Post by 2LT. Adrian Cruz on Jul 12, 2010 17:30:11 GMT
Country: Western Tunisia, North Africa
Date: 21st of February, 1943, 0200 Hours
Weather: Light winds on a cold North African Night
The 1st Ranger Battalion had been stretched thin over the past two days. Two companies had been holding large amounts of territory alongside the 16th Infantry and the 1st Armored. But Rommel had been running rampant. Every time the American forces or the British had made a move, that slimy Kraut had been two steps ahead. The company Adrian's platoon resided in had been put on reserves so they could be stretched out to reinforce both British and American lines as needed. Adrian had been briefed by his CO the morning before, his platoon had been sent to reinforce a battered American force along the area of Faïd, a place he really couldn't pronounce the name of.
Adrian had been sent to move out at midnight, but they had been halted regularly by sporadic German and Italian machine gun fire. Other than two injuries, there had been no casualties among his platoon. For that, he was thankful. As the platoon of Rangers advanced through the dune-filled plains near Faïd, Adrian regularly checked his map. He had learned during his first weeks in North Africa, how easily one could get lost because most of Tunisia looked the same. As they advanced, Adrian called for a halt. He raised his hand up and the whole platoon dropped down.
"Alright boys, since we're already late to the party. Lets take a small break. Get some water down and if you got any food eat some. Because when we get to the Limeys, I don't think we are going to have time for a meal," said Adrian to the men around him.
The Lieutenant followed suit of everyone else and dug through his pack. He retrieved a tin of capers and took his knife out of its sheath. He opened the can and began to dig out the salted fish with the tip of the knife. It wasn't his favorite food in the world and if he didn't have to eat it, he probably wouldn't. But he also knew that all the sweating that took place in North Africa took away from a soldier's salt reserves. As he ate, the Lieutenant sighed. He missed his mother's spaghetti. Right now it would be heaven. The M1 in his lap twinkled in the moonlight. The metal receiver was scratched up from countless times of plopping it in the sand.
Adrian looked down to his tan boots. They felt a bit sandy. He put down his capers and his knife and undid his boot leggings. Untying his right boot, he turned it over and dumped what looked to be a gallon of sand out of it. Repeating with the left, he found the same result. He put the boots back on and retied his leggings. He remembered his first night in North Africa. He had forgot to put his boots in a high place and found a scorpion in his left boot in the morning. It had scared him so bad that he nearly screamed like a little girl. From than on, Adrian checked his boots every morning for the suckers. He would be glad when Rommel was finally finished so he could either go home or go somewhere else. Scorpions were the bane of his existence. Adrian picked the caper tin back up and quickly ate the rest. He buried the tin in the sand and grabbed his canteen. He opened the cap and took a swig. The cool water dutifully got the taste of the salted fish out of his mouth.
Adrian shifted to a more comfortable position and dug through his pockets. He found his pack of Camel cigarettes and got one out. He grabbed a book of matches and lit one. Placing the match to the tip of the cigarette, the Lieutenant inhaled. He watched as the flame lit the tip of the cigarette and took a drag. He shook the match out and looked up to the sky. Only in Africa could he see all the stars in the sky. It was a site that he didn't see in New Ark or Minnesota. They were beautiful, a stark contrast to the war raging around him. If he hadn't been a soldier and there hadn't been a world war, he might have visited Africa one day.
Adrian looked down to his watch and saw it had just hit 0200. 2 A.M. in the morning never seemed so peaceful. Adrian looked to his men, they were huddled together, talking in hushed voices as they ate and smoked. Brotherhood, that was what war did to men that probably never would have known each other otherwise. They were all here for one reason, all of them were Rangers which meant they were volunteers. They all wanted to stick it to Hitler. Each and every one of them laid their lives in Adrian's hands. They all expected nothing short of the best out of him, and he expected nothing less than obedience and one hell of a fight out of them. No Kraut was going to kill a Ranger that didn't want to fight. Adrian had seen great bravery out of all the men in his platoon, company and battalion. They were Rangers, they were expected to be ass-kickers.
