King of the Hill [Open]

[Christopher J. D'Dario]

The air was clean and crisp, there was no trace of pollution, no smoke, nothing, just an open clear sky and a view so beautiful a person just had to stop and look. Open farmland dotted with farms and houses stretched off into the distance, here and there where a few small towns or a village, but they didn't seem to disrupt the view, only add to it. It was this magnificent view that made this position on the Mountaintop a valuable outpost for the Italians. A few people with some powerful binoculars could keep watch over so much land, and if they did spot enemy movement it was a simple procedure of radioing down to the small towns and villages, giving the coordinates to the artillery teams and then sitting back and watching the perfect landscape erupt under a fiery violent bombardment.

A small outpost had been built high up in the mountain, to house the few troops that stood guard over the Mountain and this part of the country. Nothing extravagant, a small lodge that could sleep eight people with mild comforts, and a simple tower to add just that little bit more hight. In the tower stood two people, both of them where peering though two large Binoculars mounted on the rail of the tower. After a few moments of scanning the horizon they straightened up, one lent against the rail while the other went over to a small bench and continued cleaning his Mauser Rifle. The one leaning on the rail attempted to start a conversation.

"Che cosa hai fatto prima di entrare?" He asked as the other lifted up the bolt of the Mauser to examine in under the sunlight. He wiped a small amount of dust of it before answering. "Sono stato un insegnante. Mi ha insegnato la storia." He said as he slid the bolt back into the Breach, locking it into place and lifting the Mauser to his shoulder, aiming out toward a rock and pulled the trigger. A click emitted from the firing chamber, satisfied it was in good condition he reloaded it and placed it in the rack with his comrades rifle. He didn't really feel like talking, but rather then be rude he continued the conversation. "Che cosa hai fatto Lorenzo?"

Lorenzo smiled and pushed off the rail; he assumed a boxing stance and threw a few jabs into the air in front of him. "Ero un Boxer. Uno dei migliori." The other man chuckled, Lorenzo looked at him with a slight frown. "Qualcuno so funny Carlo? Non mi credete?" Carlo was about to answer when something caught his attention; someone was climbing the ladder to the tower. They waited a few seconds and a hand appeared over the side carrying a tray with two bowls on it and a few slices of bread. Lorenzo smiled and reached down to take the tray.

"Dino mio eroe! Ho fame, ha fatto Giovanni cucinare questo? Giuro che l'uomo può fare un pasto fuori niente." He said as Dino poked his head up, he didn't climb into the tower, but stood on the ladder. "Sì Giocanni cotta, chi altro potrebbe? L'ultima volta che avete dato il cotto il Caporale cagate." Carlo and Dino laughed as Lorenzo put on a hurt look. "Che non è stata colpa mia, la carne è stata male, che tutti noi abbiamo ottenuto malati ricordare." He passed a bowl and some bread to Carlo before sitting in a corner with his own. The stew had a very nice smell to it, Giovanni was a talented cook, chunks of meat bobbed in the gravy, scattered about where pieces of corn and other various vegetables.

"Certo certo, la colpa della carne. Franco e Nino verranno qui in mezz'ora per liberare voi." Dino said before he disappeared back down the ladder. Lorenzo and Carlo nodded as he left. They had been up here for five hours. Five hours of nothing to do is a long time of doing nothing. Lorenzo watched Dino walking off back to the lodge. Carlo, Dino, Franco, Giovanni, Nino and Lorenzo had all been assigned to three weeks of watching the Mountain. The Brass called it Three weeks at Outpost five. The Soldiers called it Three weeks of King of the Hill. They had been placed under the Command of Corporal D'Dario. An Italian Special Forces Sniper who currently had no other assignments to do other then watch the side of a Mountain and a few farms.
Lorenzo had served under the Corporal in Africa, and had great respect for the man. The others where new comers, three months out of boot camp. They enjoyed listening to Christopher and Lorenzo tell their stories of combat. Soon they would have a story of their own to tell.





