A/N: I give credit to Imjusthere61944, who made me realize there just weren't enough WWII fanfics out there, and his story inspired me to do this. At this point, all OC characters. R&R, if you don't like WWII fanfics, don't read, simple as that.
Imjusthere61944's story: s/8009443/1/Beyond_Normandy
I do not own Call of Duty historical, modern, or whatever they're gonna do in the future. Characters of CoD games that show up here belong to Treyarch, InfinityWard, and anymore associates of Call of Duty respectively.
July 9, 1943
Operation Husky
Sicily
2200/10:00 PM
The DUKQ boat swayed in the waves, the men inside held on to the sides or their seats, the swaying nearly knocking them over as they neared the beach.
"I hate boats..." One of the men commented, grasping the side of the boat as they went over another wave. His M1A1 Thompson was leaned against the side itself, and fell over.
"Well get the fuck over it, Williams." The man across from him replied, removing the cigarette from his mouth and blowing smoke at him. He had originally been in the Navy, and had gotten used tot he rocking there. He'd been transferred to Operation Husky for reasons he only knew as the fact he couldn't do shit with the guns on the boats, and he sure as hell couldn't steer or operate a boat.
The man was Fred Preston, age 25, with the rank of Staff Sergeant, he was the squad leader of the other four men in the DUKQ boat, and the most experienced. Having participated in Operation Torch in Africa, he knew what to expect, and was prepared this time.
Victor Williams, at the age of 18, was a private, and this would be his first time in combat.
Brian Gimmons, also age 18, at corporal, had originally trained with the Airborne Division, and knew that they would be of much value in this operation, much due to the way they could get behind enemy lines.
Harold Newman, his age at 21, was a private first class, and tended to be very aggressive, often firing the first and last shots in a conflict. He had also been a part of Operation Torch, and had been transferred from his squad to this one.
The final member of the squad, Christopher Neal, age 20, was the only one with a family back home. A wife, and a newborn son kept him going, and had kept him from getting shot many times in Operation Torch.
"Still, why the hell do we have to use boats? I mean, shit, planes are more stable than this thing." Williams retrieved his Thompson from the floor and slung it over his shoulder, hanging onto the side.
"I have an idea. Why don't you stop your fuckin' complaining and have a smoke with Preston?" Gimmons suggested, lifting his M1 Garand onto his shoulder to steady it.
A clatter made all of them jump, turning to see the M1919 Browning on the floor, Newman bending to pick it up.
"For God's sake, Newman, be careful with that thing! It's the only one we get, and if it stops working in the middle of combat, believe me, I will shoot you before the damn Italians get a chance." Preston said, outraged that the man had let the gun out of his hands for a moment. They could not afford for the gun to break now, this close to the beach.
"Sorry, sarge. You try carrying a gun that large in a boat that can't keep steady for a damn second." Newman replied sarcastically, getting a a smile for Williams and Neal.
"Are those mines?" Gimmons suddenly asked. In the dark he could see several floating objects in the water, smaller than the DUKQ boats, but large enough to cause damage.
"Damn right." The captain of the DUKQ boat replied. The boat itself was also a land vehicle, but doubled as amphibious assault vehicles when needed. It had an attached Browning as a gun on top, but was vulnerable from the back due to the ramp to let men out.
"Listen up! We'll hit the beach in about 30 seconds, but we'll take fire much before then. You all are going to get the hell out and I'll try my best to keep you covered with the Browning. Oren, you're gunning for them." The captain continued, steering slightly away from a mine.
"Why the hell do we have to do this in the dark?" Williams muttered.
"Would you rather be seen a mile off shore and be bombed by their planes? I didn't think so." Preston replied. The others smiled. Williams had a lot to learn. That was, if he didn't get shot first thing.
"10 seconds!" The captain yelled, and the hail of bullets began, coming from the direct front. In the darkness, they couldn't see, but assumed the other DUKQ boats were also receiving fire from the shore as well, as many of them had spread apart to prevent hitting mines when they'd been detected.
"Neal, you're going to have to make that Springfield accurate. We have limited ammo for that thing, and your shots had better count." Preston said as they were jostled, the change of the DUKQ as they went from water to land, switching from floating to driving.
The ramp was released and they exited the DUKQ boat quickly, all fire still focused on the boat and the boats around them as they ran for cover, mainly the rocks in front of them. They were rather large and prevented them from being seen as they crouched behind them.
"Newman, Williams, set that Browning up. Williams, watch his blind sides. Neal, Gimmons, let's clear these trenches." Preston ordered, motioning for them to move.
