Brushwood [Open to 1/2 members of the 3ID]

[George O'Brian]

OOC: This is set in the morning of the 8 November 1942. The 3ID’s first role in combat, landing near Fedala, Morocco, as part of Operation Torch. Hence, if you take part consider your rank and your characters reactions.

Jesus, I’m only twenty-four. That’s far too young to die, isn’t it? Scared, Private First Class O’Brian had hardly noticed the beautiful sunrise over Western Africa. Instead he was more interested in staying alive on his baptism of fire to combat. Landing at Fedala hadn’t been too bad, yes the sea was a bit choppy and yes the French had thrown a lot of explosive shit at the landing Americans, but few casualties had been sustained, an “acceptable” number.

They had secured the beachheads and were now moving inland, towards some French-held villages en route to there main objective, the city of Casablanca. They had been given three days to make it to the city and surround, but good old Major-General Anderson had promised it would be done within two.

And now, Private First Class O’Brian and his platoon were patrolling on foot towards the village. First Platoon, the lucky bastards, were moving towards the village along the road with tank support, whereas Second Platoon, O’Brian’s was to flank it and set up behind the French with machine guns and anti-armour weapons.

Not that O’Brian had been allowed to touch the Brownings or the new bazookas, and instead was lugging the platoon’s radio, a large green-painted metal box with “U.S. Army” stamped on it. Because green was the perfect colour to avoid detection on North Africa. Military intelligence was a lovely oxymoron. Instead, he was armed with an issue M1 Garand, not that he had anything against the weapon, and a Colt M1911 handgun. Attached to one of the d-rings hanging from the straps of the radio was a single fragmentation grenade, something his Sergeant had given him on the logical understanding that “It’s better they’re spread around than me getting killed with all of them.”

Spread out at uneven intervals to avoid being mown down by the French machine guns that weren’t meant to be facing them (a comment met with much derision from the platoon), O’Brian couldn’t really talk with anybody as they moved, instead he just had to worry about keeping his hands in exactly the same position on his Garand to stop them from being burnt, and worrying about how quickly his nose had turned red and started to peel. Hopefully it would not shine enough to be spotted by any enemy soldiers.

[MT.Deven Brown]

Deven was in a convy truck with two wounded soldiers on stretchers. The rotten smell of blood had filled his nose, he was used to it, but it was to much. Deven had just stuck a morphine syrette in a soldiers arm to calm the soldier down. The soldier started moaning softly, Deven took a look a the guys leg. It was missing, then turned away as the truck stoped and he heard the truck driver say "Can you take one more Deven?" Deven yelled "Yeah bring him in" but not to loud.

A few moments later two soldiers was carrying someone on a stretcher he was bleeding hard, Deven spotted the wound, quickly he put his hand on the wound to try to stop the blood while he reached in his medical bag on his side. He grabbed his surgery kit and put gloves on both hands while blood squarted on his clothes. He looked for broken skin then put three fingers in the wound digging for the artery.

He heard the soldier let out a scream, then Deven said "Calm down! And keep still!". Deven felt the artery slip into his fingers. He inserted the artery until he felt it tapping the clamp. Quickly he opened the clamp and slide it around the artery, then locked it down. Deven was about to apply a dressing when another medic came running up behind the truck saying "Your being moved to second platoon, they need you more the first platoon does, i'll finish what your doing just hury up".

When Deven got out he said "Go through does trees and you'll find them" Deven nodded and ran through some trees hearing the medics voice saying "Look for Sgt.George O' Brian". When about two minutes pass he was with second platoon. Deven asked a Private "Where's Sgt. George O' Brian" quietly. He pointed to a guy not to far from them. Deven ran quietly, his head low to the man and said "Deven Brown reporting for duty" quitly but loud enough for the Sgt. to hear him

[PFC. Joey Toniatti]

Never in history has the navy landed an army at the planned time and place. But if you land us anywhere within 50 miles of Fedela and within 1 week of D-Day. I'll go ahead and win. -Major General George Patton

God damn was he right. The fucking United States army fucked up the plan once again. First wave gets in, gets mowed down and any one left was pinned. The Germans get time to ready for yet another landing and that one gets showered with Artillery. Joey was in the second wave that got hit with the artillery. It was such a great welcoming gift for the young men in the landing craft.

Right after all forces had landed the Allies pushed their way up the beach and soon enough controlled the beach heads of Morocco. This was only a small feat to the capture of the quite large country for there was still much land left. There was a lot of oil in the area; this gave North Africa some value, other then that it was covered in sand. The abundance of sand made Joey wants to break out volleyball and play some beach volleyball. It was the only sensible thing to do in his mind.