Translation:
Che cosa hai fatto prima di entrare?
What did you do before joining?

Sono stato un insegnante. Mi ha insegnato la storia.
I was a teacher. I taught history.

Che cosa hai fatto Lorenzo?
What did you do Lorenzo?

Ero un Boxer. Uno dei migliori.
I was a Boxer. One of the best.

Qualcuno so funny Carlo? Non mi credete?
Whats so funny Carlo? Don't you believe me?

Dino mio eroe! Ho fame, ha fatto Giovanni cucinare questo? Giuro che l'uomo può fare un pasto fuori niente.
Dino my hero! I'm starving, did Giovanni cook this? I swear that man can make a meal out of anything.

Sì Giocanni cotta, chi altro potrebbe? L'ultima volta che avete dato il cotto il Caporale cagate.
Yes Giocanni cooked it, who else could? The last time you cooked you gave the Corporal the shits.

Che non è stata colpa mia, la carne è stata male, che tutti noi abbiamo ottenuto malati ricordare.
That wasn't my fault, the meat was bad, we all got sick remember.

Certo certo, la colpa della carne. Franco e Nino verranno qui in mezz'ora per liberare voi.
Sure sure, blame the meat. Franco and Nino will be up here in half an hour to relieve you.

[seejay4]

The rumbling of the twin engines from the Douglas B-23 Dragon rumbled through the side of the transport aircraft. Every now and then the engines would sputter and cough, the right engine was trailing black smoke and fuel behind it. It was a struggle to keep the plane level. The B-23 had flown out of an American Airfield two days ago, it was way off course, flying somewhere over Italy. All along the left side of the plane where large bullet holes, a battle wound from a German Fighter. The transport plane originally started off with an escort fighter, but lost it in the skirmish. The Pilot was a hero though, he had sacrificed himself to let the Transport escape, played the decoy and lead the enemy fighter away. Those onboard the transport where grateful of his sacrifice.

But the Pilot of the B-23 now had a battle of his own. Keeping the aircraft in the air and level. James Smith was a good pilot, but he was fighter pilot, he was use to having mobility, agility and speed. The Bulky B-23 was not something he enjoyed flying. He had lost his co-pilot in the fight, the man's corpse still sat in his seat, blood staining his shirt from a bullet hole in his chest. The round had ripped though the cockpit and impaled itself in the mans body. James was flying alone. He had to find a friendly airbase to land, the passengers of his plane where important people. They all had a job to do and it was up to James to make sure they lived to do that job.

He glanced at his Altimeter; he was only three hundred feet above sea level. He needed to gain altitude. At this hight he was open to attack from ground to air weaponry. But hard as he tried he couldn't get the injured aircraft to go higher, it just didn't have the power. His Attitude indicator showed that the plane was continuing to tilt left and the nose of the plane was below the horizon, he was slowly losing hight and continuing to veer off course. His other instruments and panels where damaged in the fight. His air speed showed Nine Hundred Knots, and the others ones couldn't even be read. He was pretty much flying blind.

A new noise reached his ears, the sound of an engine sputtering and finally falling silent. He had lost his left engine. With only one working the plane veered downward, from the cockpit James could see a mountain rushing up to meet him. He pulled up hard on the stick, trying to level out, at the least he might be able to crash-land on the mountain instead of crashing head on into the rocks. He looked back though the cockpit door at the passengers, they where panicking, he wondered how many would survive if any at all. They had a medic; hopefully he would live to patch up the others. Red warning lights started blinking. Great, a little slow aren’t they.

