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> Memories, (If this needs to be moved to my archive, that's fine)
redsrock
post Jan 9 2009, 10:31 PM
Post #1


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Joined: 7-August 07



This is simply a one-post story I decided to write while I think of what I want to happen next in Paradise. I’ve been playing Brothers in Arms: Hell’s Highway recently, and it’s easily one of my favorite games as of late. The story is absolutely gripping, and it’s inspired me to write this little story. If you’ve played the game, you’ll know exactly what I mean. It’s not a fanfic, mind you. Enjoy.

* * *

Memories

PART ONE: DISASTER

Up above the sky began to fall. It fell in bunches of large, metallic objects that spat out fire and tinier pieces of metal that cut through the earth and whoever was unfortunate enough to be stuck in the middle.

“Artillery strike, take cover!”

As the sky broke into a hundred pieces of death, the world around me seemed to have slowed down. I had been in Europe for a little over year by then, but the random bombings and artillery strikes always struck such fear into my heart and soul. Each time the bombs dropped it was as if the apocalypse had come it was the Nazis themselves.

We were all scattering from our position in the middle of the French city (I had forgotten its name, but it mattered not. Death didn’t need a name) When I saw that Private “Rowdy” Richard Jones was going back for an old photo of his wife. He had displayed it on the hood of the broken car for whatever reason, most likely because we had been waiting for our next orders for some five hours or so and he figured he might as well make himself at home.

“Goddammit, Jones, get back here!”

He wouldn’t listen to me, and never once hesitated. Of course, I was glad he didn’t hesitate. If he was really going to risk his life it was better for him to run like hell rather than hesitate and look behind him. It didn’t matter either way, though, because before he could even get to the car a piece of death landed right in front of him. I looked away, not wanting to see the mess, even though there wouldn’t be much to look at, save for the blood splattered all over the ground and everywhere around it.

Six men left, counting myself. We had started out with thirteen, but three days ago seven of them were killed in a heated battle outside some town a couple miles southwest. We didn’t bury their bodies, nor would ever bury the memories.

I looked back at the rest of my squad, most of them shivering in fear, and all of them shaking their heads in disgust. Jones had been the funny-guy of the group. We had no one else to fill that empty void. Not that it mattered if we weren’t able to survive the falling of the sky. The daily runs by the random German planes and the German cannons were so fierce and consistent that I was surprised we hadn’t died yet. Then again, we were Screaming Eagles after all. We were supposed to able to meet the devil himself and live to tell the tale.

“Alright men, forget about Jones! We’ve got other things to worry about!” I yelled, trying to voice myself over the thunderous sounds of the bombs. Forgetting about Jones (or rather, pretending to) was hard enough, and the angry stares from some of my men didn’t help. But I was the captain, and I had to do something to keep them focused on the mission at hand. “That 88 is located just a couple clicks away from here, maybe even closer! If we can take it out we make a clear path for then planes! And god knows we need those hamster cave planes! Saddle up and get ready! We move out in a few minutes!”

I took out my dirty, wrinkled map and looked it over, my hands shaking uncontrollably whenever a bomb hit, which was seemingly every second. The artillery barrage would go on for who knows how long, the cannons themselves probably a few miles away. It seemed those damned Nazis had infinite ammo. The map itself agreed with what I had said, even the part about it being closer than two clicks. It was more like one, if even that. But that didn’t matter. One mile would take forever because of the Germans being scattered ever which way. Not to mention the snipers.

After folding up my map I loaded my M1A1 Thompson and took a peek outside through a crack in the old candy store where we were taking shelter from the raid. The bombs were still falling, not that I needed see it to believe it. I could hear it just fine. But that wasn’t why I was looking outside in the first place. What I was looking for were German machinegun crews. Sometimes they’d pop up out of nowhere in random buildings when the bombs went off, raining on us with bullets as we scattered to take cover. Thankfully there were none of them this time.

I looked back at my men and they appeared to be ready, all of them gripping their weapons tightly and looking at me with anxious (yet fearful) expressions.

“Alright, let’s move out!”

