thing?”

“What sir?” Johnson asked.

“Spread these bullets in the hearts of these damned Nazis.” The munitions expert grinned.

“Yes sir!” Johnson reloaded his gun and reigned hell on the flood of Nazi soldiers. The firefight continued, but the marines pushed forward as Sergeant Price demanded.

Deep in the trenches, a German mortar crew is pounding away at the incoming wave of American soldiers storming the beachfront. Sergeant Price notes of this and halts his men, “Corporal, hand me some satchel charges. I am going to blow the mortar crew to shreds. Cover my back men, and if I don’t make it out, blow it up anyways. Corporal Ruiz will be in charge if I’m dead.”

The marines breached through and Sergeant Price initiated the plan. Rival soldiers fired upon the marines, but mostly Price as he was the prime target. Price successfully planted the explosives, and Corporal Ruiz waited to see if his leader would make it out alive.

Sergeant Price was surrounded and outgunned, with nowhere to run. “Ruiz, blow it up now!” Corporal Ruiz hesitated and trembled like a chihuahua, but he triggered the detonation. Before the Nazis could escape, they were caught in a fireball that swallowed them in a blaze then spit their joints out.

“Sarge!” Johnson called out. Sergeant Price’s fate was sealed. His loss may prove to be significant, even if Johnson did not see it right away.

After Sergeant Price’s downfall, Ruiz gathered the marines to a temporarily safe area, “Squad, let us take a moment to honor the contributions of our fallen Sergeant Price.” Ruiz paused for a moment, sniffling tears. “Sarge was a real hero. His passion to fight for our nation and his sacrifices will be remembered greatly.”

Private Johnson spoke next in front of his squad mates, “Sergeant Price taught us the values of bravery and courage, and how they embodied us as soldiers…” Johnson wiped a tear trickling down his face, “And I know that he would want us to continue our mission. Let’s go kick some ass!”

Cheers and yelps were howled from the marines. Ruiz tried hushing them, “Quiet down men, let’s go take out those emplacements.”

The mission went on, and they progressed through the narrow trenches. After passing a corridor, Corporal Ruiz frantically yelled, “Gas masks, on! Enemy has tear gas!’

A cloudy gas crept up into the air like a cloud, and one unfortunate officer’s lungs were affected. Johnson ran up to the man, crouched down and said, “You are strong soldier, we will get a medic. Stay put.”

The officer coughed and wheezed, and weakly replied, “Go on without me. But wait, if you survive this battle, give this to my family.” He handed Johnson a brown and leather journal.

Johnson nodded, “As you wish sir.”

“Thank you,” The officer breathed his final words. Private Johnson shed a few more tears, rolling down his mask.

Things were looking bleak. Alpha squad lost their third man today, and there’s no telling if they will lose another. The remaining nine soldiers treaded carefully through the trenches, slaughtering their opposition along the way.

Piles of German soldiers decaying amongst the trench walls did not bode well with the terrible stench of bloodshed. Johnson paced around nervously, hoping to hear some good news.

“Marines listen up,” Ruiz said. Johnson paused and listened. “We are going to rendezvous with Bravo squad. The thing is, they’re pinned down at a bunker just a few klicks away from here.”

It’s better than doing nothing, Johnson supposed. Alpha squad scurried through the trenches and came across the ambushed Bravo squad.

German soldiers swarmed the Bravos like bees and outflanked them from nearly every corner. “Watch out for friendlies!” Ruiz ordered.

Warily, Johnson picked apart the Germans, ensuring no one else from his squad- nor American for that matter-would die today. After each Nazi death, another three would replace them. Sooner or later they would be outgunned.

Ruiz stopped firing and hopelessly said, “Enemy tank. Wait, scratch that. It’s a friendly!” The tank’s anti-infantry cannons precisely mowed down the German opposition.

The top of the tank hatch popped open. Its commander hopped down and proclaimed, “Good news men. Normandy Beach is captured.”

Everyone rejoiced, despite heavy losses, it was a costly victory. A base of operations was set up, and Johnson decided to relax.

Next morning, Private Johnsons sought out the messenger. “Sir excuse me,” Johnson’s voice trembled.

“How may I assist you?” The messenger inquired.