The plane tilted more to the left as it came down, the wing catching a boulder and shattering, the hull of the aircraft hit the rocky surface and slid, the rocks gouging out the base of the plane like a cheese grater. The plane started slowing down from the friction of the crash, but not quick enough, the tip of the nose hit a slope and started caving in, the seat James was in was ripped lose and he was thrown out the cockpits door and down with the passengers, his seat clipping one of them in the skull as he passed. The B-23 finally came to a rest, the cockpit had caved in, the left wing was shattered over the area and the base of the plane was shredded. James was still strapped into his seat in the back of the plane. The passenger his seat had hit was sitting limp in his seat, his skull had been cracked open. Surprisingly James was still awake. He started moving and soon discovered he had a thin piece of pipe sticking out of his left arm.
He used his right arm to undo the latches holding him in the seat and to his feet, he shouted. "Is any one else alive?"

[seejay5]

This flight was not the most pleasant one Uri had ever experienced. It seemed to have been a bad flight right from the start. He had been sitting in his seat for almost an hour waiting because one of the passengers was late; he had arguing with the co-pilot numerous times about just taking off and leavening the person behind. But they where addiment on waiting for the person to show up. Uri could do nothing but sit and wait. When the person finally did show up he let them know just how annoyed he was.

That was just the start of the bad flight. He had been seated next to a British person, who liked to chat during flights. Uri had told the person many times to shut up and stop talking to him, the man would fall silent for a moment, but would eventually attempt to start another conversation with him again. Uri was to point of beating the man into unconsciousness just so he wouldn’t have to listen to his annoying accent anymore when the plane had suddenly banked hard to the side. Uri wondered if the pilot was drunk, that thought was soon wiped from his mind as a hail of bullets ripped though the left side of the plane. A few people got hit, the British man next to him caught a round in the face. Uri stared at the man for a moment before sitting back, at least now he wouldn't have to listen to him talking.

Uri listened to the dogfight as their escort fighter engaged the German one. It went on for a while until the escort fighter managed to lead the German fighter away from the transport plane. But of course the flight couldn't get any better. Uri was slipping a ring of the British persons finger when he noticed something had changed. It was suddenly quieter then before. The choking and coughing of the damaged engine could no longer be heard. Fear gripped its cold fist around his heart as he realised they had lost the left engine. All around him the others where realising it too and a panic slowly settled over the passengers, they where in a flying coffin.

Uri grappled with his belt, clicking it into place and tightening the straps so he was held firmly to his seat. The plane started tilting to the left more and more, someone was sobbing, others where preying. One man near the cockpit was shouting encouragement to the pilot. The Pilot looked back, like he was checking on the passengers. Through the cockpit window Uri could see a great wall of rock. They where going to crash into a mountain. His hands started shaking, he had never felt so helpless, he had faced death before, but he could always do something about it. This time his life was in the hands of the pilot.

He was thrown forward in his seat as the left wing shattered, he would have a nasty bruise diagonally across his chest from the belt that held him in his seat. He watched out the window as the ground rushed past, rocks and boulders shredded the base of the plane, shrapnel from the aircraft flying up as is slid. He was thrown forward again as the plane hit a slop, his eyes closed with the pain so he didn't see the pilot being thrown to the back of the plane. When it all came to a stop there was an eerie silence. Not because the plane was quiet, but because Uri couldn't hear anything, slowly a ringing took over his ears, his vision was blurry, the images swimming in front him. He caught a clear glimpse of a person sitting in front of him; his head had been split open.

Slowly his senses started coming back to him. The ringing in his ears died down, he could smell fire, hear it crackling. Over the sound of the fire he heard another noise, a voice, asking if anyone was alive. Painfully Uri raised his hand to unbuckle his belt and slid out of his seat before uttering in a thick Russian accent. "I am breathing."

[seejay3]

It wasn't her fault Elizibeth was late. She had been getting a briefing on her next mission from her captain. This was to be an information-gathering mission, quite simple really, infiltrate a German artillery base and mark all their cannons for bombing. But her captain had seemed concerned about the flight, there where reports of German fighters patrolling the airspace between here and her destination. Her Captain had set up the escort fighter; he didn't want anything happening to one of his top spy’s. She had to speed to the airfield after the briefing, fearing the plane would leave without her.