Our two-man machinegun crew (Mike Winneberg and Jimmy Elliot) went first, setting up the M1919 on top of a stone wall, provided me and my assault-crew as we crossed a small park with plenty of trees, statues and stone benches to give us cover. The protection proved to be for nothing though, for received no fire from any German patrols. Once we all were together once more, we found ourselves in what looked like a sort of general good store, because there were random items displayed in the front room of the building. I took a look outside and peered down the road to see a German machinegun crew nestled in a nest of sandbag walls. Beside them on either side were five-man patrols, wielding MP40 sub-machineguns and Kar98 bolt-action rifles. The 88 cannon was just behind them, protected from anything kind of offensive strike on land by its thick, steel front-shield.

My five remaining soldiers gathered around me as I told them the plans. “Down the road there’s a machinegun nest and two five-man patrols, and then the 88 behind them. Winneberg and Elliot, you give us cover as we make our way across the street. We’ll try to flank ‘em from the side while you confuse them with cover-fire.”

The two nodded and sprinted to set up the machinegun in a window that was positioned outwards from the building to where you could see down the road. The window was just an open space now, the glass having already been blasted away.

“You guys ready?” I asked the three others, my assault-crew; Leroy Smithson armed with a Browning Automatic Rifle, Lukas Simms and Jeremiah Hawthorne both wielding M1 Garand semi-automatic rifles.

The three of them nodded. Five seconds later we were sprinting across the street.

As we ran I heard Elliot and Winneberg firing behind us, and I prayed they’d be able to keep it once our own assault actually started. If not we’d be greatly outnumbered, and that wouldn’t be good at all. It also would have been beneficial for us if the artillery barrage would have still been going on, but it had ended shortly before we set off into the streets.

Once we were inside the next building, which was a bombed out bakery with no bread and only half a roof, I gathered my assault-crew. “Follow my lead, and stay low. If we’re lucky, the Krauts won’t know we’re coming, and hopefully by then Mike and Jimmy are still spitting out metal with the machinegun as well. If we can we’ll take out the machinegun nest first, but it’s really going to be a situation where we take out what we can we can. Got it?”

“So we can shoot whatever we see, Cap’n?” asked Smithson.

“Yeah, Leroy. Shoot ‘em before they shoot you. Anymore questions?” Nothing but shaking heads. “Alright, let’s go!”

We ran out through the back exit and ran along the straight line of buildings leading down the street. At the end we stopped behind what I believed to be some kind of apartment, for it was larger than the others and was three levels. I poked my head around the corner of the red, brick building, and no more than ten yards away was the one of the patrols. Three of their men had already been gunned down, likely before they even knew what was going on, and three remained. The other patrol was on the other side of the street behind a destroyed truck, all of their men intact. The machinegun nest was firing away some twenty yards away, hopefully hitting nothing but concrete and brick.

“Someone hand me a grenade,” I said with my hands reached behind me blindly, to no one in particular.

Seconds later I found a grenade in my hand, and as I was about to lob the grenade behind the machinegun-nest, I had a second thought. I had never been an athlete in high school. (I graduated from high school thirteen years ago) The only sport I had ever played was basketball and I was mostly a bench player, unless someone got hurt or something. So, needlessly to say, I didn’t have a lot of confidence in my ability to lob the grenade accurately, even if I had done it a million times before. Something simply came over me, and I knew then wasn’t a good time to make a mistake.

“Leroy, you played football in high school last year, right?”

“Hell yeah, Cap’n,” he answered excitedly. “ All-State quarterback for Bloomington High in northern Iowa. I scored forty-two touchdowns my senior year, twelve of ‘em rushes.”

“Then can you throw this grenade behind the machinegun-nest?”

“compassion, Cap’n, that’s easy! It ain’t but about twenty yards away! Wha’choo got, a bad arm or somethin’?”

“Can you throw the damn thing or not, Leroy?” I asked impatiently.

“Sure. Gimme it.”

He took the grenade and pulled the pen. But right as he was about to throw it, a shot rang out from above and hit Leroy in his throwing wrist, forcing him to drop the grenade and fall to the ground, screaming in pain.