The heat had also gotten to him; it made sweat drip from his helmet. How much more uncomfortable could it get right now? Joey was afraid if he dropped to the ground the sand and dirt would stick to him, although with his dark Italian skin you probably wouldn’t notice it. If you looked at the platoon you would notice that they were all carrying more then just their weapon. Browning 30. Cal’s, Bazookas, Recoilless Rifles. You name it; they were carrying it on their backs or in their hands.

In Joey’s hands? Well he had a Tri pod for a Browning on his back and his rifle in his hands. Though the more they walked the worse the heat got to Joey. He was tired and hot but also needed something to eat. Joey’s stomach would rumble almost every few minutes making him wish there was an easy source of food around. He wanted badly to get back to the beach and eat but this platoon was chosen to make there way into a, what was believed to be, an Axis Controlled town. It was thought of that the axes were dug in and it would surely be a bitch to get them out. All of this went through his head but Joey kept walking speeding his way up to there NCO Sergeant O’Brian. Finally walking next to him Joey turned his head and asked him ”Hey uh Sarge how much longer before we make it there?”

[George O'Brian]

As the medic ran up to him, quite a feat bearing in mind the heat and the large medic bag he wore, O’Brian couldn’t help but question as to why he had been approached. ”You’ll want to see the Looey, over there.” He raised an arm, pointing towards the platoon commander, and carried on moving, not giving the medic a second glance. A few moments later, one of the guys from his squad came up, lugging with him the tripod of a Browning and a few cases of ammo.

”Unsure, Toniatti, probably a few more minutes. Make sure you keep hydrated, OK.” He made it clear that it wasn’t a question after all a Sergeant shouldn’t need the permission of a Private. He carried on trudging, the ground slowly sloping upwards. He looked up, searching for the platoon sergeant, Technical Sergeant Matthews. He was a few yards in front of him, so O’Brian quickened his pace slightly to catch up. ”Hey Tech,” he began, scanning around for targets, ”we got much further to go?”

”We’re going to set up at the top of this ridge, base of fire then we’ll consider advancing.”After a quick acknowledgement, O’Brian slowed down, letting Toniatti catch up. ”Top of this ridge, Private. We’ll stop there, get with your MG.” The news that they would be stopping soon encouraged the entire platoon for the last couple of hundred yards, a few lame smiles emerged as they reached the top.

The squad leaders, O’Brian included, quickly set about preparing their squad. Firstly, O’Brian made sure that all his squad’s machine guns were set up, moving between the two machine guns his squad had – one for each fireteam. After that, he began organising some very quick digging in, small holes in the hillside to provide not only basic cover from fire or from artillery, but also to move the top layers of baking sand and allowing his squad some comfort in the North African desert. Setting up near the middle of his squad’s line, Sergeant O’Brian dug his own hole, quickly and quietly. His rifle and radio were folded amongst his raincoat, to keep the sun off of them and help avoid turning them in to two blistering lumps of metal. The butt of his rifle was still sticking out, though, and he always had easy access to the Colt handgun at his waist.

There was no sense in rushing the establishment of the platoon’s base, they had plenty of time before the attack began, naval batteries were keeping the town suppressed, and they could turn a reasonable French attack back without too much difficulty.

[PFC. Joey Toniatti]

Every step seemed to just drag on to the next one due to the incredible heat. There was certainly a lot to complain about in North Africa seeing as it was vastly a huge desert that covered up an even bigger oil field. It seemed as if the countries in this war were just so keen on taking this over that the rest of the war in Europe kind of just subsided for a little bit. This chunk of desert meant a lot to the Allies and they weren’t just going to let it go into axis hands that easily.

Joey kept walking only slowing down a bit to wipe his neck off from the dripping sweat. The heat was still getting to him and as the Sergeant answered Toniatti’s question he advised him to keep drinking. It was nothing less then and excellent idea in temperatures and weather like this. Looking at the amounts of dry land, mostly made of sand, Joey could tell there hadn’t been much rain for a while now.

As they neared the ridge Joey began to slow down a bit to reach for his canteen. It was strapped across his shoulders so that the canteen itself could rest in front of his chest. This made it for easy access when you were walking and couldn’t stop to dig around in your pack or your pockets. Joey grabbed a hold of the cap and began to twist it left remembering the old righty tighty left loosy sayings until the cap was off and dangling about on the side of the canteen. He then lifted it up to his mouth downing about one quarter of the jar to quench his thirst for a little bit but also left some water for later on. Joey did hope that they would end up a place where supplies, food, and water were in and abundance.

Soon enough they were nearly one hundred yards from their destination as Sergeant O’Brian veered off a bit to talk to one of the higher ranked NCO’s around the ridge. Joey could barely hear what they said but he heard something about setting up on the ridge ahead and then defending it before and offensive. Though his ears could have played him wrong on this one he kept walking to the hill but with a bit of a hop in his step due to the short distance left.