Lucky her Captain had a few friends in high places and she managed to get on the plane before it took off. Of course there was one passenger who wasn't happy about the delay, and he let her know about it too. But she held her ground and shouted and swore back at him until they just took their seats, neither one would have backed down from the argument. It was in their blood. As she sat down she started reading over the mission documents, detailed orders on what she was expected to do and what information they had already gathered on the area. It seemed this was a major artillery operation, based somewhere in Italy, The Alliance wouldn't be able at advance properly until the big guns where taken out.

She was about half way through reading the orders when the plane suddenly turned, her papers fell out of her hand and onto the floor, she tried picking them up just as a stream of bullets tore through the left side of the plane. She was lucky she had bent over to get the papers, when she straightened up there was a large hole in the headrest of her seat. She was extremely grateful for the escort fighter her Captain had managed to get for the plane, as it started trading bullets with the German Fighter. After a while they seemed to get further and further away until there was no sound of the fighting.

Unfortunately that’s as far as her luck went, when the damaged engine finally gave in and stopped she joined the other passengers in their panic. No one wanted to die, and it was up to the pilot to save as many as he could, a few people had already been killed or hurt from the bullets that ripped into the plane, but now they all faced a more certain death as the plane continued going down. When faced with death people do strange things, Elizibeth never thought she would cry again. She hadn't uttered a tear for years, but now they started pouring down her face, she was scared. She noticed the other Russian putting on his belt and followed suit. She was glad she did.

As the plane landed she was pushed into the belt, that would leave a nasty mark on her chest. She pulled herself back into her seat but was forced forward again as the plane came to a sudden stop. She shivered as she once again pulled herself back into her seat, She hadn't suffered to bad an injury Just some very bad whiplash, to bad a majority of the other passengers weren’t as lucky, some had splinters of rock protruding from their chests, one had his head split open. There would be few survivors, the pilot would have to be dead, the whole cockpit was practically caved in. Someone spoke and she turned to see the 'dead' pilot getting out of his seat, at the back of the plane. WHAT!?
She unbuckled her belt shakily got to her feet. She heard the other Russian speaking, saying he was alive. "Yes, I'm alive too." Her English was much better then the others, but that came with the job.

[seejay2]

As the passengers started getting on the aircraft they noticed someone was already on, sitting right at the back with his feet up on the seat in front of him, a helmet had been tilted down to cover his eyes. Painted on the helmet was a fading red cross. He was a medic. He had clamed to seats, one for himself, the one next to him held his medics kit. People mingled around for a second finding seats, they chatted quietly, trying not to wake the Medic. He did however get woken up. People shouting dragged him from his nap, he couldn't understand them, but they seemed to be ripping shreds out of each other. He reached up and lifted the tip of his helmet to peer out at the two. When they stopped he rearranged his position in the seat, and Marcus Flint fell asleep again.

His sleep was however interrupted once again by a sudden movement of the plane, he fell out of his seat and woke up on the floor. What the hell was going on? He climbed back into his seat and strapped on his belt. He didn't stay sitting for long as a cascade of metal rained through the left side of the plane, his services where needed. Once again his limbs moved without his mind, reaching for his kit, getting up and going over to the first injured person, finding a bullet hole the size of his fist in their chest, he moved on to the next one. Few people who got his had actually survived the shot.

One person lost a hand, that was easy to wrap up, he injected the person with some morphine then ripped open a packet of sulfanilamide and poured the power onto the wound, that would stop it getting infected. Next he placed a patch of gauze over the stump and wrapped it in a bandage. He continued moving on, no one else was hurt or alive so he returned to the one hand person to try and give comfort to him. Unfortunately he couldn't offer much comfort and he eventually gave up and went back to his seat.

