Riverside Outpost

[William Reid]

Time of Day (24 Hour Clock): 22:48
Current Weather Conditions: Dark, limited but OK visibility. Warm despite the lateness of the hour.

In retrospect, that bridge was a lot more trouble than it deserved.

- Diary of Lt William Reid

Barely able to see the five yards in front of him, Lieutenant William Reid did not like the dark one bit. Tactically, it created a nightmare, for all he knew a crack team of German SS soldiers could be circling behind him; ready to give his soldiers the good news with an MG42. Not at all feeling comfortable with that idea, he adjusted his grip on his Lee Enfield rifle; feeling above the bolt to make sure the safety catch was switched off.

Reaching in to the left breast pocket of his blouse, he pulled out a small piece of paper. Pulling his overcoat over his head, he checked the writing with a tiny torch. He liked to have an account of all men present with him, in case the unthinkable happened, which he had grown to learn was entirely possible on the battlefield.

Squad 1
Lt. Reid
Cpl. Geange
L/Cpl. Hilson
Pte. Green (First Platoon)
Pte. Anderson
Pte. Simmons
Pte. Watson
Pte. Smith (First Platoon)
Pte. Llewellyn (First Platoon)

Squad 2
Sgt. Toye
Cpl. Williams
L/Cpl. Banks
Pte. Kay
Pte. Higginson
Pte. White
Pte. Hughes
Pte. Lewis
Pte. Clarke

They had been by the river for several hours now, waiting for the engineers to arrive. The platoon had convened by the buildings for a quick briefing, which Reid was prepared to deliver now he had performed an impromptu roll. The September evening was quite warm, despite the darkness, clouds had rolled over and they were trapping in the day’s heat. It was by no means short-sleeved weather, and all the man had the arms of their blouses down at their wrists, but they were comfortable.

”Listen in, platoon,” started Reid, ”We need to stay vigilant. We know that enemy shells have landed by here, so we need to be ready to take a stand in case they attempt to retake this bridge. Chances are, they were trying to soften us up earlier. Now, I trust you’re all fed, watered and ready. All weapons are to be ready to fire, and anybody approaching the bridge is to be treated as hostile. Anybody trying to cross through the water is hostile.” His voice was quite quiet, he was doing his best not to make it carry. ”Sergeant Toye, carry on. First squad, come with me.”

The two squads split off, getting in to defensive positions on the flanks of the village. Lance-Corporal Hilson lay prone in the doorway of the building, a small pile of Bren magazines next to him. Privates Anderson and Simmons were besides him, ready to help spot targets, reload, and provide further fire. The rest of the squad was inside the building, sat down behind the wall as not to produce any silhouettes, even though that was practically impossible with the lighting.

Second Squad held down the right flank, Lance-Corporal Banks in the doorway besides Higginson and Kay, a soldier armed with a scoped Lee Enfield and a very proud sharpshooters badge hidden under his uniform. He had proved useful in the daylight, but he was moaning quietly to the Lance-Corporal that ”I can do jack-shit with this light.”
”Neither can I, Private,” was the by now slightly exhausted reply. Sergeant Toye was inside, Sten gun resting on his lap, eyes closed to review a mental map of the area. He knew there was a trench directly in front of the building, about thirty feet away. This would be useful certainly. Their were also some craters to the West, which would provide good cover, in case any enemy artillery came to the party. The men were all settling down for some more waiting, praying for a bit of action to liven the night.

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[Fredrick Davidson]

The United Kingdom declared war against the Republic of Finland on December 6th, 1941. Although the few attacks they had attempted against Finnish soil had been colossal failures on the part of the attackers, SS-Unterscharführer Fredrick Davidson still thought of this as a slap in the face of his homeland’s honor, and a patriotic rage filled inside him that could only be quenched with English blood. But it would be difficult to feed the blood thirst, Finnish volunteers in the SS were meant to only fight on the Eastern Front, and the Soviets posed a much more dangerous and immediate threat. Still, Fredrick would not rest until he got his revenge and finally, two years after the unprovoked declaration, the SS-Unterscharführer and a squad of likeminded comrades journeyed from frozen Russia to sunny Italy.