“One of my former officers passed, he wants this delivered to his family,” Johnson pulled out the leather journal.

“I will gladly deliver this, thank you!” The messenger retrieved the journal from Johnson.

Private Johnson’s emotions were running wild. His first combat mission was gruesome, bloody, exciting, and relieving. I’m not sure how I can deal with this, but I know Sarge would want me to fight on. Confidently, Johnson continued his journey through the battlefield, fulfilling his late Sergeant’s hopes.

Ocean waves glided the troop carriers to Normandy Beach. Private Johnson was just about ready to tackle his first mission as a marine, with a few nerves racking that is.

“In a couple of klicks, we haul ass and take that beach! “  Sergeant Price barked. Exchanges of hurrahs took place between the marines.

The carrier suddenly came to a screeching halt. Private Johnson followed his sergeant’s lead, attempting to avoid incoming fire from enemy machine guns. His squad was pinned down at the beach front. “Sir, what are your orders?” Johnson asked Price.

“Our orders are to clear the beach and I intend on doing just that,” Price replied while readying his rifle. “Men take position, Johnson on my left flank.”

“Yes sir,” Private Johnson tried composing himself. You’re fighting for your country, family, and friends. Show your American pride, he thought.

“Light these bastards up!” Price yelled, but Johnson could hardly tell with bullets whizzing by. Johnson’s instinct to fight back came to him. His Springfield rifle’s sights were aimed on a German soldier near a bunker. He squeezed the trigger and felt the adrenaline as the Nazi tumbled to his death.

“Take that German pig!’ Johnson celebrated after a clean head shot finished off his foe.

“Nice shooting kid! Just don’t get too cocky,” Sergeant Price said. A mortar shell impacted nearby the trench. “Brace yourselves men!”

“Medic! We need a medic! We got a man down!” Johnson was worried about the man’s life and what his family might feel due to his sacrifice.

“I’m afraid we’re out of medical supplies kid,” Price stated grimly. “Sometimes in war we lose our comrades. He did his duty and sacrificed his life. Not all of us will make it out alive.”

Private Johnson nodded in agreement, with tears streaking down his face, like a waterfall. He understood the horrors of war, but also planned to honor the fallen soldier’s sacrifice, by taking out as many German troops as he can.

Johnson raised his rifle, trembling, and went to town on the Nazis, “Die scum!” Bodies dropped left and right. A bullet squeaked by Johnson, “Too close,” he muttered underneath his breath.

After many volleys of bullets, Sergeant Price barked an order, “Push forward marines! Push forward!” The marines obliged his order. “Alright, we need to take out this bunker and cease enemy fire so more of our men can get through. Corporal, show us what you got.”

The corporal-the squad’s demolition expert- reached in his bag and handed each of his squad mates hand grenades. “Let’s light em up!” He said with a sly grin.

“On my mark!” Price ordered. “Three…two…one…now!  Bombs away!” The marines all tossed the grenades as if they were pitching a baseball in the bunker and waited for the explosive outcome.

Boom! Shrapnel flew across the bunker, decapitating the enemy soldiers. “Yeah! That got em!” Johnson exclaimed.

“Great work marines. Our men can break through, but we still have a beach to secure. Switch to close quarter weapons, we’re going to storm the trenches and eliminate any enemy encampments we can find, understand?” Price inquired his men.

“Sir yes sir!” A chorus of marines who were battle ready responded.

“Any questions? No? Alright marines, let’s give these Nazis hell,” Price said.

Johnson covered the rear and swapped his Springfield rifle for his Thompson submachine gun as his squad entered the labyrinth of trenches, at first, they made no contact with enemy personnel. “I spot German soldiers. Repeat. I spot German soldiers!” Johnson reported.

Squads of Nazi soldiers flanked across the trenches, guns blazing at Price and his men. Johnson laid down suppressive fire, emptying half a clip. Rats, he thought. “Anyone have some spare mags? I’m running low,” he enquired his squad.

“Here Private! Catch!” One of the squad’s munitions experts tossed him a couple magazines. “Promise me one thing?”

“What sir?” Johnson asked.

“Spread these bullets in the hearts of these damned Nazis.” The munitions expert grinned.

“Yes sir!” Johnson reloaded his gun and reigned hell on the flood of Nazi soldiers. The firefight continued, but the marines pushed forward as Sergeant Price demanded.

