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This is my first forum story, so be kind. BTW this wasn't a real game just a bunch of games that I conglmerated into one story.
My Life for the Republic
Part 1
It was a hot and muggy summer day on the plains of Tlaxcala. Sergeant Steven Young looked out from his muddy stretch of trench upon the once lush, verdant, green fields and thought to himself, just a few years ago there were hundreds of farmers on this now miserable patch of land and not a single shell hole. "Damn Aztecs," he said with each word dripping of hatred.
As he set the periscope down and began to disassemble his rifle, a shadow loomed over blocking his light. Just before he began yelling to the person to get out of his light the shadow spoke. "Sergeant, I've got some bad news and some really bad news. Which one do you want to hear first?" said company commander Captain Donning.
"Well, sir, why not the really bad news," he waved his arms around the trench as much as he dared, "I doubt it could get much worse than this."
"Sergeant you don't know the half of it," he took off his service cap to wipe the beads of perspiration off his forehead, "Forth Army HQ just sent down orders for a full advance along the Tlaxcalan front at 1400 and guess whose in the first wave?"
"What about the bad news, sir?" Young asked.
"The bad news is that over half of the artillery has been delayed and won't be part of the bombardment."
Young nodded his head and with that Donning walked off to inform the other platoon leaders of the companies' fate. Donning was a good officer for Army standards, the General Staff or General Wood they were different matters altogether, Young thought. Young returned to his Springfield, making sure the firing mechanism was as clean as he could get it in the squalor of the trenches. He looked through the periscope again; south towards the city of Tlaxcala knowing that he would either be sleeping in some blown-out Aztec building or sleeping for eternity out on the plain tonight.
Young walked over to the rest of his platoon, and proceeded to inform the men of the attack. He wasn't the only sergeant commanding a platoon; the war had been very tough on officers. They responded much as he had expected them to; excitement and questions about combat from the conscripts, groans from the regulars who hadn't spent very long in the trenches, and quiet resignation from the veterans who had been in the trenches for almost as long as he had.
Unusual for anything dealing with the government, the artillery began firing at 1330 sharp. As Young listened to the shells making freight train noises through the sky one of the privates in his platoon, Monroe, turned to Young and asked, "Sarge, will the artillery kill a lot of the damnredskins?"
"I reckon it might, but I've seen bigger barrages then this and those didn't kill but a couple hundred. How many damnredskins do you think there are over there? Five thousand? Six? Seven?"
"When you put it like that I guess it might not," said Monroe.
"Just get ready because when this barrage stops we go over the top" As soon he said "top" the barrage did in fact stop. The air was soon filled will the shrill-pitched scream of officer's whistles giving the infantry the order to advance.
As soldier after soldier went up the sandbag steps and into no-mans land, Young had only two thoughts in his brain; one of the enemy lines, and the other, of a world that had existed a lifetime ago in his hometown of Boston.
Young and the rest of the veteran soldiers were advancing in groups providing covering fire for each other while the rest were just rushing towards the lines and getting mowed down as if they were blades of grass. Off to his right there was a sound as if the top of a drum had just been popped, and screaming that would have been suitable for a damned soul erupted. As Young thought about to whom that belonged to, he felt as if he had been punched twice in the chest. As he doubled over into a shell hole he thought, why do I taste something salty in my mouth, why is the sky getting dark when it's daytime, and
My Life for the Republic
Part 1
It was a hot and muggy summer day on the plains of Tlaxcala. Sergeant Steven Young looked out from his muddy stretch of trench upon the once lush, verdant, green fields and thought to himself, just a few years ago there were hundreds of farmers on this now miserable patch of land and not a single shell hole. "Damn Aztecs," he said with each word dripping of hatred.
As he set the periscope down and began to disassemble his rifle, a shadow loomed over blocking his light. Just before he began yelling to the person to get out of his light the shadow spoke. "Sergeant, I've got some bad news and some really bad news. Which one do you want to hear first?" said company commander Captain Donning.
"Well, sir, why not the really bad news," he waved his arms around the trench as much as he dared, "I doubt it could get much worse than this."
"Sergeant you don't know the half of it," he took off his service cap to wipe the beads of perspiration off his forehead, "Forth Army HQ just sent down orders for a full advance along the Tlaxcalan front at 1400 and guess whose in the first wave?"
"What about the bad news, sir?" Young asked.
"The bad news is that over half of the artillery has been delayed and won't be part of the bombardment."
Young nodded his head and with that Donning walked off to inform the other platoon leaders of the companies' fate. Donning was a good officer for Army standards, the General Staff or General Wood they were different matters altogether, Young thought. Young returned to his Springfield, making sure the firing mechanism was as clean as he could get it in the squalor of the trenches. He looked through the periscope again; south towards the city of Tlaxcala knowing that he would either be sleeping in some blown-out Aztec building or sleeping for eternity out on the plain tonight.
Young walked over to the rest of his platoon, and proceeded to inform the men of the attack. He wasn't the only sergeant commanding a platoon; the war had been very tough on officers. They responded much as he had expected them to; excitement and questions about combat from the conscripts, groans from the regulars who hadn't spent very long in the trenches, and quiet resignation from the veterans who had been in the trenches for almost as long as he had.
Unusual for anything dealing with the government, the artillery began firing at 1330 sharp. As Young listened to the shells making freight train noises through the sky one of the privates in his platoon, Monroe, turned to Young and asked, "Sarge, will the artillery kill a lot of the damnredskins?"
"I reckon it might, but I've seen bigger barrages then this and those didn't kill but a couple hundred. How many damnredskins do you think there are over there? Five thousand? Six? Seven?"
"When you put it like that I guess it might not," said Monroe.
"Just get ready because when this barrage stops we go over the top" As soon he said "top" the barrage did in fact stop. The air was soon filled will the shrill-pitched scream of officer's whistles giving the infantry the order to advance.
As soldier after soldier went up the sandbag steps and into no-mans land, Young had only two thoughts in his brain; one of the enemy lines, and the other, of a world that had existed a lifetime ago in his hometown of Boston.
Young and the rest of the veteran soldiers were advancing in groups providing covering fire for each other while the rest were just rushing towards the lines and getting mowed down as if they were blades of grass. Off to his right there was a sound as if the top of a drum had just been popped, and screaming that would have been suitable for a damned soul erupted. As Young thought about to whom that belonged to, he felt as if he had been punched twice in the chest. As he doubled over into a shell hole he thought, why do I taste something salty in my mouth, why is the sky getting dark when it's daytime, and
! Like Metaliturtle said, maybe space it out a bit, but otherwise excellent 
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