[Red Hammer]

I have been writing a short story for LA (grade 9) It's a WWII fiction so I thought i should ask you guys for your opinion on it. Flle free to post any suggestions/comments etc...

(Its Not Done Yet}

Short Story Rough (No title yet)
By: Chris (Red Hammer)

The sudden sound of a jeep starting up jolted Private Joseph Reyes from his sleep. As he opened his eyes he couldn’t help but notice the rush of activity that had occurred around the barracks.

The year was 1945, Friday, January 15 to be exact. Private Reyes along with the other men from 67th company were regrouping in the small German village of Güttenberg about 70 kilometers from Tuggonoff the outermost suburb of Berlin. The men had just been through hell. A fierce battle for this very town had dealt his company with losses of over 50%, 179 men to be exact; not even counting the 45 or so wounded. In the end they had completely decimated the German VII panzer corps, taking in about 60 prisoners.

Today, was finally a day off. A day filled with rest and food.

Before the war, Private Reyes was young and energetic. Born to a modest family in suburban Detroit. He was an only child. His father, Robert was a steelworker and his mother Linda was a Waitress at a restaurant downtown. He was only at the ripe age of 19, when on December 7th, 1941 the Japanese attacked pearl harbor. America was thrust into war and Joseph was one of the first in line at the recruiting station.

He thought that war would be an adventure, a way to see the world. The thought that he would be sent off to a place like Hawaii to defend. He entered basic training in 1942 and three weeks later graduated with nothing but the most basic infantry skills. He soon found himself heading off, to a secret destination. To a place where he would never want to go. New York City. There he trained a bit more, took a few classes in tactics and soon was placed in his first company the 32nd Infantry.

The day finally came on March 24th, 1943. Joe, his company and about 800 other men were crammed onto a troop transport ship. Destination: London, England… War in Europe. By now he had conceded there would be no Hawaii. His dream went from lying on the beach in paradise, to being able to gun down some jerry, or even better; Hitler himself. Nothing he had seen or done could possibly prepare him for what was to come.

All of this has become extremely evident to him on that January day in Güttenberg. Lying there freezing at the climax of the bitter German winter. All of the life, all of the youthfulness had been sucked out of him as easily, it seems as a kid stealing from a candy store.

His hair had gone from being blond and curly to being dull, flat and almost as white as the very snow he was sitting on. His large blue innocent eyes, replaced by a cold blank stare. All he could think of now was when. When would the next attack come? Would I be able to perform? And most of all; Will I survive?

Suddenly, a voice interrupted Joe’s almost trance-like state.

“ay Jo, gotta light?” the voice asked in a standard New York drawl.

“Wha, wha whaaat?” Joe stuttered as he looked up at the person towering above him. Slowly, the consciousness returned to him and he realized the voice was actually his best bud. Private Mario Castiliani. Mario was a good kid, who had led a very tough life. Born in the Bronx to two poor Italian parents, he was able to find the mob before he could even find out who his parents were. His first toy was not a doll but a Tommy gun. By the age of 10. He was already running narcotics for the biggest crime family in New York. By the age of 15 he was in prison for grand theft. And by the time the war came along, he would do anything for the chance to lead a better life. Mabye, he thought. He could find a real family.

“Do you have a light?” Mario repeated his question in an almost annoyed tone.

“Oh, yes. Of course.” Joe replied. Reaching into the large pocket in his jacket, he fumbled around for a few seconds before finally finding the lighter and handing it to Mario.

“ ’anks man” said Mario. Lighting his cigarette. “You want one?”

“Naw” answered Joe as he placed the lighter back into his pocket.

Mario turned, took a few steps and then suddenly. Stopped.

“Hey Joe.” he said with his back still turned.

“What?” Joe asked, surprised.

Mario turned back to look at Joe and pulled the cigarette out of his mouth.

“The word is we’re moving out tonight,” he said “all of the 67th is to report to the town center in 10 minutes.”

“What the….” A surprised Joe managed to blurt out. Even though he was at a loss for words. “We… we’re moving out?”

“ ‘fraid so,” Mario said as he let out a large sigh “after what we’ve gone through, two days sure as hell isn’t enough”

Standing up, Joe began to probe at the wall with his foot.

“What about our weekend pass?” Joe asked, his eyes showing a grim, tired very desperate look.

“Revoked,” Mario spat out “those shitheads over at HQ sure know how to muck up all of our plans”

“Bastards.” Joe mumbled under his breath as he stormed away.

He was so angry, but he had to accept it. He knew what his duty was. He was proud of his accomplishments in the war and he would follow any order no matter how grim the consequences may be.

He reached the town center a few minutes early. As he looked around he noticed that most of the other men too, were early. All 115 or so of them. They all had the same look on their face. It must be the look you get when you are completely over-run by emotion. The look you get when you are so angry, so scared, so anxious, so tired, so sad. Yet in an ironic way, happy to still just be there. These men had had the joy of liberating captured towns from occupation, but the horror of seeing their friends mowed down like animals. Angry that they lost their leave but anxious to get the war over with. So tired and weak, that death would be the easier option, but still happy just to be able to survive another day.

Joe couldn’t get this look out of his head as their commanding officer Major Ian Graham, stepped up on the stone base of a statue. Major Graham had been their commanding officer for about 6 months. He was well respected and liked among the men. He understood what the men needed and he sometimes bent the rules for them. This understanding made life in the 67th a little less harsh. He had a very tough side too though; he demanded 120% from the men at all times. He expected you to learn from your experiences and mistakes in battle. He knew that if you didn’t learn from you mistakes, surely the enemy would. This approach worked well and probably saved many lives from the 67th.

