Creative Arts (Read Only) > Literature

WWII essay (fictional)

(1/1)

blαh2355:
Well this project was about a few months ago for my english class and now I want to share it. It's very long on the forums so don't say I didn't warn you (tl;dr peeps). It's a little eh and not that great since I'm a bad writer but here you go. Also if you want to read it in Word (2010 format) you can download from here: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1n-pBFhgsawNhpYCJSpNckNy4hppfK5fqKbwk_AiXS9Q/edit?hl=en&authkey=CLmg4ccB

Spoiler (click to show/hide)Gary Chow
Mrs. Aguiar
English 9-2
26 October 2010
The Day to be Remembered

“Alright everyone up on their feet today’s the day!” yelled a crewman of the ship. Everyone groaned as they rolled out of their beds. The cabin usually livened up as usual but today, it was silent. Minutes later, everyone was pouring outside to the deck.
Captain Richard yelled out, “As many of you already know, today is the day! All of you are probably thinking am I going to survive!? Your training will tell if you will survive or not, but god knows he’ll try to keep us alive. Good luck men and I’ll see you all on the beach.” Everyone then started to climb into their landing boats. I still wasn’t assigned on a boat yet.
The captain came up to me and said, “Private James! We’re short of one man in this boat; we could sure do well with your company.” Wow! Being in the same boat with the captain! I felt so proud. If only I had a lot of courage as of what we are about to do. As the boat was lowered into the water, the captain debriefed us a little.
“Now when we get to the Sword beach, I want everyone to take cover as quick as possible. There will be heavy machine guns peppering around us all so keep your head down!”
“Thirty seconds!” yelled the driver. Many people in the boat were holding their crosses tightly. I for one do not have a religion though but I think it doesn’t really matter. As we neared the beach, you could see many bunkers and obstacles such as barb wire and hedgehogs. Suddenly the doors open and bullets started whizzing pass us and peppered the ground. I waded in the water and ran as quickly as I could to the nearest hedgehog. Everything roared to life. Bullets and mortars started to fire at us like there’s no tomorrow. Quite a few people had gotten shot while exiting the boats.
Someone screamed, “Get up to that beach!” It was the captain telling us to run for the small sand hill right under the bunker.
Pvt. Ryan shivered at the thought and replied, “We’re never going to make it!”
“Yes we will!” retorted Pvt. Langsly.
“Alright then! On the count of three! One… Two… THREE! GO!” We ran for our lives as we came out of our hiding spots and scurried up the beach. I thought I was going to die but surprisingly, I actually made it through the rain of fire. When I eased up my tension, a bullet went whizzing right next to my head. It just shows you that you can’t relax when there’s war all around you. I peeked back to see how the others were doing. It was sad how people were dying out on the beach. Moments later, most of us had made it except for Pvt. Yugos. I felt pretty bad for him but I knew I can’t worry about him for now. We all then got out our shovels and started digging foxholes for at least some cover.
   “Take out those machine gunners!” yelled the captain. I took a look through my rifle and aimed at the enemy. BANG! He fell back like a train hit him. He was my first kill in the war. It didn’t feel like anything of killing another person. Curse this war; if only it didn’t happen I would be sitting snugly in the safety of my house with nothing to fear.
   “Watch out, grenade!” yelled someone. As I looked around I found a round, grey thing sitting there. I hesitated for a second but quickly picked it up cautiously and threw it back in the direction it came from. I ducked down to avoid the blast and luckily, it landed on the enemy’s side somewhere.
   “What are you doing, trying to get yourself killed!?” the captain screamed.
   “No sir,” I replied.
   “Well don’t dwell on your thoughts right now. We are currently in a war,” said the captain.
   “Yes sir,” I replied. I felt kind of silly afterwards.
   “Alright, now here’s the plan. Sgt. McMiller, you take Pvt. James, Ryan, and Langsly and flank them from the right. The rest of you follow me to flank them to the left. Everyone got that? Now move out!” ordered the captain.
   “Yes sir!” we all replied simultaneously.
