Silly-disclaimer-thing-that-is-required-because-of-Gods-knows-why: In fact I DO own Medal of Honor (psx version), and Medal of Honor Allied Assault (pc version) and its expansion Spearhead, and Medal of Honor Rising Sun (cube version), and Medal of Honor Frontline (cube version) SO THERE, HAH! Of course, I do not own the copyright to any of this so I don't own the plot or the characters or anything else somehow tied to the whole MOH part of EA games. Don't expect to see another one of these disclaimers around anytime soon.
AN: Not many stories about this game, now are there? I've just about played every MOH game in existence, except the MOH:AA Breakthrough expansion and Pacific Assault. I've read countless books about the Second World War and seen plenty of it on my TV screen so I think I might just know a thing or two about it. This story is going to be as realistic as possible, and so expect to see lots and lots of death, blood, violence etc. etc. etc. Now let's get this story started!
NOTE: This is an R rated story! It says PG13 because it won't allow R in my C2 community! Just to be safe...
I watched him die…
I watched him die, and did nothing to help…
He just lay there, in a puddle of his own blood, mixed with that of countless others.
His heart was still pumping, it had to have, because the blood just kept on coming.
I slipped into a sort of trance, along with so many others that day. The sound of the machinegun fire slowly faded away, the world became nothing but a blur. I didn't feel guilt. How could I have helped him? By running over? By getting myself shot? By dying? No! No more death, I would live! And I thought training had been hell… Training hadn't even been close to resembling this hell. How could anything possible resemble this? Sarge had always told us to keep our shit together, but now, Sarge was gone, and so was our hope. Our hope lay there in its own blood and had just given its last breath. It had been with us since our first training until just now. Our hope was Sarge, and now he was dead. But I would live…
My effort in this madman's war started about 2 years ago, when I lied about my age and signed up for the military. I didn't see a problem back then. I'd turn 18 in a few months anyway. Training was said to be hard and though. But nothing I had heard could prepare me for what lay ahead. From day one we were pushed beyond our limits, forcing us to use strength we never knew we had. Sarge was with us the whole time. He never made us do anything he wouldn't do. But then, there was nothing he wouldn't do anyway. Sarge was our example, our hero. His real name was David. He was a teacher in his civilian life, and had a wife and 2 kids. Even so, as a drill sergeant, he was though as hell!
The basic training took a few months to complete. I was 18 when we finished. But we weren't trained to do basic stuff. We were to be used in the invasion of mainland Europe. The Normandy coast in France to be exact. Earlier landings in Africa were done without to many losses, but this was different. We had to face Hitler's Atlantic Wall. In order to do that, we were given special training in England.
After being shipped to England in a convoy of ships, which didn't make it all because of the U-boats and mines, we were split up into different sections. Mine was lucky enough to have Sarge, who was to partake in the landings as well. We were happy to have Sarge, it gave us courage and hope. Besides Sarge and myself, my section consisted of Pratt, Natalle, Piper and Tucker. We were part of the 29th Infantry Division. The initial practice landings on the England coast were complete chaos, however, that changed as time went by and more landings were done. Just a few weeks and it would be time.
"OK men! We're gonna do another drill! Stop moaning and get your asses in gear!"
Sarge's words still echoed in my head. Another drill, one of many, they all ended up the same. We were becoming robots, everything went automatically, thinking was no longer required. Dismantling and cleaning our guns, packing our gear, the march to the docks, it was always the same. Now we were cramped up in a Higgins boat. I always wanted to meet the guy, so I could tell him how we all felt about his invention. The flat bottom only made the rocking worse, and it was a miracle if you weren't seasick. Sarge was about to start his pep-talk, again. This time, it was a little different.
"This'll be our last practice until the actual landings, so make sure you give it your all! No more room for error, got that!" "Yes sir!"
The plan was simple. The US divisions would land on the beaches code-named Omaha and Utah. The British and Canadians would land on Gold, Sword and Juno. We were set to land on Omaha in the first wave and clear one side of the beach, while the 1st division would take care of the other side. At least, that was the theory. The practice landing went smoothly and we thought we were ready.
The last week slowly crept by and on the 4th of June we set sail. Several hours later we were back in port. The landings had been called of due to the extreme weather. We had to wait another 24 hours. June 5th 1944, we set sail again and this time it was real. During the night a fleet of over 5000 ships took their positions along the invasion front. In the early morning on the 6th of June the planes carrying the paratroopers flew over to drop their human payload over Normandy. We were to follow in a few hours time.