There was no sun over Fredrick’s trench, obviously, it was midnight after all. An unusually, at least for him, warm night that he appreciated greatly, no need to decide between freezing your toes off or having a fire that gave away your position. Hopefully the rest of his men were also comfortable in their trenches as they passed the time by checking their gear, enlarging their holes in the ground, or just staring aimlessly into the thick darkness that surrounded them.

After taking a quick inspection of the east trench, making sure that they were around an even four foot, checking if the machineguns and their protective sandbag bunkers were set up and ready for action, and just seeing if the men were alright, Fred slipped back into the other fortified position to do the same. No words were exchanged between the SS-Unterscharführer and his subordinates because none were needed. Just his presence among his men should be enough to calm their nerves and level their heads as they held the line against the unknown. After returning to his personal spot in the trench and putting his helmet and pack on again, which he had removed to silence his inspection incase the enemy was near, he took a long gaze into onto the black ahead of him. Supposedly there was a bridge and some buildings a few yards in that direction, but for all he could see it might have been the British Headquarters. Perhaps they were even looking back towards him.

“Olen ilahduttava hankkia jotta aikaistaa tänä iltana.” The soldier beside him whispered, his identity shrouded by the darkness that turned him into a featureless shape, “Joka osata mikä te ajelu ardor kotona nyt kuluva himmeys.”

“Jaa” Davidson replied, “Aber sich erinnern , null Finne. Heute wir sind Deutsch.” And the subordinate apologized in the language of the flag they were now fighting under. While they were there for revenge, none of foreign volunteers in the trench were crazy. They were all perfectly aware of the tragic consequences for their homeland if the British found Finns in Italy. And they all took their own precautions to become a normal German soldier, just incase they were captured, or worst. Hopefully neither.

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[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

OOC: Heiko, could you remove the sand bag bunkers from mine and Davidson’s profiles; they are the sandbags surrounding the MGs.

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A river crossing? A fucking river crossing! Is that all high command thought their Unterärtzlichführer was capable of? Idiots.

Strumfelder stood on the fire step of his small section of the trench. He had his binoculars pressed up to face, reviewing the enemy’s preparations. He was pleased to see some activity after all this time. Strumfelder’s job was the make sure that bridge stayed intact, so that a Wehrmacht infantry battalion following behind could comfortably cross the bridge. Why the hell couldn’t they take their own bloody bridge for themselves?

Digging these damn trenches had been exotic. The men had built the small slit trenches just in front of Strumfelder’s position, but pioneers had to build the mortar pits, because they were that much deeper. Every now and then, a plane would fly over and everyone would dash to the forest edges, like rats into darkness. After the plane passed, work would continue. With everybody pitching in, and Strumfelder supervising with his blow horn, work was completely in just a few hours. By the time the allies had appeared at dusk, the earth works had been completed, and Strumfelder was sitting in his trench, drinking a disgusting cup of acorn coffee some backward grenadier had made him.

Now he watched the enemy positions carefully. If they weren’t so close, he would have considered sending over a close target recce team, but there was no point in wasting Aryan blood pointlessly. The river was flowing quickly, and would probably be a menace to cross. Strumfelder smiled. The bridge, that probably had anti-infantry mines attached somewhere on it. It was wooden, so a flare should have set it on fire, but the mortars could probably demolish it with half a dozen shells. The buildings: death traps. A few shells and they would become concrete coffins for all the stupid soldiers huddled inside them. Strumfelder could just imagine the roofs giving way, and crashing down like thousands of razor blades onto the men inside. The walls would give, and several tonnes of brick and mortar would crush the men like a huge fly swat. And then the 150mm shells would come...

He could see a Bren gunner inside a doorway with what appeared to be a sharp shooter next to him. And how was this sharp shooter meant to concentrate with a light machinegun blasting away next to his ear...? Strumfelder looked deeper into the buildings, and could see the men had opted to crowd around the walls, which 7.92 bullets would carve through comfortably.