Something was wrong, the people where looking around with a panicked look on their face, why? They where still in the air, both engines where.... Only one engine was working. Now he knew the source of the panic, he sat back and strapped himself in, if they survived the crash he would have his hands full with the wounded. The crash was imminent; a mountainside was reaching to them, ready to embrace the plane against the rock. But the Pilot was good, he seemed to keep the aircraft under enough control to level out before hitting, the left wing shattered, the plane slid into a rock wall and everything became blurry. When his vision returned to normal he was face to face with the pilot. At first Marcus thought the plane had crumbled and the back of the plane was now much closer to the front. But the pilot was getting out of his seat, and was hurt.

Marcus checked himself over, he found no wounds, but had a very nasty headache. He took off his helmet and found a small dint in the steal, that would have been fatal, lucky he had it on. He pulled himself out of his seat and followed the pilot. "Hey, show me your arm." He said as he grabbed the man by the uninjured arm. There was a metal pipe implied in his arm, it didn't look like it had hit the bone. He injected the Pilot with a syrette for the pain, when the morphine kicked in he carefully pulled the pipe from his arm, covering the wound with his hand he pulled out another packet of sulfanilamide and sprinkled it on. The wound wouldn't need stitches so he just gauzed it and bandaged it before moving on. "Get everyone you can out of the plane."

[Christopher J. D'Dario]

Giovanni looked up from the stew pot as Dino walked through the door to the lodge. "Essi hanno fame?" he asked as he poured another bowl of stew and placed it on the large table along with a slice of bread. Dino sat down in front of the bowl and picked up a spoon. "Certo che lo sono, ognuno viene fame ogni volta che cucinare." He said as he took a mouthful. The hot liquid slid down his throat before he chewed on the chunks of meat. Giovanni just smiled and went back to dishing out the stew. Nino walked in soon after and opened his arms, raised his head and closed his eyes as he inhaled the smell of the stew.

"Giovanni si dio come cucinare, come si fa a farlo? Come potete girare qualcosa non mi feed per i miei cani in un pasto adatto per un campo ufficiale?" Franco chuckled as he pushed his way past Nino and took a seat at the table. Giovanni only shook his head at the complement. He did have a talent for cooking, but he sometimes got tired of everyone reminding him about it. Dino dipped some of his bread into the stew, soaking up some gravy.
"Clicca per liberare due sono Lorenzo e Carlo in mezz'ora." He said as he took a bite of the bread.

Nino had sat down next to Franco and the pair of them where shovelling the stew into their mouths, they answered Dino with a mumble and nod. While the others where eating Giovanni poured another bowl, grabbed some bread and put it all on a small tray, then took it into the next room. Knocking on the door before opening it. "Ecco il vostro pranzo signore." A man sitting back in a chair looked up from behind the desk small desk, he had been writing a report on the days patrol, as usual they had found nothing. He finished the report with a signature as Giovanni placed the tray on the edge of the desk. "Grazie Giovanni"

CJ reached over and picked up the tray as Giovanni left, he ate quickly as he still had a few more reports to write. He was about half way though his bread when a shadow moved past his window, he got up quickly and ran to the window, looking up into the sky he spotted an aircraft, looked like a twin-engine cargo plane. An American flag was painted on the side and one of the engines seemed to be damaged as it was trailing a line of black smoke, a few seconds later Dino burst into the room. He was about to speak when CJ turned and pushed past him, shortly after a sound like an explosion echoed over the lodge.

"Ottieni ognuno pronto, combattere solo equipaggiamenti. Armi e ammutition. Dobbiamo verificare che l'aereo per vedere se ci sono sopravvissuti." He didn't have to speak twice. The men where thrown into a flurry of movement as they ran to collect their Mauser's and ammo belts. CJ collected his own gear and walked out the door into the sun light, looking up he trailed the smoke line down, it looked like it crashed about half a mile away. Lorenzo and Carlo where still in the tower. "Lorenzo! Carlo! Scendere qui adesso, che andremo a verificare che l'aereo." The two men dropped their bowls and grabbed their rifles, sliding down the ladder and joining the others.