Soon enough the platoon had reached the hill and Joey couldn’t be anymore relieved. Moving into position Joey first set down his gun and un-slung his tripod from his back and set the rest of his equipment with it on the ground. Next he took of his Jacket laying it over the equipment to stop the medal parts from getting too hot in the baking sun. Nodding at the orders that were given Joey picked up a nearby shovel to begin digging his and his loader’s holes. After they were finished digging he swiftly moved the equipment he brought into the hole and kept the jacket over the top of everything that was not being used. The gunner was now helping to move some sand bags into position over the foxholes making a cheap make shift bunker. It would hold for what they were going to use it for. Lastly Joey grabbed the tripod and set it up onto the sand bags so that there would be a proper angle on the assault. Next Joey finished by helping set the Browning 30 Cal. Machine gun onto the tripod base and helped load the first rounds of ammunition into it. He set the BAR onto his side just in case and waited. It wouldn’t be long before those damn Frenchies were waving in at them.

[George O'Brian]

Making a final sweep of his squad's defences, O'Brian settled down in to his own foxhole, sitting in the sand and cradling his Garand. He craned his neck, searching for the headquarters element of the platoon, looking for a signal on what to do. They were still digging, making sure everything was perfect before the assault began.

Reaching under his shirt, George brought out his binoculars, focusing them slightly as he zoomed in on the French-held township. There was definite movement, a few pieces of artillery, mortars, machine gun nests. It was being set up for an attack on all sides - just lovely. Doubtless, there would be snipers, tanks hidden around in the village. Right now, Second Platoon was probably under observation by a keen-eyed spotter, perhaps preparing to bring mortars and death raining down upon them. At that thought, George retreated in his hole slightly, trying to get as much cover as possible from the meagre defences.

"Keep sharp, boys," he murmured, knowing that they would have fingers on their weapons, making sure it was ready for combat. O'Brian did a brass-check on his weapon, ensuring their was a round in a position to be fired, and clicked the safety-catch off. It was now very much live and deadly, a dangerous killing machine completing the warrior look of O'Brian. A grubby face with lines where the sweat had dripped under a metal helmet.

A loud bang echoed from the town, and half a moment later, a bullet impact shook the trenches. Spinning his head, he shouted "get down, get down!" He found the victim, a machine gunner. Gulping down air to pysche himself up, he bounded over the edge of his foxhole, ran a few metres and leapt in to the wounded hole. He quickly reached down, checking for a pulse, but it was a fatal wound - the round went right between his eyes. The gunner was probably dead before he hit the ground.

"Check targets! Find him!" The platoon were now standing-to, lying at the edge of the ridge, weapons ready looking for a target. A shout came out from along the line, "Got him. Large white tower, far right of the town." O'Brian moved his line of sight, focusing on the target in his binoculars. Definately a target. "Open fire! Machine gunners, get him down!"

[PFC. Joey Toniatti]

The heat was really getting to Joey now as the sun began to bake on the men in the sand. Joey sat there in his hole and began to inspect his equipment, from what he saw everything was there. His canteen, which had just been filled, the helmet was on Joey’s head, the backpack with all the necessary equipment for survival was in the hole, covered by a large combat blanket, and his BAR. The BAR had been a sort of lifeline for him, the only thing that was keeping him alive at the moment.

Joey turned to his partner and began to engage in conversation to pass the time and possibly forget about the heat, or even the horrors of war for a few minutes. ”Pretty damn hot out ya’ think?” The young man next to Joey and nodded, he told him the heat didn’t bother him as much as he put a wet cloth inside of his helmet. It helped keep him cool for the duration of the time they would be out during the day. Joey thought about doing that himself as he came back with ”Well at least we can act like we’re all out on the beach…”

Joey’s voice was cut off by a sudden gun shot and then some warm liquid hitting the cheek of Joey. ”What the…” Looking to his right Joey noticed that the shot had hit directly at his partner, puncturing his neck and killing him instantly as it cracked his spine directly in two pieces. Joey was struck in instant horror but it was instincts to drop his head down bellow the wall of sandbags above the dug in fox hole.

Joey decided he had to be the gunner this time and hop onto the .30 Cal. It would make no since at all to keep his head down in a hole while his Comrades were getting fired on and trying to get rid of the sniper. With that Joey popped up and got onto the gun, looking for the white tower the Sergeant had pointed out the sniper had been in. Joey finally found the tower and lined the sites up directly on the opening, where he saw a body standing, aiming towards the holes next to him. With that Joey pulled the trigger and let out a burst of fire until he finally heard screamed over the machine gun fire ”He’s toasted!” A bit of a grin came across Joey’s face as he began to settle back down in the hole once more.