   “You heard the man! Let’s move!” the Sgt. commanded. We went slowly up the hill around a bunker. Enemies were in front of us about five hundred feet away. We took aim and shot as many as we could. Some of them fell to the ground as the rest started to retreat. We met the captain and his troops at the back of the bunker.
   “Grenade out,” I said as I pulled the pin out of the grenade and threw it inside the bunker. There was a loud explosion a few seconds later. We checked inside the bunker but nothing remained there. There were just a few machine guns and a black wall from the blast.
   “Alright men, let’s try to help out the rest of the guys on the beach. Let’s move!” the captain said.
Four hours later, we had secured the beach. I figured that we got up above the hill quicker than anyone else since we landed to a less heavily defended position. We were a real help and before you know it, everyone on the beach could advance up. I was exhausted but the captain said that we would have to move more inland of France real soon. He said… we were moving to the city Caen. I heard it was a heavily defended city but it was a major objective for Operation Overlord or also known as D-Day. Minutes later, we were up on our feet marching on the roads leading to Caen along with some other squads. It was quiet except for the bullets echoing and explosion in the background. It was until I heard someone yell, “Angrif!”
“Germans!” yelled one of the troops. We were then getting shot at all of a sudden. I fell to the ground hoping that they couldn’t shoot me. Dirt kicked up as bullets hit the ground.
“They’re in the woods!” someone cried.
“What do we do sir!?” I asked the captain.
“Just stay down and try to get some of them!” the captain replied. I grabbed my tommy and sprayed the gun in the direction of the woods. I knew it was no use but it made me feel better. I thought this was it; this was the farthest I could make it. That was when I suddenly heard rumbling sounds. It was coming from the Sherman tanks! They came to rescue us! A few of them started to aim for the woods and fired its tank round. BOOM! The explosions left billows of smoke. The remaining survivors ran for their lives, but some of them were gunned down.
“Woohoo!” exclaimed a soldier. As the captain was thanking the tank commander, the rest of us were trying to regain ourselves.
Suddenly someone yelled, “Corpsman!” A medic came running up to the person that had yelled and I noticed that someone had gotten shot in the stomach. He applied pressure to the wound with his hands and gave the guy morphine. The injured person looked like in a state of shock. He was all pale and shivering too. The medic then wrapped some dressing around his wound. He then tried to talk some sense into him.
He told him, “Everything is going to be all right, okay?” The guy slowly nodded which was a good sign that he was starting to regain full consciousness. The medic told everyone that the bullet had gone through him so it wasn’t as bad; if the bullet was lodged inside, he would have had to attempt to pull out the bullet. Everyone looked relieved. He was one of the many lucky ones. A lot of soldiers have gotten killed on the spot. That’s the problem with war. The enemy dies, your friend dies, and someone you might know dies. Maybe even yourself. In the end, people die, including civilians. We pushed forward even more throughout the day while some of us took turns riding the tanks. Boy, were they really helpful but they had to part half way to a different location. We had a few minor battles when I noticed one of the enemies had a panzerschreck with him. They must have passed the word that tanks were coming. We had suffered minor casualties which I was thinking we must be the luckiest people in the war. I saw a road sign that pointed Caen just a few miles away. We had to approach cautiously though since the German defense was heavy and don’t want to be caught off guard. Word was that we were attacking the city from the north, east, and west. Tanks were starting to move in and after most of them moved in, we advanced as well. The town was quiet but we knew that the Germans were waiting for us. As a tank crossed a street, an anti-tank gun had fired on the tank and destroyed it. That’s when all the bullets and explosives went flying. Germans were firing from all sides in the buildings while some of them fired panzerschrecks at the tanks. The whole town would literally light up if it was at night.