Date: 21st of February, 1943, 0200 Hours
Weather: Light winds on a cold North African Night
The 1st Ranger Battalion had been stretched thin over the past two days. Two companies had been holding large amounts of territory alongside the 16th Infantry and the 1st Armored. But Rommel had been running rampant. Every time the American forces or the British had made a move, that slimy Kraut had been two steps ahead. The company Adrian's platoon resided in had been put on reserves so they could be stretched out to reinforce both British and American lines as needed. Adrian had been briefed by his CO the morning before, his platoon had been sent to reinforce a battered American force along the area of Faïd, a place he really couldn't pronounce the name of.
Adrian had been sent to move out at midnight, but they had been halted regularly by sporadic German and Italian machine gun fire. Other than two injuries, there had been no casualties among his platoon. For that, he was thankful. As the platoon of Rangers advanced through the dune-filled plains near Faïd, Adrian regularly checked his map. He had learned during his first weeks in North Africa, how easily one could get lost because most of Tunisia looked the same. As they advanced, Adrian called for a halt. He raised his hand up and the whole platoon dropped down.
"Alright boys, since we're already late to the party. Lets take a small break. Get some water down and if you got any food eat some. Because when we get to the Limeys, I don't think we are going to have time for a meal," said Adrian to the men around him.
The Lieutenant followed suit of everyone else and dug through his pack. He retrieved a tin of capers and took his knife out of its sheath. He opened the can and began to dig out the salted fish with the tip of the knife. It wasn't his favorite food in the world and if he didn't have to eat it, he probably wouldn't. But he also knew that all the sweating that took place in North Africa took away from a soldier's salt reserves. As he ate, the Lieutenant sighed. He missed his mother's spaghetti. Right now it would be heaven. The M1 in his lap twinkled in the moonlight. The metal receiver was scratched up from countless times of plopping it in the sand.
Adrian looked down to his tan boots. They felt a bit sandy. He put down his capers and his knife and undid his boot leggings. Untying his right boot, he turned it over and dumped what looked to be a gallon of sand out of it. Repeating with the left, he found the same result. He put the boots back on and retied his leggings. He remembered his first night in North Africa. He had forgot to put his boots in a high place and found a scorpion in his left boot in the morning. It had scared him so bad that he nearly screamed like a little girl. From than on, Adrian checked his boots every morning for the suckers. He would be glad when Rommel was finally finished so he could either go home or go somewhere else. Scorpions were the bane of his existence. Adrian picked the caper tin back up and quickly ate the rest. He buried the tin in the sand and grabbed his canteen. He opened the cap and took a swig. The cool water dutifully got the taste of the salted fish out of his mouth.
Adrian shifted to a more comfortable position and dug through his pockets. He found his pack of Camel cigarettes and got one out. He grabbed a book of matches and lit one. Placing the match to the tip of the cigarette, the Lieutenant inhaled. He watched as the flame lit the tip of the cigarette and took a drag. He shook the match out and looked up to the sky. Only in Africa could he see all the stars in the sky. It was a site that he didn't see in New Ark or Minnesota. They were beautiful, a stark contrast to the war raging around him. If he hadn't been a soldier and there hadn't been a world war, he might have visited Africa one day.
Adrian looked down to his watch and saw it had just hit 0200. 2 A.M. in the morning never seemed so peaceful. Adrian looked to his men, they were huddled together, talking in hushed voices as they ate and smoked. Brotherhood, that was what war did to men that probably never would have known each other otherwise. They were all here for one reason, all of them were Rangers which meant they were volunteers. They all wanted to stick it to Hitler. Each and every one of them laid their lives in Adrian's hands. They all expected nothing short of the best out of him, and he expected nothing less than obedience and one hell of a fight out of them. No Kraut was going to kill a Ranger that didn't want to fight. Adrian had seen great bravery out of all the men in his platoon, company and battalion. They were Rangers, they were expected to be ass-kickers.