Deep in the trenches, a German mortar crew is pounding away at the incoming wave of American soldiers storming the beachfront. Sergeant Price notes of this and halts his men, “Corporal, hand me some satchel charges. I am going to blow the mortar crew to shreds. Cover my back men, and if I don’t make it out, blow it up anyways. Corporal Ruiz will be in charge if I’m dead.”

The marines breached through and Sergeant Price initiated the plan. Rival soldiers fired upon the marines, but mostly Price as he was the prime target. Price successfully planted the explosives, and Corporal Ruiz waited to see if his leader would make it out alive.

Sergeant Price was surrounded and outgunned, with nowhere to run. “Ruiz, blow it up now!” Corporal Ruiz hesitated and trembled like a chihuahua, but he triggered the detonation. Before the Nazis could escape, they were caught in a fireball that swallowed them in a blaze then spit their joints out.

“Sarge!” Johnson called out. Sergeant Price’s fate was sealed. His loss may prove to be significant, even if Johnson did not see it right away.

After Sergeant Price’s downfall, Ruiz gathered the marines to a temporarily safe area, “Squad, let us take a moment to honor the contributions of our fallen Sergeant Price.” Ruiz paused for a moment, sniffling tears. “Sarge was a real hero. His passion to fight for our nation and his sacrifices will be remembered greatly.”

Private Johnson spoke next in front of his squad mates, “Sergeant Price taught us the values of bravery and courage, and how they embodied us as soldiers…” Johnson wiped a tear trickling down his face, “And I know that he would want us to continue our mission. Let’s go kick some ass!”

Cheers and yelps were howled from the marines. Ruiz tried hushing them, “Quiet down men, let’s go take out those emplacements.”

The mission went on, and they progressed through the narrow trenches. After passing a corridor, Corporal Ruiz frantically yelled, “Gas masks, on! Enemy has tear gas!’

A cloudy gas crept up into the air like a cloud, and one unfortunate officer’s lungs were affected. Johnson ran up to the man, crouched down and said, “You are strong soldier, we will get a medic. Stay put.”

The officer coughed and wheezed, and weakly replied, “Go on without me. But wait, if you survive this battle, give this to my family.” He handed Johnson a brown and leather journal.

Johnson nodded, “As you wish sir.”

“Thank you,” The officer breathed his final words. Private Johnson shed a few more tears, rolling down his mask.

Things were looking bleak. Alpha squad lost their third man today, and there’s no telling if they will lose another. The remaining nine soldiers treaded carefully through the trenches, slaughtering their opposition along the way.

Piles of German soldiers decaying amongst the trench walls did not bode well with the terrible stench of bloodshed. Johnson paced around nervously, hoping to hear some good news.

“Marines listen up,” Ruiz said. Johnson paused and listened. “We are going to rendezvous with Bravo squad. The thing is, they’re pinned down at a bunker just a few klicks away from here.”

It’s better than doing nothing, Johnson supposed. Alpha squad scurried through the trenches and came across the ambushed Bravo squad.

German soldiers swarmed the Bravos like bees and outflanked them from nearly every corner. “Watch out for friendlies!” Ruiz ordered.

Warily, Johnson picked apart the Germans, ensuring no one else from his squad- nor American for that matter-would die today. After each Nazi death, another three would replace them. Sooner or later they would be outgunned.

Ruiz stopped firing and hopelessly said, “Enemy tank. Wait, scratch that. It’s a friendly!” The tank’s anti-infantry cannons precisely mowed down the German opposition.

The top of the tank hatch popped open. Its commander hopped down and proclaimed, “Good news men. Normandy Beach is captured.”

Everyone rejoiced, despite heavy losses, it was a costly victory. A base of operations was set up, and Johnson decided to relax.

Next morning, Private Johnsons sought out the messenger. “Sir excuse me,” Johnson’s voice trembled.

“How may I assist you?” The messenger inquired.

“One of my former officers passed, he wants this delivered to his family,” Johnson pulled out the leather journal.

“I will gladly deliver this, thank you!” The messenger retrieved the journal from Johnson.