I watched as time seemingly stood still. The grenade lay right beside Leroy’s head, and I could always see it smiling at me. It was certainly going to kill, but not what we had planned on it killing.

“Take cover!” I yelled as I jumped over yet another broken down car. The grenade blew up, sending chunks of metal and fire everywhere. I sat knelt behind the car for almost an entire minute, my hands over my head and my back turned away from where the grenade had exploded.

Suddenly I looked up, and standing over me were two German soldiers holding Kar98 rifles. One of them smiled, and the other looked past me as if to see if anyone else was hiding. I heard no more bullets being fired, from either side for that matter. I feared the worst, but I didn’t have more than a few seconds before the smiling soldier kicked me hard in the chin. And that’s when everything went dark.

* * * * * * * * * *

PART TWO: NO SOLDIER LEFT BEHIND

“Holy compassion, Jimmy! Did you fuckin’ hear that?”

“Yeah, it sounded like a grenade. I thought I heard the Captain yell for everyone to take cover. Did you?”

Michael Winneberg and Jimmy Elliot continued to sit positioned inside the window of the small, messy toyshop, even though an explosion sounded to the northeast of their position behind a long row of mostly burned-out buildings. Captain Ronald Huckabee and the other three men left in the entire unit were supposed to have flanked the German soldiers from behind those buildings, but now the German soldiers were running full speed over to where the explosion had went off.

Michael and Jimmy no longer fired their gun, and instead looked on in horror as they feared the worse.

“Ah compassion, man! Look! Look at the Krauts! What are they running for?” Mikey yelled.

Subsequently, bullets pelted the window, one of them grazing Jimmy’s right shoulder just enough for him to notice a small, stinging pain. Jimmy shrugged it off and didn’t mention it to Michael. “I don’t know, Mikey. I think the Captain and the others are in trouble.

Right on cue, two Germans carried a body from behind the last building, and then took it inside the large factory behind the machinegun nest and the 88. Then the other soldiers took three more bodies and laid them beside sandbag-surrounded machinegun nest. The entire time the Germans on the left side of the road, and away from the action from where the grenade went off, continued to pelt Michael and Jimmy with bullets. But their aim was so bad that the two American boys paid them no attention. They were too transfixed to worry about anything except their fellow soldiers.

“Ah hamster, Jimmy! Who’d they take into the factory?”

“I don’t know,” James responded, never taking his eyes on the bodies that rested motionlessly beside the sandbags.

“Looks at those fuckin’ bodies beside the gunner’s nest, Jimmy! They’re fuckin’ dead! Oh fuckin’ Jesus, they’re dead!”

“I know, Mikey! Keep your goddamn voice d-“

Suddenly the German gunner was nestled back into his nest and was spraying Michael’s and Jimmy’s position. The two immediately ducked, but that was only a temporary defense. The position had been covered from two different sides, albeit those two sides were fairly close to one another. Regardless, they could not stay there any longer and expect to live for more than a few seconds.

“We have to move, Mikey! They know we’re the only ones left!”

Mikey nodded, and then the two retreated back about a quarter of a mile. They found themselves inside an old bombed-out church with a once-beautiful bell that no longer sang for its people. The church was nothing more than another place inside a living hell.




“Why the hamster do you always carry that book around, Jimmy? This is a goddamn warzone, not some poetry-reading convention.”

It was nighttime, and the two soldiers were resting quietly in the church. Or rather, Jimmy was keeping quiet and Michael kept running his mouth his minute, something Jimmy absolutely detested. “Will you keep quiet, Mikey!” he whispered loudly. “And I keep this book for the same reason you curse every other sentence.”

“Nice one, smartass. But really, what the hell is it?”

Jimmy moved closer to Michael. He wasn’t really in the mood to be talking at all, but if he had to he didn’t want to have to whisper the entire time. “It holds all the writing that I’ve done since leaving boot camp. Which isn’t much, mind you. It’s hard to write during a war.”

“So what, are you writing a book or something?”

“I’m not sure. Right now it’s just a bunch of ideas and notes…that sort of thing. Maybe once all this mess is over I can sit down and actually be able to concentrate on things. You know…write a series of novels or something. Based on a world I’ve been imagining over the past…six or seven years I guess. Maybe longer.”