CJ was on point as they set out at a jog, they had to get their quickly. If there where survivors they could capture them, if not they could search the plane to see what it was carrying. Either way it was another enemy aircraft out of the sky, witch was a good thing no matter how you looked at it. It would take some time before they reached the crash site





Translation:

Essi hanno fame?
They hungry?

Certo che lo sono, ognuno viene fame ogni volta che cucinare.Of course they are, every one gets hungry whenever you cook.

Giovanni si dio come cucinare, come si fa a farlo? Come potete girare qualcosa non mi feed per i miei cani in un pasto adatto per un campo ufficiale?
Giovanni you god like cook, how do you do it? How can you turn something I wouldn't feed to my dogs into a meal fit for a field officer?

Clicca per liberare due sono Lorenzo e Carlo in mezz'ora.
You two have to relieve Lorenzo and Carlo in half an hour.

Ecco il vostro pranzo signore.
Here's your lunch sir.

Grazie Giovanni
Thanks Giovanni

Ottieni ognuno pronto, combattere solo equipaggiamenti. Armi e ammutition. Dobbiamo verificare che l'aereo per vedere se ci sono sopravvissuti.
Get every one ready, combat equipiment only. Weapons and ammutition. We have to check out that plane to see if there are any survivors.

Lorenzo! Carlo! Scendere qui adesso, che andremo a verificare che l'aereo.
Lorenzo! Carlo! Get down here now, we're going to check out that plane.

[seejay4]

After the Medic removed the pipe from his arm and bandaged him up James continued moving down the row of seats, so far he had gotten two responses from the passengers, both of them seeming to be Russians, obviously the medic was still alive and doing his job. James checked on a few other passengers, his head was starting to hurt and his vision blurred slightly, he shook his head and blinked a few times to bring everything back into focus. It must be the morphine the medic had injected him with, he couldn’t feel the pain in his arm anymore, so that was a bonus he guessed.

He had just under twenty passengers in his plane when it took off, only three had survived the crash, the others where lying limp in their seats, not moving, not breathing. His hands started to shake and he found himself unable to take another step. How could he have let this happen? Why hadn't he been able to keep to the B-23 in the air, just because one engine failed didn't mean he couldn’t have glided the plane to a safer landing zone. His mind rushed with questions until he couldn’t take it anymore, he had failed to save the passengers, they where his responsibility, now he had fifteen deaths weighing down his heart, fifteen people who would never look up at the sky, who would never laugh or smile again. He stumbled over to the door and pushed it open, the steps didn't reach the ground due to the tilt the plane had landed on and now remained.

He climbed down the steps and dropped to the ground, falling to his knees and wrapping his arms around himself. A tear pushed its way through this left eye, dropping down from his cheek and landing on the rock. A second thought forced its way into his mind. He had to pick himself up, fifteen people may now be dead but three others where still alive, three people would be looking to him for leadership, he was the ranking officer. He would need to be strong, he would need to be in control. He raised his head and got to his feet, looking around at the downed plane. This could have been a coffin for everyone, but three people survived, and James made four.
He shook himself, trying to regain his composure and waited at the open door, ready to help the survivors off the plane. "This way, come this way to get out."

[seejay5]

Apart from a massive headache Uri was otherwise unharmed, he had a large bruise on his leg and a scratch on his cheek, but once his vision stopped spinning and everything came into focus he crawled to his feet, he still had a ringing in his ears, but it wasn't as bad as before. At least he was able to stand with a little support from his seat. Looking around he watched as the pilot pushed open the door; the medic had already started fixing people up. He wondered how many survived the crash. There was a person still in their seat who seemed to be breathing, Uri took a step toward him and almost collapsed, his leg was damaged more then he thought. He couldn't bend it.