Private Johnson’s emotions were running wild. His first combat mission was gruesome, bloody, exciting, and relieving. I’m not sure how I can deal with this, but I know Sarge would want me to fight on. Confidently, Johnson continued his journey through the battlefield, fulfilling his late Sergeant’s hopes.Ocean waves glided the troop carriers to Normandy Beach. Private Johnson was just about ready to tackle his first mission as a marine, with a few nerves racking that is.

“In a couple of klicks, we haul ass and take that beach! “  Sergeant Price barked. Exchanges of hurrahs took place between the marines.

The carrier suddenly came to a screeching halt. Private Johnson followed his sergeant’s lead, attempting to avoid incoming fire from enemy machine guns. His squad was pinned down at the beach front. “Sir, what are your orders?” Johnson asked Price.

“Our orders are to clear the beach and I intend on doing just that,” Price replied while readying his rifle. “Men take position, Johnson on my left flank.”

“Yes sir,” Private Johnson tried composing himself. You’re fighting for your country, family, and friends. Show your American pride, he thought.

“Light these bastards up!” Price yelled, but Johnson could hardly tell with bullets whizzing by. Johnson’s instinct to fight back came to him. His Springfield rifle’s sights were aimed on a German soldier near a bunker. He squeezed the trigger and felt the adrenaline as the Nazi tumbled to his death.

“Take that German pig!’ Johnson celebrated after a clean head shot finished off his foe.

“Nice shooting kid! Just don’t get too cocky,” Sergeant Price said. A mortar shell impacted nearby the trench. “Brace yourselves men!”

“Medic! We need a medic! We got a man down!” Johnson was worried about the man’s life and what his family might feel due to his sacrifice.

“I’m afraid we’re out of medical supplies kid,” Price stated grimly. “Sometimes in war we lose our comrades. He did his duty and sacrificed his life. Not all of us will make it out alive.”

Private Johnson nodded in agreement, with tears streaking down his face, like a waterfall. He understood the horrors of war, but also planned to honor the fallen soldier’s sacrifice, by taking out as many German troops as he can.

Johnson raised his rifle, trembling, and went to town on the Nazis, “Die scum!” Bodies dropped left and right. A bullet squeaked by Johnson, “Too close,” he muttered underneath his breath.

After many volleys of bullets, Sergeant Price barked an order, “Push forward marines! Push forward!” The marines obliged his order. “Alright, we need to take out this bunker and cease enemy fire so more of our men can get through. Corporal, show us what you got.”

The corporal-the squad’s demolition expert- reached in his bag and handed each of his squad mates hand grenades. “Let’s light em up!” He said with a sly grin.

“On my mark!” Price ordered. “Three…two…one…now!  Bombs away!” The marines all tossed the grenades as if they were pitching a baseball in the bunker and waited for the explosive outcome.

Boom! Shrapnel flew across the bunker, decapitating the enemy soldiers. “Yeah! That got em!” Johnson exclaimed.

“Great work marines. Our men can break through, but we still have a beach to secure. Switch to close quarter weapons, we’re going to storm the trenches and eliminate any enemy encampments we can find, understand?” Price inquired his men.

“Sir yes sir!” A chorus of marines who were battle ready responded.

“Any questions? No? Alright marines, let’s give these Nazis hell,” Price said.

Johnson covered the rear and swapped his Springfield rifle for his Thompson submachine gun as his squad entered the labyrinth of trenches, at first, they made no contact with enemy personnel. “I spot German soldiers. Repeat. I spot German soldiers!” Johnson reported.

Squads of Nazi soldiers flanked across the trenches, guns blazing at Price and his men. Johnson laid down suppressive fire, emptying half a clip. Rats, he thought. “Anyone have some spare mags? I’m running low,” he enquired his squad.

“Here Private! Catch!” One of the squad’s munitions experts tossed him a couple magazines. “Promise me one thing?”

“What sir?” Johnson asked.

“Spread these bullets in the hearts of these damned Nazis.” The munitions expert grinned.

“Yes sir!” Johnson reloaded his gun and reigned hell on the flood of Nazi soldiers. The firefight continued, but the marines pushed forward as Sergeant Price demanded.