“You gonna sell them for money too?”

Jimmy frowned at this, but then sort of smiled, for even he didn’t know the answer. “Probably not, but we’ll see. To be honest with you, Mikey, that sort of thing doesn’t matter to me so much. Wealth and fame is good I suppose, but it’s definitely not everything. I mean, I want to be able to live happily and not have to worry about scraping for money and food, but at the same time I don’t want to sell myself short either, and publish things that aren’t any good. Besides, just writing the novels would make me happy enough. Selling them is a different story. A bridge that I’ll have to cross if and when I get there.”

“Sure, I guess,” Mikey answered, now tossing a baseball up into the air as he listened.

“And why do you always carry that around?” Jimmy asked, nodding at the baseball that seemed to fit perfectly in Michael’s large hand.

“This? compassion, it’s my most prized possession! I got it at a Yankees game when I was little. It’s even signed by Lou Gehrig. Back before he got diagnosed with cancer and all that compassion.”

“I think I’ve heard of him. He’s was a good player, wasn’t he?”

“Good? He was fuckin’ amazing, Jimmy. It’s too bad he got cancer and everything, cause I always thought he was one of the best in the league. Next to The Babe of course.”

“And let me ask you this, Mikey. What does the baseball mean to you?”

“Well…I mean it just makes me happy. Happy memories, you know? When compassion gets too bad out here I take out the ball and toss it around. It works most of the time.”

“So basically, you’re telling me that it’s somewhat of a symbol of sorts? A symbol of the wonderful memories you shared back home? And obviously for your love of baseball, but that goes without saying.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. A symbol. So that sort of thing makes sense?”

“Yes. Of course, Mikey. It symbolizes your love of baseball and the childhood memories you cherish. It’s the same way with my love for writing and reading. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Someone appeared from the shadows, and immediately Michael and Jimmy pulled out their weapons (their pistols, for that was the closest weapon to grab) and pointed them at the intruder, who in turn held up his hands in innocence.

“Don’t shoot, I am not a German!” the intruder said, in a French accent. He was fairly short, with graying hair that had already turned into a balding. He did however have a thick black mustache that spread across the entirety of his upper lip. His dark brown coat stopped just slightly above his old and worn-out boots. “I am here to help you, Americans.”

Michael and Jimmy both put their weapons away and stared at the man. Michael continued to sit on a partially-charred pew, while Jimmy stood to greet the man.

“You’re awfully brave to come out of hiding. You said you are here to help us? Are you part of the Resistance?”

“No, I too old for such bravery. But today I seen your fellow soldiers get killed by Germans. I seen them take one into old factory, and I can get you inside. There’s an underground tunnel that leads to secret entrance. I think Germans built it to use if they need to escape. The entrance to the tunnel is about half a mile from here, not even that. I can take you now if you want!”

Jimmy was impressed by the man’s ability to speak such fluent English. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but well enough. “Thank you for coming, but…I don’t know if we want to do that or not. It’s just the two of us after all, and there has to be at least seven Germans inside that factory, and likely more.”

A thunder sounded through the air, and then a crash about ten seconds later. The German’s FLAK 41 anti-aircraft gun had seized another victim.

That’s when Jimmy looked at Michael, who by now was standing as well. The two had talked briefly about trying to save whoever it was the Germans had taken inside of the factory, but such a plan sounded so unrealistic. They both assumed such a rescue attempt would end only in failure. Even Michael, who was arguably the bravest of the original thirteen-man unit, didn’t think it would work. But on the other hand, they also didn’t like the fact that they were leaving a man behind. Such a thought was dreadful. An American base was located about thirteen miles to the north, and they had been thinking about falling back there. But now that the French civilian had made an appearance the two were having second thoughts, especially Michael.

“Wait, Jimmy. I don’t like sitting around with our thumbs up or asses. I know we decided earlier we’d head back for the base, but…I can’t just leave whoever it is inside the facility. I know they might not be alive, but-“

“He is alive,” the French man interrupted. “I…I heard him moaning as they took him in factory.”