5.30, on the morning of the 6th of June 1944. Again we were ordered into the rectangular box called Higgins boat, not to come off until we reached the shore. As our boat took its position in the line and headed towards the shore the battleship's guns started to fire. A hail of steel flew over our heads as all the ships joined in, the sound becoming even more deafening as the entire sky was filled with bombers and fighters headed for the Atlantic Wall. Little did we know the plan was already falling to pieces. The high-level bombers destined for Omaha beach were afraid to drop their cargo on friendly forces and dropped them to far inland. That meant there would be no craters for us to hide in. To make it worse, the fog had lifted, making us visible to the enemy. The landing crafts continued their way to the shore. To death. I took the opportunity to look around a bit. My friends and me were all pale and we all had the same emotionless expression on our faces. These men weren't hero's. They were sick, worried, disgusting creatures. Sarge talked a bit with us, about what lay ahead, if we knew our objectives, if we were afraid. We were afraid, and we had every right to be…
6.25, 5 minutes until the ramp would be lowered. "Keep your heads down, stay clear of the ramp!" Sarge's voice boomed. Surprisingly the German artillery remained silent. 500 meters to the shore… 400… 300… suddenly the German guns, guns of which nobody thought capable of surviving the Allied bombardment, opened fire. Huge jets of water sprayed up as large shells fell all around us. 200 meters, the boat next to us exploded as it hit a mine. Its crew got blown into the sky and bodyparts started raining down. I couldn't keep it in anymore. I dashed for the railing and threw up. Sarge pulled me back in and scolded me for hanging my head overboard. 100 meters, the sound of machinegun bullets hitting the ramp was clearly distinguishable. "Thirty seconds!" We got our first good look of the beach. It was littered with tankblockers and other iron objects. Some clearly had mines attached to the iron poles. A boat to our right let its ramp down… right on top of a mine. The entire front exploded and the back sank like a brick. It was our turn…
6.30, all over the beach ramps were lowered and the soldiers inside were treated with a hail of gunfire coming from the cliffs. Our ramp went down and I became a target. I had never been under fire before, I was scared out of my wits and I was packed so heavily I could barely move. Somehow I managed to get out off the boat and into the cold water of the Atlantic. I looked around to see where my friends were. Sarge was barking orders at Tucker and Nat, but Pratt and Piper were nowhere to be found. Using the obstacles as cover we slowly made our way up the beach, occasionally firing a shot at our invisible enemies. "Get to the shingle!" Sarge yelled at us. When I finally got to the relative safeness of the shingle I looked back over the beach. It was littered with dead bodies and blood. The sight I witnessed next was downright bizarre. Standing upright against one of the obstacles was Nat's lower half, while the upper half lay facedown on the sand. He had been cut in half by machinegun fire. Shock and fear made their way into me as I had to throw up again. I could feel movement besides me. It was Tucker, who made a face after seeing the halved Natalle. He turned to me and asked where Sarge was. I honestly had no idea. I looked for him and spotted him lying on his back staring blankly at the sky. His hands were pressing on his abdomen where blood was staining his uniform at an alarming rate. I watched on as I saw the last drops of life seep out of our sergeant. I watched him die… I watched him die, and did nothing to help… He just lay there, in a puddle of his own blood, mixed with that of countless others. His heart was still pumping, it had to have, because the blood just kept on coming.
I slipped into a sort of trance, along with so many others that day. The sound of the machinegun fire slowly faded away, the world became nothing but a blur. I didn't feel guilt. How could I have helped him? By running over? By getting myself shot? By dying? No! No more death, I would live! And I thought training had been hell… Training hadn't even been close to resembling this hell. How could anything possible resemble this? Sarge had always told us to keep our shit together, but now, Sarge was gone, and so was our hope. Our hope lay there in its own blood and had just given its last breath. It had been with us since our first training until just now. Our hope was Sarge, and now he was dead.
………………
Slowly but surely I started to regain some sense. Someone was shaking me wildly and yelling in my face, yet I couldn't understand a thing he said. "…p out of it, boy! Snap out of it!" I widened my eyes as the realization hit me. I was on a beach, during a war. Gunfire could still be heard. I looked at the man in front of me. It was a Colonel. He told me we were about to break through the German defenses and he needed every man who could walk. I nodded as I grabbed my rifle. Tucker came over and told me I'd been like that for at least half an hour. Suddenly a loud bang ran over the beach and war cries followed. The whole beach began to move to the opening like one big being. Tucker and I let ourselves be carried with the flow. Slowly but surely, everybody snapped out of their doze and started moving inland. The German defenses were overrun and the guns were silenced. I received a medal not long after, though I didn't deserve it. Sarge deserved it, but he was dead. He couldn't take the medal even if he wanted to, so they send it home. Together with an American flag and his dogtags. Like Sarge, so many others died that day, with the losses on Omaha beach reaching well into the thousands.
May God have mercy on their souls…
AN: So, did you like it? First story I wrote in this category, hope it wasn't that bad. If you ask me kindly, I might consider writing more chapters about the European campaign, but there'd better be lots of reviews, coz this was intended as a one-shot! Anyway, hope you enjoyed, until we meet again.
WeirdDutchGuy