Post by George O'Brian on Jun 12, 2010 10:37:52 GMT
Introductory Posts (Neutral/Hostile): Neutral
Location (Board and Sub-Board): Italy, Gothic Line
Time of Day (24 Hour Clock): 1032 - 21/9/44
Current Weather Conditions: Sunny. Light NE breeze
Map: img337.imageshack.us/img337/264/crossing2.png
It had to be said, in the military some assignments were good, and some were the worst you could possibly imagine. As they went, this one wasn’t too bad. A battalion sized unit from the 3rd Infantry Division had been sent back to Italy to assist the “Gothic Line.” So, Sergeant O’Brian and his men were enjoying a not-too unpleasant November in Italy.
And, this assignment within the mission, to look after a small village was just fine and dandy. A handful of small stone buildings around a church provided plenty of cover, and a lookout atop the spire of the church would alert them of any men approaching.
In his building, O’Brian sat against the wall, cigarette in hand. His small “handie-talkie” was hanging from his side in its leather case, and his Garand sat on the floor next to him. Most of the men in the room were in a similar position, waiting. Although they weren’t under attack, every single one of them realised that they could soon be.
The newest addition to the squad was a demolitions expert, Private Edward Brooks. He had the heavy kit, with a bazooka and a shotgun to play with. There was a small pile of rockets in the room, so that everyone knew where they were if they needed to run them. Broken apart from O’Brian’s squad were two Privates, Hunter and Kessels in the westernmost building, an extra base of fire.
The remaining men were with Corporal Stuart in the Church. Wilson and Walsh were atop the tower, Wilson clutching O’Brian’s binoculars peering around looking for anybody approaching.
img809.imageshack.us/img809/264/crossing2.png
”Pass the light.”
Leaning against the cool stone wall, O’Brian felt quite content. Reaching an arm out, he caught the gunmetal cigarette lighter, and raised it to the small white stick coming out of his mouth. Lighting it, and puffing slightly to get the flame working he surveyed the room.
There were five men he could see from his current vantage point, Brooks, slowly sliding his hands up and down the M9 Bazooka in his hand, Green, McKay, McCartney, Grant and Malcolm were sat by the windows, also enjoying a cheeky smoke. In the small ante-room, Muldoon and Gennaro sat, talking quietly from the opposite windows. ”You guys all doing OK?”
Each man responded with their own affirmation to the Sergeant’s question, not taking there eyes from the doors or windows they were by. Nodding contently, O’Brian pulled his radio up to his ear, and began transmitting.
”Charlie Charlie, this is Charlie Baker. Comms check, over.”
Almost instantly, Private O’Neil got back. ”Charlie Baker, this is Charlie Charlie. Reading you four by five, over.”
”Charlie Charlie, roger, out.”
Putting the radio back down, he relaxed slightly. The balance of his men were with the very able Corporal Stuart stationed in the church. Unless a tank came rolling over the hill, very little would be touching them, and there was plenty of warning if one did come. If. Perhaps they would just have a quiet little afternoon in Italy. It would be almost like a holiday to some people.
Slowly stroking the wooden butt of his M1, he allowed his helmeted head to touch the wall. He did a cursory check over the weapon with his hands and eyes, ensuring that their was in fact a round in the chamber, it was ready to fire, but importantly the small saferty catch under the trigger guard was on. Satisfied, he put it down, and after a quick puff on the cigarette, pulled out his Colt .45 and did the same checks. A few other men noticed him out of the corners of their eyes, and did the same with their rifles. One or two eyebrows were raised, but the Sergeant shook his head, pushing away possible nerves from the men, making it clear was just being cautious. You always had to be cautious.
Location (Board and Sub-Board): Italy, Gothic Line
Time of Day (24 Hour Clock): 1032 - 21/9/44
Current Weather Conditions: Sunny. Light NE breeze
Map: img337.imageshack.us/img337/264/crossing2.png
It had to be said, in the military some assignments were good, and some were the worst you could possibly imagine. As they went, this one wasn’t too bad. A battalion sized unit from the 3rd Infantry Division had been sent back to Italy to assist the “Gothic Line.” So, Sergeant O’Brian and his men were enjoying a not-too unpleasant November in Italy.
And, this assignment within the mission, to look after a small village was just fine and dandy. A handful of small stone buildings around a church provided plenty of cover, and a lookout atop the spire of the church would alert them of any men approaching.
In his building, O’Brian sat against the wall, cigarette in hand. His small “handie-talkie” was hanging from his side in its leather case, and his Garand sat on the floor next to him. Most of the men in the room were in a similar position, waiting. Although they weren’t under attack, every single one of them realised that they could soon be.
The newest addition to the squad was a demolitions expert, Private Edward Brooks. He had the heavy kit, with a bazooka and a shotgun to play with. There was a small pile of rockets in the room, so that everyone knew where they were if they needed to run them. Broken apart from O’Brian’s squad were two Privates, Hunter and Kessels in the westernmost building, an extra base of fire.
The remaining men were with Corporal Stuart in the Church. Wilson and Walsh were atop the tower, Wilson clutching O’Brian’s binoculars peering around looking for anybody approaching.
img809.imageshack.us/img809/264/crossing2.png
”Pass the light.”
Leaning against the cool stone wall, O’Brian felt quite content. Reaching an arm out, he caught the gunmetal cigarette lighter, and raised it to the small white stick coming out of his mouth. Lighting it, and puffing slightly to get the flame working he surveyed the room.
There were five men he could see from his current vantage point, Brooks, slowly sliding his hands up and down the M9 Bazooka in his hand, Green, McKay, McCartney, Grant and Malcolm were sat by the windows, also enjoying a cheeky smoke. In the small ante-room, Muldoon and Gennaro sat, talking quietly from the opposite windows. ”You guys all doing OK?”
Each man responded with their own affirmation to the Sergeant’s question, not taking there eyes from the doors or windows they were by. Nodding contently, O’Brian pulled his radio up to his ear, and began transmitting.
”Charlie Charlie, this is Charlie Baker. Comms check, over.”
Almost instantly, Private O’Neil got back. ”Charlie Baker, this is Charlie Charlie. Reading you four by five, over.”
”Charlie Charlie, roger, out.”
Putting the radio back down, he relaxed slightly. The balance of his men were with the very able Corporal Stuart stationed in the church. Unless a tank came rolling over the hill, very little would be touching them, and there was plenty of warning if one did come. If. Perhaps they would just have a quiet little afternoon in Italy. It would be almost like a holiday to some people.
Slowly stroking the wooden butt of his M1, he allowed his helmeted head to touch the wall. He did a cursory check over the weapon with his hands and eyes, ensuring that their was in fact a round in the chamber, it was ready to fire, but importantly the small saferty catch under the trigger guard was on. Satisfied, he put it down, and after a quick puff on the cigarette, pulled out his Colt .45 and did the same checks. A few other men noticed him out of the corners of their eyes, and did the same with their rifles. One or two eyebrows were raised, but the Sergeant shook his head, pushing away possible nerves from the men, making it clear was just being cautious. You always had to be cautious.