Someone yelled, “Take cover!”
Another person yelled, “Open fire!” I ran for the nearest building knowing that it’s probably the safest except for the enemy being on the floor on top. It was crazy but I went upstairs quietly, the sound drained by the explosions, and then quickly shot all of the Germans there. I tried giving covering fire to the troops down there but there were too many enemies. Everyone else took cover and tanks were trying to fire at the buildings. It was a tough battle: people were taking cover behind rubble, many tanks destroyed, and many casualties on both sides. We held off the first round but the battle isn’t over yet.
“Well lads, we’ve got to advance further or else the Germans will come back and over run us. So let’s move!” the captain insisted. As we pushed forward, ambushes were more frequent but less surprising. The last area that we needed to drive the Germans out of was the most west of the city. It was their last defense line so it must be heavily fortified. As we were approaching the last area, I heard a bullet hit the ground and I immediately got down to the ground. So did everyone else.
I yelled, “Sniper!” Everyone acknowledged the fact since the enemy wasn’t shooting rapidly. No one else was a sniper, all of them were dead. I knew how to snipe and was pretty good at it but I didn’t have a rifle to use.
“Go find a sniper rifle in one of those buildings, I think I saw one when I was checking the buildings,” said Sgt. McMiller. I took his advice and used the rubble as cover until I reached the building that the sergeant pointed to. Just as he said, there was a rifle lying on the floor in the third story. I grabbed it and hustled back to where everyone else was. I peeked up behind the rubble and tried to spot the enemy sniper. Then there was a puff of smoke. I got down quickly to only hearing a bullet whiz past my head. I now know where he was; it was a red building across the street, at the fifth floor. As I took aim, I noticed that he was about to take aim also but I fired my rifle first. He looked like in a state of shock and started to slump forward a bit; eventually he fell out the window.
I reported, “He’s down”
The captain and some others replied, “Nice shot, or good job.”
After that short dilemma, we marched on to the last part of the city. It was nearly dawn, the sun setting and night began to take over. Today was going to be one of the roughest days in my entire life. Just then, we all heard someone talking in German. We turned the corner but it was a trap! The street was filled with machine gunners and howitzers along with a few tanks. I thought to myself, great. It was almost impossible to take them out with the weapons we have. We had a radio so why not call in an airstrike? We gave them the coordinates and waited a few minutes for the fighter bombers to come. The air starts filling up with rockets, smoke, and bullets. We all cheered.
The captain said in the radio, “Great job guys! Direct hit!” After they finished their attack run, I was called for to scout ahead for any other enemies. I was looking around the building when all of a sudden; a German jumps out with a pistol and starts to shoot me. I was about to shoot back but I got hit in the chest. My teammate took him out while I fell to the floor. It felt like I couldn’t breathe. I tried to gasp for air as a corpsman came. This time, the bullet got stuck inside. The medic had to give me morphine to take away the pain and took out a long looking tweezers. When he attempted to pull it out, I was in complete pain. He eventually got the bullet out and tried to patch me up.
“You’re going home buddy,” the corpsman said.
“But… but I…,” I tried to reply weakly but was cut off.
“What? In this condition? You’re a lucky goose, you get to go home. Now let’s get you out of here,” retorted the corpsman. We drove in a small jeep until we got to the beach. I was then discharged out of Europe and rested in a hospitable. My condition was that serious. Before I left, I heard the captain say, “Don’t worry mate, we’ll be fine on our own.” That was the last time I saw him… or so I thought. Three years later, after the war had ended and my injury had been healed back at an England hospital, the nurse called and said I had a surprise visitor. It was none other than Captain Richard and the squad! I was stunned.
He chuckled, “Told you we’ll be all right.”