“Attention Men” the Major shouted out. The men instantly fell in and stood at attention. “I am very sorry to tell all of you that your leave for the weekend has been revoked. As you may or may not know, today the 76th company was to invade and take the Berlin suburb of Tuggonoff. Our intelligence reported that resistance there would be very light. But in fact, the resistance reported by the 76th is very strong and very heavy. As we speak they are pinned down right outside of the towns boundaries. The commander of the 76th says they will be able to hold on for the night, but not much longer. Our mission is to reinforce them by taking out the German resistance. Get ready and report back here at 22:00 for briefing. We should be moving out by 22:45.”

“Yes Sir!” The men shouted. The time was now 21:11.

“Fall Out!” Commanded the major.

So, as quickly as the men had gathered they were gone, preparing to go into battle. Again. Joe located his stuff and changed into his battle uniform. As required he emptied out all pockets and his pack to inspect it. Everything was there, 3 fragmentation grenades, a colt .45, 200 M1 rifle rounds, bandages, field dressing, colt ammo, 2 knives, bayonet, his “special” a luger he swiped from a German, canteen, “k” rations, lighter and 2 packs of smokes. All of this plus his main weapon, the M1 Garand. Fairly light, but very powerful and accurate at long range.

The time was now 21:50 and Joe started to make his way back to the town center for final briefing. On the way there he bumped into Mario again. They did not say a word. They didn’t have to. They had such a friendship, such a comradarie they understood what they were thinking without a verbal exchange. This bond, shared between the men exemplified the true and complete trust these men shared.

“Attention Men” the Major shouted out yet again. “As you know, the 76th have encountered stiff resistance in their fight for the suburb of Tuggonoff. They are about 1 mile to the south of the city and are pinned down. Current reports from them say heavy shelling from mortars, 88’s and MG-42’s. Also be on the lookout for Lutwaffe air cover. We will be coming up on their left flank and will approach the west side of the city. From there we will eliminate the enemy from behind and meet up with the 76th inside of the town. There we will await further orders. Fall Out! Prepare your weapons and get to your trucks.”

The time was now 22:40.

Joe and Mario were assigned to the same truck. Truck number 2. The trucks were old and numbered 8 in total. The insides were completely rusted and the stench, even without human occupants was horrendous. To make matters even worse, the trucks were designed with a maximum capacity of 15 occupants. The extra 5 people crammed inside made the ride even more unbearable.

As the Major had said, at exactly 22:45 the trucks began to leave. One-by-one they rolled out on the narrow one way highway to Tuggonoff. The ride was to be about 3 hours long. It would take another hour or two on foot to reach the objective. If you thought that conditions on the trucks was bad before. With 20 dirty, sweaty men carrying 60 pounds of equipment each on, it was almost impossible. The smell inside was as bad as the smell as the body truck. The heat just kept rising and rising. For Joe and Mario this wasn’t the first time they had to endure it. And for them hopefully, It won’t be their last.

As they approached the halfway point in their journey, the faint, barely audible sound of mortars, shells and machine guns crept into the men’s minds. Not one man spoke a word. “Bang!” 88mm shell landing, “Boom!” mortar crashing down “KaKaKaKa” MG-42 firing, “Pow! Pow! Pa! Pow! Pow! Ping!” M1 shooting. It’s one of the first things they are taught in combat training. How to distinguish weapon sounds; the differences between enemy and friendly weapons. Valuable in combat, but eerie to listen to before hand.

These sounds got nothing but louder as they approached the drop-off point, about 5 kilometers from the southeast corner of the town. Looking up, Joe, for the first time, made eye contact with some of the other men in the truck. Mario, Private Robert Allen, Private Steven “Slasher” Brooks, Sargent Greg Glew and Sargent Ryan Larke. Their faces were blank and distant, showing absolutely no emotion whatsoever. They were ready or at least as ready as they could be.

At long last the men had reached the drop-off point, the lead trucks engine fell silent, followed in succession by the other trucks. Silently the men got out of the trucks and gathered in little groups at the side. Some men took out a cigarette, some men fidgeted with their hands some men just stood there, staring into space. Major Graham, now standing right in front of the lead truck spoke out.

“Men” he shouted, as quietly as he possibly could “We will march up this road about 4 kilometers. At that point we should come up to a clearing just near the edge of the town. There should be a large hedgerow, dig in and set up a defensive position here. Then await further orders. Also, I would like you to now break up into two squads. My squad, group “A” from trucks one to four and group “B” trucks five to eight commanded by Sargent Parel. Fall out! Prepare your Weapons!”

The men shuffled silently into their groups, assembled their weapons and began the march. It was to take them about an hour to get there, heavy tree cover and the complete darkness protected them from any German snipers that my be waiting for them. It also allowed them to keep surprise on their side, probably the most valuable thing if you want to succeed in battle. It was raining, making the dirt road slippery and muddy. The men used this mud to their advantage by covering their faces and any other exposed skin with the mud, making their approach nothing but stealthier.

“E…e..eh Joe, gotta smoke? Asked Private Sam Springer, the newest and least experenced soldier in the 67th in a shaky voice. “I reall… really need one and I lost m…m...my pack a little while back.

“No problem man

To be continued….