Post by johnmasterson on Oct 2, 2008 8:30:01 GMT
The fuzzy reception of the radio could barely be heard playing "This is the Army Mr. Jones," as the Deuce and a half truck roared it's way down the narrow dirt path. The back section, containing a dozen or so troops shook and rattled with violent force and noise as the truck made it's way down the path. One man, however, seemed oblivious to all of this as he looked out the back of the truck, sitting at the very edge of it on the left side. He thought about things as he looked around. It was mid-afternoon and the sky was bleek with clouds of grey. It seemed mist-like, very damp and humid. No thunder or any other signs of rain or storms. Just a bum day.
Matt Baker was no stranger to this war. He had served as a paratrooper for the past few months, made the drop into D-Day, and assisted in seizing a shore battery near Carentan.
Assigned to the 502nd PIR, originally, Baker was transferred to a displaced unit known as the 3rd Infantry Division, which had it's own airborne, and air corps companies. Baker would be assigned to the airborne.
The truck continued to barrel down the road, showing no mercy to its passangers within. Arround Baker were other soldiers. Some being trasnfered in, some out, and some were fresh from the states replacements. One didn't even look but 18 years of age with his clean cut face and freshley pressed combat clothing. Next to him however, sat an older looking gangly man who looked as if he'd been through Hell and back. But there was one common amongst the two. The look in their eyes. Both had empty and deep stares. The look of unknowing. Where would they be in the next month? Next day? Would they be dead? Would the war be over? Who would tell their mother they were killed?
Baker wasn't much for that sort of thought, and was ceased from any attempt to make such a thought as the truck came to a quick halt, shifting everyone in back foward, sliding down the seating. The loud engine came to an idle and a knock from the cab window was made.
Upon hearing the knock, Baker reached down and picked up his duffle bag and M1 rifle. He slung the rifle around his back and put the duffle bag around one shoulder. He carefully leaned over the side of the trailer and, holding on to a small handle, slid himself down to the ground. His already dirty and war torne paratrooper boots sunk into the Earth, as it was wet and soggy. Baker pulled his boots to the surface as he walked around towards the front of the truck, but as he reached the cab, the truck started to pull away. As the trailer section moved, it revealed the gates to a makeshift base. Across the road from Baker stood a guard house with two British guards, both equiped with Lee Enfields. Baker made his way to the one standing infront of the guard house.
Baker came up to the guard and pulled from his brest pocket a small paper. He handed it to the guard and waited while the guard read it in his head. The guard took the paper and then nodded to Baker and pointed in a general direction of the base. Apparently where Baker would be staying. He thanked the guard and walked up to a gate, which was then opened by two more guards from within. Baker walked inside, and started making his way to what appeared to be a parade ground, but it was more like a leveled quarter acre of mud in the shape of a parade ground. In the middle of it was planted a tall post with arrowed signs pointing in seperate directions. Baker walked around it, reading the signs. One say Echo Company, the other read Mess Hall, one said Officers' Club, and so on. He kept searching until he found his. Easy Company. The arrow pointed towards the right, or to the left if you were face the base as Baker had just eneted it. He looked up towards that direction and could see some barracks and some men, looking like paratroopers, hanging around it. Baker started making his way towards that direction, but stopped suddenly and quickly dove back as a jeep came roaring past, horn blaring and driver yelling. The jeep headed out of the base, turned right, and went full speed out of sight. Baker cursed to himself as he came to his feet. He gathered his things once more and continued to walk towards the barracks.
Looking around the buildings, Baker read signs on the front of them. One of them said "Officers' Barracks," obviously not for him. Then he moved down to the next one. It read "NCO Bunks." Since Baker was infact a Sergeant, he decided that this was most likely his new home. He walked up a small block of stairs to the raised barrack and pushed in the hinged door.
Upon entering Baker could hear the remaining chorus to "This is the Army Mr. Jones," but this time there was only some faint static, and nothing rattling around to silence the vocals. Instead he only heard the music, and some small chatter and laughing towards the rear of the barracks. Baker looked around for an open cot and saw a vacant one right at the entrance of the barracks. It was a single cot, with a small side table and drawer for clothing and essentials. On the otherside stood a personal locker. It was open, empty, and had a piece of tape on it with a name that was crossed out in black ink. Baker knew right there and then how that cot became available. But he also knew, that's how war was.