Walking with an awkward limp he approached the person in the seat. "Hey, can you hear me?" He gave the man a poke in the shoulder and the body slumped over, reviling a massive hole in his back, he was hollow. How could that have happened? Uri hadn't seen the mans opened chest. He shook his head and continued on. Collapsing out the door and accepting the Pilots help he walked a few paces away from the crash and dropped to the ground, laying on his back and holding his head. He sat up after a moment and rolled up one side of his pants, His whole knee was bruised, that would explain why he couldn't bend it.

He looked up at the plane, It was a wreak. There was a long trail of shattered parts trailing along behind it from where it had slid across the rocks. The cargo compartment housed in the back of the plane had also broken open. Crates and boxes had all spilled out; one of the crates had busted open and spewed out a mix of weapons. As Uri's eyes drifted over the rifles he suddenly remembered where they where, they had crashed in enemy territory. Who knew how many squads or platoons where no their way here, converging on the downed aircraft. The though made him shiver and he pushed himself up onto his feet.

He approached the open crate of weapons, most of the heavier guns where damaged in the crash. But a few Lee Enfield’s had survived, he grabbed one and shifted through the crate for ammunition. He found none in this crate so he busted open another one and hit a jackpot. The crate was nothing but ammunition. He picked through it and pulled out all the Enfield ammo he could find, piling it on the ground before filling a few ammunition belts as full as he could. He collected the remaining weapons that where in working condition, not many, and lent them against the plane with a pile of ammo. He strapped a couple of belts to himself and picked up a rifle.

[Rhys Bevan]

Rhys heard something. Something terrible.
A dull thud of an enormous plane smashing into the rocky hill inhabited by his platoon. Smoke billowed out into the air and the distinctive smell of blood was evident.

"What was that?" asked an elderly corporal, his face pale and white, tightening his grip on his rifle.

Rhys looked around at his group of twelve men and sighed. How had he ever been landed with these fools? They were all either far too old or far too young and most had the military experience of a common flock of sheep. They had been stationed on the hill to keep a watchful eye on the large group of Italian soldiers who were also positioned nearby, led by the elusive Sergeant D'Dario. Rhys doubted that his men would be able to defeat a gaggle of geese, never mind a platoon under D'Dario's command. They were usless, completely useless.

"Sounded like a plane crash," said Rhys simply, slinging his rifle over his shoulder.

"It could be an Italian trap," suggested a bright-eyed private fearfully.

"Jones, the Italians wouldn't crash one of their own planes just to lure us into a trap," sighed Rhy, rolling his eyes. "Besides, there's no way they know we're here,"

Private Jones resumed silence, an embarassed look on his clean-shaven face.

"It was definetely a plane though," said Rhys firmly. "Most probably some reinforcements. We should go and see if there are any survivors..."

"What if they're German?" asked Jones frantically, clutching at his gun clumsily.

Rhys gestured at his rifle.

"That's what these are for, Jones," he grinned, tapping his rifle fondly. "Now, come on! If there are any survivors, we can be sure that they're going to need some help!"

[cymraeg123]

Rhodri and a group of men from the platoon ran towards the plane. They could see that it was a Douglas B-23 Dragon that had crashed. They could tell that this wasn't an Italian trick as they had first thought it could be. Rhodri told Private Davies to go and get some binoculars and see if there was anything else that he could see.

Private Davies ran back to the camp and had come back with a pair of binoculars very quickly. He rejoined Rhodri and stared at the plane. He noticed that they had at least one medic but there wasn't much else he could see. Then he noticed the Italians at the top of the hill.

'Sir!'

'What is it?'

'There are some Italians at the top of the hill.'

Rhodri glanced at his rifle. He checked how much ammo he had and told the rest of his squad to do the same.

'Move out!' he told them.

The squad began to move around the side of the hill as stealthily as possible. They were trying to see how many Italian's there were at the top of the hill. Private Davies pulled out his binoculars agin and could see a squad of Italians. After being told this Rhodri told the squad to move back towards camp.

They reached camp after trudging through the open grassland low and slowly to reduce the risk of being seen and giving away their position. When they reached base they relayed the information back to the commander and went back to their posts.

