Post by ♠ Pvt. Tristan Green on Jul 11, 2010 17:33:06 GMT
OOC: Any 3ID member can enter (up to two). Might be nice to RP with Patty...? 
1944, Normandy
"I'll park the truck, you get moving!"
"Yes, 'corp!"
Tristan staggered forwards, the sealed orders clasped tightly in his hands. Beads of sweat glistened on his handsome face, his hair glued down to his scalp by perspiration.
The British had been, as ever, working closely with their American allies and that night, an imperative and highly dangerous joint raid had been planned on a German-held farm house in the near vicinity. Elements from the British 7th Infantry Division and American 3rd Armoured had been planning the attack for weeks. But now, at the last minute it would have to be called off.
The enemy had discovered the plans. The British didn't know how. They only knew that three armoured platoons of SS-troops had been drafted in to garrison the farmhouse and that an attack on an enemy of such a size would be suicidal.
In light of this, the British had called off the attack at the last minute. The Americans hadn't. They had known nothing of these developments and were but minutes away from attacking the enemy, doubtless on a course of ruin and destruction.
So Tristan had been sent to warn the 3ID of the newly-discovered intelligence and to stop them from launching an attack at all costs. As he struggled towards the American camp, a wave of relief overcame the hopelessness that had gripped him. He had arrived in time to warn them. He had made it.
The two bored-looking guards raised their weapons as he approached but let them drop after recognizing the uniform of a British soldier. You'd better put that rifle down, thought Tristan absent-mindedly. It's been a good couple of wars since we were firing at each other.
And there's always a war to be fought. Somewhere...
"Private Green, 7th Armoured Division," he spluttered breathlessly. "I need to speak with whoever's in charge. Now!"
1944, Normandy
"I'll park the truck, you get moving!"
"Yes, 'corp!"
Tristan staggered forwards, the sealed orders clasped tightly in his hands. Beads of sweat glistened on his handsome face, his hair glued down to his scalp by perspiration.
The British had been, as ever, working closely with their American allies and that night, an imperative and highly dangerous joint raid had been planned on a German-held farm house in the near vicinity. Elements from the British 7th Infantry Division and American 3rd Armoured had been planning the attack for weeks. But now, at the last minute it would have to be called off.
The enemy had discovered the plans. The British didn't know how. They only knew that three armoured platoons of SS-troops had been drafted in to garrison the farmhouse and that an attack on an enemy of such a size would be suicidal.
In light of this, the British had called off the attack at the last minute. The Americans hadn't. They had known nothing of these developments and were but minutes away from attacking the enemy, doubtless on a course of ruin and destruction.
So Tristan had been sent to warn the 3ID of the newly-discovered intelligence and to stop them from launching an attack at all costs. As he struggled towards the American camp, a wave of relief overcame the hopelessness that had gripped him. He had arrived in time to warn them. He had made it.
The two bored-looking guards raised their weapons as he approached but let them drop after recognizing the uniform of a British soldier. You'd better put that rifle down, thought Tristan absent-mindedly. It's been a good couple of wars since we were firing at each other.
And there's always a war to be fought. Somewhere...
"Private Green, 7th Armoured Division," he spluttered breathlessly. "I need to speak with whoever's in charge. Now!"