Foofoojack:
Very nice story line, but kind of bland.
Y'know, i've read alot of things like this.
Just MO

Rocket50:
Hi there Gary Chow

I have also written a short story for socials about 'Louis Riel'; a Canadian hero to some, a villian to others. It is the third-person perspective of Thomas Scott, an Orangemen who was eventually  executed by Louis Riel. (Canadian history ftl.)

Beginning = Okayish pace, end = faster than fucking Chuck Norris on Crack.

Why? Because the maximium number of paces for this was four pages, and guess what? This was exactly four pages.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)A frosty winter breeze swept across his face, sending shivers up his spine as he tightly gripped the reins of his horse, anticipating what was to come. Around him were 40 other Englishmen on horses in a rectangular formation with rifles slung, and ready to slaughter the delinquents that named themselves “The Métis”.

Thomas despised them. After years of the Canadian government graciously allowing the Métis to live, and build their settlements on Canadian soil, they started denying that the government had any rights over the land and their people. They claimed that they desired to govern themselves. Then the Métis leader Riel, oh how he hated that name, forcefully seized Fort Garry, with his army of 400. Fortunately, Thomas and about ten other colonists found an opportune time and escaped Fort Garry when it was under Métis control. Each one of the ten vowed to take revenge on these aggressors.

Escaping to the nearby settlement, they recruited a number of Englishmen with a common hatred for the Métis, arming them with weapons, and using them in formulating a plan to recapture Fort Garry. Fort Garry was just an ordinary Hudson’s Bay Company trading post, positioned on the Assiniboine that harboured anything from Whisky, furs, to munitions. He assumed that the Métis seized the fort for its plentiful stockpile of weapons, supplying them with enough rifles to terrorize the rest of the country. The man shivered, the cold started to get to him.

“Attacking, or are we not?” Thomas inquired impatiently to the fellow next to him.

“Quiet down Mr. Scott, timing is everything.” Boulton retorted with a slight attitude in his response. Normally, Thomas would fight to get the last word, but Boulton was one of the main recruiters, and he knew that without him, an attack such as this would never have a chance at succeeding.

He irritably slouched forward, cursing under his breath at the indecisive man. The night was dead silent except a distinct rhythmic sound thumping in his ear. Down the hillside from where the men were positioned, the rectangular wooden box parameter that was Fort Garry stood, not a shimmer of a human being showing their presence in the fort. It was actually rather peculiar, a fort that the Métis tactically captured, with no one guarding it?

Other than the rustling of conversation through the ranks, another distinct thumping sound was heard - or actually, many thumping sounds. Was his ear playing tricks on him or was it getting… louder?

Thomas turned his shoulders, keeping his hands tightly gripped on the reins as his eyes squinted, and his mouth scowling at the sight. A whole line of Métis on horses were charging directly at them with their rifles aimed, and presumably, loaded. At the same time, other Englishmen had started reaching behind them for their muskets in reaction to the flanking Métis but were cut off by a distinct voice order in the background.

“Put down your weapons, or every one of you will be shot by every one of mine.” A man ordered from the native side. The line of Métis had stopped a dozen yards in front of them and every Métis had their single target in their sights. No man from either side shifted an inch, before a single Métis on horseback stepped out from behind the line; it was Riel. Thomas fumed on the view of the man.

“Well, what is your decision?” Riel questioned with a moderate accent that most Métis had when speaking a language that was not of their native tongue’s.

Boulton seemed to think in silence for a moment of how to handle this situation before letting out a sigh, realizing that anything other than a total surrender would end in a complete loss. “Drop your weapons men, slowly to the ground.” Englishmen reluctantly brought their hands onto their rifles, pulling the sling off before lowering it to the ground cautiously. Thomas hesitated to do so before earning a glare from Boulton that obviously meant: I care not if you die, but I will not allow my men to die from your reckless actions, now, lower your rifle.

Showing no signs of fear nor concern for his own well being, Thomas reached back and pulled the rifle along with the sling off his back and leaned to the side before dropping it to the ground with a clang.

“I hope you’re proud Boulton, because you just allowed the half-breeds to capture the whole party.” Thomas berated.

The Métis herded the attacking party through the gates and into the confines of Fort Garry before leading them in the fort’s prison cells. The prison building was already occupied with many colonists that were most likely troublemakers in the Métis’ eyes. They actually seemed well off, considering that this was indeed, a prison; the prisoners were all reasonably clothed,  a man was just lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling with a dazed facial expression, while another was eating a slice of bread, staring at the line of Englishmen that were herded by.

Thomas scowled with hatred as one of the ruffians pulled out his keys and opened the prison cell lock with a ‘click’ once the bolt unlocked. The metal cell door creaked loudly as it was pulled open before Thomas was forcibly shoved in. The native pulled the door shut with a final clang as the gate hit the metal doorway.

“Hey! You can’t keep me in here you mongrel!” Thomas yelled at the native, who just ignored him and went on his usual business to lock the door. “Are you listening, or are you just an imbecile like the rest of them?”

The native glanced up for a moment with a blank expression before turning around and proceeding down the hallway, not giving any personal interest to what the man said.