Baker placed his rifle against the locker, facing up, and dropped his duffle bag to the floor. He then unrolled the cot's mattress and made his bed. Topping it off with fluffing out his pillow. He then sat down on the edge of his cot, and then layed down and put his arms behind his head.
He took a deep breath and sighed just as the final vocals of the song were sang... "This is the Army, Mr. Jones."
Matt Baker was no stranger to this war. He had served as a paratrooper for the past few months, made the drop into D-Day, and assisted in seizing a shore battery near Carentan.
Assigned to the 502nd PIR, originally, Baker was transferred to a displaced unit known as the 3rd Infantry Division, which had it's own airborne, and air corps companies. Baker would be assigned to the airborne.
The truck continued to barrel down the road, showing no mercy to its passangers within. Arround Baker were other soldiers. Some being trasnfered in, some out, and some were fresh from the states replacements. One didn't even look but 18 years of age with his clean cut face and freshley pressed combat clothing. Next to him however, sat an older looking gangly man who looked as if he'd been through Hell and back. But there was one common amongst the two. The look in their eyes. Both had empty and deep stares. The look of unknowing. Where would they be in the next month? Next day? Would they be dead? Would the war be over? Who would tell their mother they were killed?
Baker wasn't much for that sort of thought, and was ceased from any attempt to make such a thought as the truck came to a quick halt, shifting everyone in back foward, sliding down the seating. The loud engine came to an idle and a knock from the cab window was made.
Upon hearing the knock, Baker reached down and picked up his duffle bag and M1 rifle. He slung the rifle around his back and put the duffle bag around one shoulder. He carefully leaned over the side of the trailer and, holding on to a small handle, slid himself down to the ground. His already dirty and war torne paratrooper boots sunk into the Earth, as it was wet and soggy. Baker pulled his boots to the surface as he walked around towards the front of the truck, but as he reached the cab, the truck started to pull away. As the trailer section moved, it revealed the gates to a makeshift base. Across the road from Baker stood a guard house with two British guards, both equiped with Lee Enfields. Baker made his way to the one standing infront of the guard house.
Baker came up to the guard and pulled from his brest pocket a small paper. He handed it to the guard and waited while the guard read it in his head. The guard took the paper and then nodded to Baker and pointed in a general direction of the base. Apparently where Baker would be staying. He thanked the guard and walked up to a gate, which was then opened by two more guards from within. Baker walked inside, and started making his way to what appeared to be a parade ground, but it was more like a leveled quarter acre of mud in the shape of a parade ground. In the middle of it was planted a tall post with arrowed signs pointing in seperate directions. Baker walked around it, reading the signs. One say Echo Company, the other read Mess Hall, one said Officers' Club, and so on. He kept searching until he found his. Easy Company. The arrow pointed towards the right, or to the left if you were face the base as Baker had just eneted it. He looked up towards that direction and could see some barracks and some men, looking like paratroopers, hanging around it. Baker started making his way towards that direction, but stopped suddenly and quickly dove back as a jeep came roaring past, horn blaring and driver yelling. The jeep headed out of the base, turned right, and went full speed out of sight. Baker cursed to himself as he came to his feet. He gathered his things once more and continued to walk towards the barracks.
Looking around the buildings, Baker read signs on the front of them. One of them said "Officers' Barracks," obviously not for him. Then he moved down to the next one. It read "NCO Bunks." Since Baker was infact a Sergeant, he decided that this was most likely his new home. He walked up a small block of stairs to the raised barrack and pushed in the hinged door.
Upon entering Baker could hear the remaining chorus to "This is the Army Mr. Jones," but this time there was only some faint static, and nothing rattling around to silence the vocals. Instead he only heard the music, and some small chatter and laughing towards the rear of the barracks. Baker looked around for an open cot and saw a vacant one right at the entrance of the barracks. It was a single cot, with a small side table and drawer for clothing and essentials. On the otherside stood a personal locker. It was open, empty, and had a piece of tape on it with a name that was crossed out in black ink. Baker knew right there and then how that cot became available. But he also knew, that's how war was.
Baker placed his rifle against the locker, facing up, and dropped his duffle bag to the floor. He then unrolled the cot's mattress and made his bed. Topping it off with fluffing out his pillow. He then sat down on the edge of his cot, and then layed down and put his arms behind his head.
He took a deep breath and sighed just as the final vocals of the song were sang... "This is the Army, Mr. Jones."