His glaze moved to the next building along. A Bren gunner sat again in the doorway, aiming slap bang along the mined bridge. What a nice, easy target for a lump of shrapnel. Strumfelder loved the intelligence and military sense these soldiers were applying to their defences.

Now the comparison to his own position. Men, dug in, holding the flanks of the bridge, ready with bullets and bayonets to do their duty. Two MG42s, surrounded by bunkers of sandbags, something Strumfelder had learnt to build in Afrika. Only a small slit at the front allowed the muzzle to protrude, and the gunner to see his target. Good luck, Mr Sniper, with you Bren gunner right next to you; that’ll keep your breathing and heartbeat steady.

Behind them, his mortar positions, set out exactly as the field manual specifies. He’d made sure they had very large stocks of shells, all packed just around the corner of their position. We wouldn’t want an unlucky grenade causing hell now, would we? Apocalyptic bombardment was key to this plan.

The plan. How long would it take the British to realise his plan? Ten minutes, twenty minutes? Ten dead, twenty dead? Strumfelder smiled, and then sniggered, and then began to laugh outright, loudly.

“Was so lustig ist, Herr Unterärtzlichführer?” the signaller asked. He wasn’t used to Strumfelder; he was attached from another company.

“Sie sind. Jene Idioten. Dort liegen wie… wie Lämmer zum Gemetzel. Äußerst unwissend. Wir zerquetschen sie, wie die Ratten, die sie sind. Und wenn sie jede sind, die drei ihrer Glieder verfehlt, wissen sie, dass das Führer Deutschland Oberstes anordnet.” Strumfelder stepped down from the firing step, and tucked his binos away.

He looked at the two men. “Singen Si e mit mir,” he bellowed, so all nearby men could hear. Something to scare the enemy, and raise the spirits.

“#Deutschland, Deutschland über alles! Über alles in der Welt! Wenn es...”

Translatoins
“ Was so lustig ist, Herr Unterärtzlichführer?”
- What’s so funny, Unterärtzlichführer?

“Sie sind. Jene Idioten. Dort liegen wie… wie Lämmer zum Gemetzel. Äußerst unwissend. Wir zerquetschen sie, wie die Ratten, die sie sind. Und wenn sie jede sind, die drei ihrer Glieder verfehlt, wissen sie, dass das Führer Deutschland Oberstes anordnet.”
- They are. Those idiots. Lying there like... like lambs to the slaughter. Utterly ignorant. We will crush them, like the rats they are. And when they are each missing three of their limbs, they will know that the Führer’s Germany rules supreme.

“#Deutschland, Deutschland über alles! Über alles in der Welt!”
- Germany, Germany over all! Over all in the World!

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

Moderation Post:

I've been asked to assume moderation responsibility over this thread by Heiko, he has pressing matters that have him occupied elsewhere.

So far there is no need for a hostile mod post but I do feel the need to clear up this visibility issue.

Jul 9, 2010 16:13:51 GMT ♠ Pvt. Tristan Green said:

Time of Day (24 hour clock): 22:48
Current Weather Conditions: Dark, limited but OK visibility. Warm despite the lateness of the hour.

The way I see it visibility wouldn't be perfect, nor would it be only a few yards. I figure about 20 to 25 meters of good visibility is realistic and beyond that things would become vague. The outline of a building is possible, just like one can always see the horizon unless there is a storm. Sorry Strum but the bit about seeing their troops is gonna have to be voided out. And Nathan, "barely five yards"? Is this a hand to hand crossing? So unless anyone has a huge objection with proof to the 20-25 meter visibility range I say we continue with that.

-JT

As the orginal mod, I to support JT's call.