Thomas averted his attention back to the pitiful excuse of a room; the floor was grimy with uncleanliness and a filthy brown blanket covered a bare wooden bed. Thomas noticed a small wooden bucket lying near the foot of the bed, for the excrements of waste. The whole room reeked, but this little detail didn’t dampen Thomas Scott’s anger, in fact, it amplified it.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

During the early hours of the morning, the Orangeman was abruptly awakened by the creak of a cell door in the act of being opened. He lazily opened his eyes before propping himself up on his elbows to see if the sound was from his own cell. To his realization, the sound didn’t originate from his door, but from someone else’s in the vicinity. Out of curiosity, Thomas swung his legs over to the side of the bed and slowly made his way to the prison door for a glance. He grabbed hold of the metal bars to steady himself while looking around for the source of the racket to give a good yelling at.

The room three cells down and across from him had two Métis brutes in front of it, each holding a musket rifle. A sudden scream of anguish echoed through the hallway as two additional Métis grabbed what seemed to be a person by the arms outside the cell door. The man was pulled onto his feet before roughly pushed around, allowing Thomas to identify him as… Boulton!

“Get your hands off me!” Boulton resisted, but to no prevail. By then, the whole cell block was at a deafening noise level with complaints and vulgarity, no doubt directed towards the Métis.

A familiar figure shone its presence in the cell block, a man no other than Riel. He walked in nonchalantly with almost a smirk on his face as he stopped in front of Boulton. In a boisterous voice, Riel announced, “This man, bearing the name of Charles Boulton, is tried against for rebellion against the provisional government, and will likely be sentenced to-“

“Stop!” A voice boomed from down the hallway. All eyes, including Riel’s and his men were focused on the source of the outburst. The level of volume in the prison immediately jumped from ear-splitting, to what one might experience in a graveyard, just from this one simple interjection.

“Mr. Riel, I assure you that if you spare this man’s life, I will negotiate terms with you, and to the Canadian government about securing your own administration here in Red River.”

“And who might you be?” Riel asked in a sarcastic tone.

“Donald Smith.”

Thomas had heard of this man before, he was a negotiator sent by the Canadian Government to Red River to attempt to quell the rebellions. He had quite a bit of power and influence in Canada, but would he seriously consider giving these mongrels more power…?

“And how did you enter this fort without getting a bullet implemented in your body?”

“I was brought in to one of your officers, who I assumed, recognized immediately who I was.”

Riel stood silently for a second, his eyes sparking with contemplation. He had heard of a Donald Smith arriving at Red River from the government to quell the rebellions. This was unquestionably not an opportunity to pass up. For now, he thought, he shall play by Smith’s rules until he can test to see how much he could draw from this man.

“Release the Englishman.” Riel ordered in English, gesturing to Boulton.

The two natives lessened their grips, allowing Boulton to forcefully tear from their arms.

“Alright Mr. Smith, I have spared Boulton’s life, now, what will you be negotiating with?”

 Riel must also be a weak man, for letting such words alter the course of his actions. Thomas thought of this as a potential flaw in the Riel government, his unwillingness to kill just for a little more power. Thomas seethed at the sight of the scene, he’d had enough.

“Hey, Riel you mongrel! How come such simple words swayed your decisions so swiftly?” Thomas yelled across the hall with open contempt in every word. The hallway was slightly audible with scattered conversations throughout the cells.

One of the Métis whispered into Riel’s ear, significantly out of earshot before Riel swiftly walked over to Thomas’ cell, slightly curious to what this belligerent man wanted. Thomas drooped his head down at Riel’s boot for a moment before a drop of spit flew from the Orangeman’s mouth, to the native’s shoe. Thomas glanced up again, now eye to eye with Riel. Riel showed no signs of fear, anger, nor contempt. The native’s voice finally  broke the awkward silence, “So this is Thomas Scott. The man, who I’ve been told, that before his daring escape, caused a disturbance nearly everyday, and from the comforts of his cell as well. You know, Mr. Scott- insubordination, and defying the provisional government is in fact, punishable by han-”

“Now wait just a minute Riel! I-”

“Punishable, by Hanging.” Riel firmly announced, cutting off Smith. “I have done three good things since I have commenced; I have spared Boulton's life at your instance, I pardoned Gaddy, and now I shall shoot Scott.”

Thomas scoffed at Riel’s threat. “I would rather die fighting, than fall subordinate under a delinquent such as yourself Mr. Riel.” He had no regrets. And even if he did die by the hand of this native, at least he died fighting and resistant.

Navigation

[0] Message Index