“Well, there you go. I don’t know about you, Jimmy, but I ain’t fuckin’ leaving him here to die. Whether it’s the Captain or whoever, it doesn’t matter. This man says he can take us to a secret entrance. Who knows, maybe we can surprise the Germans and kill them before they know what’s hitting him.”

“Or better yet, maybe we can sneak in and save him without alerting anyone at all.”

“Yeah, that too. compassion, Jimmy, we can do this! I know we can!”

Jimmy liked the idea of playing hero, but the chances of them surviving were rather thin. “I don’t know, Mikey. All I have left is my pistol and two grenades. My damn carbine is jammed and I don’t have the tools to fix it. You barely have any ammo left in your gun, but obviously you wouldn’t use that in close quarters anyway. I-“

Suddenly he stopped talking, and his eyes grew wide. “Wait a second! Mikey, do you have a lot of ammo for your gun?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I have an idea. We’ll all three go back to the old candy store and you set up you machinegun the window again. Give this good man and me about fifteen minutes or so to make it to the secret entrance. Then start blasting away to get the German’s attention. Once I hear you start to fire, I’ll sneak in and save whoever’s in there. This way hopefully I won’t have to fight too many of them. How’s that sound?”

“Fuckin’ great, that’s how it sounds!”

“Good. Let’s move out now. I can’t wait any longer.”

* * * * * * * * * *

PART THREE: THE GOOD AND THE BAD

When the lights came back on I still couldn’t see. It appeared I was in some kind of room, pitch dark, and myself resting on a cold, stone floor. I felt around and found stone walls in a matter of seconds, so it had to have been a relatively small room. I had the worst headache of my life, and I realized why once I felt an enormous knot on the right side of my forehead. Damn Nazis must’ve bumped my head while moving me from outside.

Outside.

Almost as soon as I remember what happened outside the pain shot through my chin like a hot knife. A stinging pain that was more annoying than anything, for the headache was much, much worse. Imagine a hammer pounding away at your brain while laughing insanely and showing no signs of stopping. That was what it felt like, and that could have very well been an understatement.

“Amerikaner! Hinter dem Auto! Nehmt ihr eure Positionen! Bekommt ihr die Soldaten im Zimmer und setzt ihr sie zurück!”

A German soldier, probably the highest ranking soldier in their undersized unit, was barking something in German, and in a very loud tone that only worsened my headache.

“Shut the hamster up!” I yelled, massaging my temples with my hands. Suddenly the door to my room swung open, and light from a lantern crept in. But that only worsened my headache as well. Three German soldiers stood in the doorway, one of them holding an MP40 sub-machinegun, a German small arms rifle that I had actually enjoyed using one time when I had no ammo for my Thompson.

“Bind seine Hände hinter seinem Rücken und veranstalt ihn! Wir werden ihn ins Hinterzimmer bringen! Halt, und die anderen werden die amerikanischen Angreifer fernhalten!”

The two soldiers not wielding their weapons walked over and grabbed me, picked me up from the floor, and then started to carry me out of the room. I tried closing my eyes but my brain wouldn’t let me. As I forced myself to look around it seemed as if I was in some kind of car factory, for there were random car parts lying around many tables, and even a couple actual cars strewn about as well. It was also apparently nighttime, for the sun was not shining through the spaces in the walls that were once windows.

“Eilt ihr!” yelled the German officer. I told him to shut up again, and his kicked me in the stomach. Yet another injury to an already beaten body. I felt absolutely awful, and I’ll also admit that I wanted to die right then and there. I felt like I was doing so already.

The soldiers took me to a tiny room in the back of the factory, and there they threw me inside and shut the door. The light was no more and my head felt a tad bit better. I sat against the wall, a softer feeling wall that wasn’t nearly as cold as the ground or the stone walls of wherever I had been before, and listened to the noise from outside. The Germans were firing their own weapons at whoever it was they were fighting, but I also heard a recognizable noise as well. It was a machinegun, and I knew it was either Winneberg or Elliot, hopefully both if nothing terrible had happened earlier. The sound of the gun hurt my head, but it at least lifted my soul. My men were fighting back for me.

My men.