[Rhys Bevan]

After being reported back about the Italian threat by the small group of men led by Corporal Williams, Rhys knew he had to take action. He knew that the enemy would be moving towards the crashed plane before long.

"What do we do, sir?" demanded Private Jones frantically, beads of sweat appearing on his bright-red face. He had never been involved in a combat situation before.

"This might turn to our advantage," mused Rhys. "We move over to the plane and take cover. When the enemy approaches, we can ambush them from the safety of the crash site,"

He turned to the single medic in his company.

"You're going to need to tend to the survivors. Williams said there were a number of bodies around the crash-site. Some may still be alive. Any questions?"

Rhys sighed when he saw that Private Jones wanted to say something. He reluctantly nodded towards him, allowing him to speak.

"Sir..." began the private. "What if...what if the enemy get to the crash site before us? What do we do then?"

"We can't let them get there before us," replied Rhys forcefully. "But if they do, we must open fire. This skirmish ends now!"

[nazariobattista]

The Italian platoon were matching slowly but steadily towards their destination, fiercely determined to reach the crash-site before the British. It was a wet day; gloomy and bitter, with only the possibility of food and weapons ahead keeping their hopes up.

A small squad had been sent forward to scout the far side of the hill, Nazario one of them. Darting down the mountain path, Nazario realised that the smell of death was in the air. Who would be the first casualty, he wondered?

The squad finally reached the crash site, much to Nazario's delight. Tens of bodies were scattered; dead or unconscious, Nazario didn't know, not did he care. A smile flashed across his tanned face when he noticed the multitude of much-needed supplies. D'Dario would be pleased...

Suddenly, gunfire erupted from nowhere. A bullet spiralled into Nazario's forearm, sending him crashing to the floor. Gritting his teeth in pain, the young Italian raised his rifle unsteadily and fired in the direction of the hostile gunman. Another shot flew across the hill and Nazario heard the scream of one of his own men.

"Il British!" yelled Nazario. "Ritiro!"

Translations

Il British! Ritiro! = The British! Retreat![/i]

[cymraeg123]

Rhodri heard the Italian shout something he didn't understand. All at once the whole platoon opened fire. There were bullets flying past his face. Rhodri looked for cover and found it behind a boulder that was about 10 meters from the plane.

Rhodri poked his rifle around the boulder making sure that no one from his platoon was in front of him he opened fire. The Italians were returning fire by now as they had no hope of getting away without getting shot.

A grenade landed in front of the boulder. Rhodri looked at it and saw that he only had a matter of seconds to run. He ran as fast as he could towards another boulder that was about 100 meters from his present location. The grenade exploded by the time ha had covered 50 meters. Rhodri was thrown into the air but because of the distance away from the explosion he wasn't too hurt. He hit his head on the boulder and everything went black.

[Daniel Brennan]

I'm afraid I'm going to have to lock this because
A) The creators arn't active much
B) You all seem to be using units that you havn't bought yet.
~Dan

[PuNk! ™]

Thread Closed:

As Dan implied, this thread has been inactive for a long time and should’ve been locked earlier, also, please reframe from using units you do not have. This is not a ‘Free RPG’, but a ‘BATTLE-RPG’ and all units must be bought to use in combat. Also, do not put your characters into situations do you wouldn’t usually have them in, you may also die on this board.

Following CP has been issued;

• Christopher James D'Dario: 20CP
  
• James Smith: 22CP
  
• Uri Nevoski: 15CP
  
• Elizibeth Towers: 15CP
  
• Marcus Flint: 12CP
  
  
• Rhys Bevan: 3CP
  ~ Due to use of units you do not have and entering an inactive thread.
  
• Rhodri Williams: 3CP
  ~ Due to use of units you do not have and entering an inactive thread.
  
• Nazario Battista: 3CP
  ~ Due to use of units you do not have and entering an inactive thread.
  

~Danny