-Heiko

[William Reid]

Lieutenant Reid moved slightly restlessly. He just had the niggling feeling that they should move. He couldn’t put a finger on why, he just felt like staying in these huts too long wasn’t going to end well for his men. He looked around the room, before making a decision and calling over Corporal Geange. ”Corporal, you remember where Sergeant Toye and his men are, no?” Reid’s soft voice was coming out at a murmur, so nobody hiding in ambush could hear their plans. ”I want you to tell him to advance to the trench. Make sure he keeps his men low and spread out. Once you’ve done that, return to us, we’ll be advancing on the shell-holes by then, so don’t expect anybody in here. Understand? Oh, and tell the Sergeant that he has full authority to do whatever he feels is necessary and tactically viable.”

With a quick acknowledgement, Corporal Geange left the building via the back door, knowing if he walked straight, and used the buildings either side of him as a guide he would reach the other British building with no problems. Lee Enfield in hand, he began moving quickly but quietly over to the Sergeant.

Reid now took the chance to address the rest of the squad. ”We’re moving ahead, and taking positions in the foxholes. Make sure you spread yourselves over, and watch your footing as we advance on them. We’re going to move in single file, with about a three yard interval between everybody. Hilson, I want you on point, and get yourself set up with a firing platform as soon as possible. If anything happens, hit the floor, but keep crawling forward. Any questions anybody?”

With the answer from everybody being their on hushed variant of “no, sir,” weapons were picked up, and a rough line was formed. Reid would be roughly halfway through the line, and he waited his turn, as one by one the British soldiers moved out, bent double and not making a single noise before one by one clambering down in to fox holes. As Reid reached the door, he gave the man in front of him a few seconds to get his distance before he started moving, quickly crossing the springy grass before lowering himself in to a foxhole. He recognised Private Simmons in front of him, or at least, he was fairly sure it was Simmons that said ”Hello, Sir.”

Meanwhile, Corporal Geange made it round to Sergeant Toye, and quickly entered the room finding the man in question. He took a knee next to him, before delivering the whispered brief. ”Sergeant, Sir wants you to advance on the trench and take up a position there. He says that you have full authority to do what you want. Sir and his men are in the foxholes on your left-flank.”

After quick thanks from Sergeant Toye, Corporal Geange left the building through the backdoor, following the same route which he had taken from Reid’s building, returning just in time to join the back of the queue for the foxholes.

Sergeant Toye’s men advanced on their trench in a very similar manner to Reid’s men. However, instead of filing one by one in to the foxholes, they spread out as they left the building, forming a long line from either end of the trench, staggered slightly. They moved in silence, all ready to dive down on the ground in case they came under fire from an unknown assailant.

After half a minute of movement, the entire squad was in the trench. It was deep enough so that if they stepped down from the firing step their entire body was below the rim of the trench. The dirt was dried and rather solid, giving them a sturdy platform to fire from. With two automatic weapons in the trench, and a sniper’s rifle with a well-trained marksman, the right flank was very secure, something that Lieutenant Reid took as a large confidence booster. It meant that, assuming the Germans he was fighting had half a brain; there was very little chance of being outflanked from the right.

Movement
Map

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

Um...is it not Green's post?

-JT



****EDIT****

I was unaware that Private Green had already been skipped in the rotation. Explains the small bit of God-modding. Carry on.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

Mod Post:

I'm extremely tired, but I'm stuck sitting here for another 4 hours, so I'm putting this up and it's not gonna be really fancy, you can hate me later when I'm entirely coherant

RESULT: DRAW!

Nothing really happened and neither side caused any damage, and no bodies of water were crossed other than possibly a puddle of urine.

Reid - 5CP - two posts, and the only combatant that is still here to ask this be closed.

Davidson - 2CP - one post.

Strum - 2CP - one post.

Green - 0CP - yeah

Lemme add up the kills and losses for you guys.

13 guys picked at random died from a meteor, another 4 died from rabid skunk attacks, and anyone that was remaining choked on thier own saliva from watching and laughing histerically at grown men and trained soldiers be attacked by little furry, grunting, half waddling, rodents

Jul 13, 2010 22:29:06 GMT William Reid said:

In retrospect, that bridge was a lot more trouble than it deserved.

- Diary of Lt William Reid

Hope you all enjoyed it!

-JT