Deep in the trenches, a German mortar crew is pounding away at the incoming wave of American soldiers storming the beachfront. Sergeant Price notes of this and halts his men, “Corporal, hand me some satchel charges. I am going to blow the mortar crew to shreds. Cover my back men, and if I don’t make it out, blow it up anyways. Corporal Ruiz will be in charge if I’m dead.”

The marines breached through and Sergeant Price initiated the plan. Rival soldiers fired upon the marines, but mostly Price as he was the prime target. Price successfully planted the explosives, and Corporal Ruiz waited to see if his leader would make it out alive.

Sergeant Price was surrounded and outgunned, with nowhere to run. “Ruiz, blow it up now!” Corporal Ruiz hesitated and trembled like a chihuahua, but he triggered the detonation. Before the Nazis could escape, they were caught in a fireball that swallowed them in a blaze then spit their joints out.

“Sarge!” Johnson called out. Sergeant Price’s fate was sealed. His loss may prove to be significant, even if Johnson did not see it right away.

After Sergeant Price’s downfall, Ruiz gathered the marines to a temporarily safe area, “Squad, let us take a moment to honor the contributions of our fallen Sergeant Price.” Ruiz paused for a moment, sniffling tears. “Sarge was a real hero. His passion to fight for our nation and his sacrifices will be remembered greatly.”

Private Johnson spoke next in front of his squad mates, “Sergeant Price taught us the values of bravery and courage, and how they embodied us as soldiers…” Johnson wiped a tear trickling down his face, “And I know that he would want us to continue our mission. Let’s go kick some ass!”

Cheers and yelps were howled from the marines. Ruiz tried hushing them, “Quiet down men, let’s go take out those emplacements.”

The mission went on, and they progressed through the narrow trenches. After passing a corridor, Corporal Ruiz frantically yelled, “Gas masks, on! Enemy has tear gas!’

A cloudy gas crept up into the air like a cloud, and one unfortunate officer’s lungs were affected. Johnson ran up to the man, crouched down and said, “You are strong soldier, we will get a medic. Stay put.”

The officer coughed and wheezed, and weakly replied, “Go on without me. But wait, if you survive this battle, give this to my family.” He handed Johnson a brown and leather journal.

Johnson nodded, “As you wish sir.”

“Thank you,” The officer breathed his final words. Private Johnson shed a few more tears, rolling down his mask.

Things were looking bleak. Alpha squad lost their third man today, and there’s no telling if they will lose another. The remaining nine soldiers treaded carefully through the trenches, slaughtering their opposition along the way.

Piles of German soldiers decaying amongst the trench walls did not bode well with the terrible stench of bloodshed. Johnson paced around nervously, hoping to hear some good news.

“Marines listen up,” Ruiz said. Johnson paused and listened. “We are going to rendezvous with Bravo squad. The thing is, they’re pinned down at a bunker just a few klicks away from here.”

It’s better than doing nothing, Johnson supposed. Alpha squad scurried through the trenches and came across the ambushed Bravo squad.

German soldiers swarmed the Bravos like bees and outflanked them from nearly every corner. “Watch out for friendlies!” Ruiz ordered.

Warily, Johnson picked apart the Germans, ensuring no one else from his squad- nor American for that matter-would die today. After each Nazi death, another three would replace them. Sooner or later they would be outgunned.

Ruiz stopped firing and hopelessly said, “Enemy tank. Wait, scratch that. It’s a friendly!” The tank’s anti-infantry cannons precisely mowed down the German opposition.

The top of the tank hatch popped open. Its commander hopped down and proclaimed, “Good news men. Normandy Beach is captured.”

Everyone rejoiced, despite heavy losses, it was a costly victory. A base of operations was set up, and Johnson decided to relax.

Next morning, Private Johnsons sought out the messenger. “Sir excuse me,” Johnson’s voice trembled.

“How may I assist you?” The messenger inquired.

“One of my former officers passed, he wants this delivered to his family,” Johnson pulled out the leather journal.

“I will gladly deliver this, thank you!” The messenger retrieved the journal from Johnson.

Private Johnson’s emotions were running wild. His first combat mission was gruesome, bloody, exciting, and relieving. I’m not sure how I can deal with this, but I know Sarge would want me to fight on. Confidently, Johnson continued his journey through the battlefield, fulfilling his late Sergeant’s hopes.


© Copyright 2017 S.K. Barkley. All rights reserved.

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