They ran for their lives, the fire now directed towards them and the other men streaming from their boats towards anywhere where there weren't bullets flying towards them.
They made it to the trenches miraculously unharmed, several of the men around them fell wounded or dead, and any survivors ran off with the remaining men in their squad to clear out another area.
"Okay, no point in staying silent now, let's just clear these Italians out." Preston smiled. He preferred being loud to being silent anyway. It came from the sounds of the naval guns, nearly deafening sometimes.
"Neal, save your ammo for now, use the Colt if you can." Preston began moving forward, the other two behind him as they began hearing the sounds of the Browning returning fire in the directions of the bunkers set up on higher ground.
The trench was already completely clear, most likely having fled from the mass of men heading this way. The three had decided to leave the two on the beach by themselves for now, after all the Browning could return fire to the bunkers, and the rocks blocked fire from most sides.
"I can't even fuckin' see." Gimmons commented as they searched for an exit to the trenches.
"Light the torches then." Neal suggested.
Gimmons flicked his lighter on and began lighting the torches that had been left behind, when he suddenly cried out.
A man had been hiding under a table set up in the trenches and had stabbed him in the foot as he walked by, then pulled him down to the ground, Gimmons quickly punching him in the right temple of his head, most likely cracking his skull, but at the least rendering him unconscious.
"Son of a bitch!" He yelled, clutching his foot,the knife still stuck in it.
"Damn. I never the Italians hid under tables." Preston said, trying to joke but failing. Gimmons just stared at him, so he pulled the knife out, not knowing what else to do.
"Can you walk?" Neal asked, turning around to train the Springfield to their backs. There could be more hiding out in the trenches, and he didn't want to suffer worse than Gimmons had.
"No I can't walk, I just had a knife stuck in my damn foot! What do you think?" Gimmons clutched his foot and applied pressure to the hole, trying to staunch the bleeding.
"We can't leave you like this." Preston said, reaching to grab the knife again.
He cut a bit of fabric from the unconscious Italian's uniform and wrapped it around the wound, tying it tightly to stop the bleeding hopefully.
Preston then slit the Italian's throat and stuck the knife in his mouth. He was usually a calm man, but seeing a man injured barely into the Operation had made him angry, and he saw that it was the only way to show his feelings rather than yelling for a while.
"The hell are they?" Williams' voice floated over to the three, and they all looked up, barely able to see him and Newman in the darkness.
"Here." Neal said, lowering his Springfield.
"What the hell happened?" Newman asked when he saw the makeshift bandage tied around Gimmons' foot.
"Italian stabbed him in the foot. We need someone to stay behind and look after him." Preston replied, helping Gimmons sit up against a sandbag.
"I'll stay." Williams offered, moving to the injured man and standing beside him.
"You sure?" Preston asked.
"Damn straight." The man replied, lifting his Thompson up to aim at the rest of the trenches.
"Let's go, then. Gimmons, you'll be fine. I promise." Preston then left the small area and turned left, immediately running into a door he hadn't noticed earlier. It was unlocked, so he opened it and he, Neal, and Newman continued through.
The room was empty as well, overturned tables and chairs around as they went through, and eventually found stairs that they proceeded down, darkness engulfing them.
"Shit, anyone got a light?" Newman asked.
Neal's lighter flickered on, illuminating a small hallway, whispering voices entering their ears.
"Looks like we get to kill something after all." Neal whispered, grinning. There was an evil look in his eye as he led them down the hall and to the right, the voices getting louder.
"Surprise, fuckers!" Newman yelled, peeking around the corner they finally got to and opening fire with the Browning not braced on anything. The recoil made him inaccurate, but he managed to steady it, aiming down the sights at any men he saw.
Preston and Neal joined in, overturning a table for cover as the other men in the room scrambled to escape the Browning.
Tables and chairs were overturned again, guns clattering to the floor and being hastily retrieved by hands that were nearly shot in the rain of bullets.
"Grenade!" Neal yelled, biting the pin off his 'Pineapple' grenade and throwing it over the table. It bounced off the floor twice and finally rolled next to an overturned table, exploding shrapnel into it, the two men behind it, the walls, and floor.
The Italians' fire stopped shortly after that, two men moving out from their cover to surrender.
They weren't after prisoners, so the men just shot them anyway, and examined the room.
"Nothing, it's worthless." Preston commented, kicking aside a gun he didn't know the name of.
"Let's keep moving..." He added a few seconds later, moving to the door at the other side of the room.
This was the way the Operation proceeded on the beaches of Sicily, clearing trenches, bunkers, and more underground bunkers to get to the mainland, where they would actually fight in buildings.