I immediately thought of Smithson, Simms, and Hawthorne. Three men that were likely dead, because I couldn’t think of another conclusion. That weren’t with me in the room, so that had to have meant they died either in the grenade’s explosion, or died while fighting the Nazis afterward. But I remember everything being getting knocked out, and I also remember there were no movements behind me. And poor Leroy. I knew for sure he was dead, and likely in a hundred bloody pieces.
Just thinking about it made the pain ever worse, and not just my headache. At least one person was alive, though. And as long as I heard the machinegun I knew I still had a chance of making it out myself. But as I felt around for my weapons and last satchel-charge, I could find neither. My pistol and Thompson had been taken away, and the same story went for my satchel-charge.

“Dammit,” I cursed out loud, pounding my first against the wall.

Suddenly I heard screams from outside the room, and then following the screams was a loud German voice, but not the officer.

“Ich muss unterstützen! Alle sind sonst geschossen worden! Sie sind alle, abgesehen von Adalric, tot, und sein Knie ist von das Maschinengewehr des Amerikaners ruiniert!”

More German screaming and I heard footsteps running towards my room fast. They stopped seemingly at the door, and gunfire soon followed. More screams, and then seconds later an explosion went off that blasted the door to my room off its hinges. Light from a lantern on a table seeped through, but only enough for me to see the door on the ground, and then three dead and mangled Germans on the ground, including the officer.

Next, a body stepped into the light, and I shielded my face from who I thought was yet another German soldier. But then the figure whispered loudly in a familiar voice, “It’s me, Captain. Private Elliot. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Standing above me was Private Elliot. Alive and well! “Elliot? Thank god, you sonofabitch!” I said happily, but not too loud, even though I wasn’t hearing anymore gun fire. “Is Winneberg okay?” I didn’t ask about the others, because deep down inside I already knew the answer.

“Elliot has been getting the Krauts’ attention so that I could sneak in here unnoticed. The latter part of the plan hasn’t exactly panned out how I wanted it to, but I’m here so it doesn’t matter. And I don’t hear anymore gunfire, so that has to mean they’re all dead. Let me check before we leave.”

He turned around to walk out of the room, and as he walked through the door-less doorway he was immediately hit in the chest by machinegun fire. He body went limp and fell hard to the floor and out popped a small book with a dirty brown cover. It was a small book that I had seen him write in many times before, but never had he ever talked about it. And it looked as if he was never going to have the chance.

“hamster!” I yelled, rolling to the right and leaning against another wall to protect myself from hire. There wasn’t any, and after a few seconds I heard yet another scream. It sounded German. Footsteps began to approach the room, fast and heavy. Entering the room was another figure, and he too had a familiar voice.

“Ah compassion! compassion, compassion, compassion! Goddamnit, Jimmy!”

It was private Winneberg, and tears were streaming down his face faster than water down any waterfall I had ever seen. I reached out and touched his arm, and only then was he aware of my presence.

“Captain,” he mumbled, his choked up words slightly unclear. “You alright?”

“Yeah, other than a headache. You?”

“I’m fine. But Jimmy…ah hamster! Jimmy! Come on, man, wake the hamster up! I know you can!”

I gave him a few minutes to let it all out, for I knew there was no use in trying saying anything. A friend of his, and a friend of mine as well, had just died before our eyes. I wanted to cry as well but I didn’t, and probably because I had seen this same scene a hundred before. Only then it was a different face, but the effect was still the same.

Finally Private Winneberg was able to get a hold of him, and by that time I was standing as well. The headache was still there, but I was doing my best to ignore it. It was simply happy that the Germans hadn’t broken my legs to ensure that I couldn’t get away. I looked down at Elliot’s body, and his eyes were closed, but his mouth hung open, blood painting the corners. I didn’t say anything, and neither did Winneberg. But as we left the building, he grabbed the book of Elliot’s and placed it in his backpack.

“What’re taking that for?” I asked him.

He looked at Elliot and then he looked at me, a mystical look spread about his face and still full of tears. And then he said, quite softly, “Memories.”

This post has been edited by redsrock: Jan 9 2009, 10:40 PM


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