The Tide has Turned, A New Front, The Cavalry has Arrived
#4 of War Heroes
It's all coming together now, bit by bit. And I'm sure everyone is probably going, "Just end this, get to WWII, that one is better." Well, I am, just don't murder me.
1917, No Man's Land
"Charge," orders the lieutenant as we charge in, supported by armored cavalry. We had finally gotten our tanks... and that put Jerry on the run. They didn't go very fast, but the machine gun made up for that, killing anyone too stupid to get in front of it.
And to support our charge, the Americans had finally showed up. We were so sure they wouldn't come, yet here they are. And as our forces mixed together, we reached the German trenches, jumping inside as we shot and stabbed them down.
I watched as one of the Jerries, a rather large lizard, bashed an American right in the snout, blood spraying out as the dog fell to the dirt. So I rushed the lizard, piercing his hide with my bayonet. I heard him grunt in pain before he smacked me, trying to fight for his own life, as if bashing me away would prevent him from dying.
So I pull away and, as he turns towards me, I lunge, the bayonet piercing into his throat. I heard a faint bubbling noise and, pulling the bayonet out, blood poured onto his grey uniform before he fell to the ground. A Jerry officer started shouting something and the rest of the Jerries fled, retreating to another trench.
"Damn huns," I shout before an American looks at me in confusion. "What?"
"Why do you call them huns?"
"They called themselves that. We laughed, but the name stuck."
"Ah... well why are we just standing around? We got some huns to catch," and he climbs out of the trench. I smile before following him. These Americans were so... naïve... but that made them dangerous. We were in a bloody stalemate and, when America showed up, that stalemate turned into Jerry screaming as they were getting their arses kicked.
I'm so glad we were finally winning for once.
Western Front, 1917, No Man's Land
We had been called back to defend ourselves from the Yankees. Russia had some issues so they pulled out, something to do with a revolution or something... whatever it was, we were called away from there to the Western Front. And now we knew how the Western Front was fairing.
"Fire damn it, fire," our lieutenant ordered, obviously panicked by the fact that Tommy brought the Yankees over to kick our ass. We were all panicking, we were being pushed back. As we fired, some of the chargers would fall as a small plume of air came out of their chests, others would dive into trenches or craters, using that to fire on us.
It also didn't help that they had some new vehicle, a large steel monster with treads and a machine gun... what the fuck was that thing?
"Someone kill these fucking cowboys," the lieutenant orders, right before the Yankees charge into our trench. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fight for your lives boys!"
One of my comrades, Claus, a rather burly lizard, bashes a Yankee in the face hard, sending that bastard to the ground. However, a Tommy came and stuck him in the side, making him scream in pain. "Tommy got me, help me comrades," and he smacked Tommy hard.
Well, Tommy ripped the bayonet out and, as Claus turned, he got stuck in the throat, making his eyes go wide. I almost threw up as the blade had gone through the back of his neck. As Tommy ripped the blade out, I watched the blood flow out of his neck and onto his uniform before he fell to the ground.
"Fuck it, we'll kill them another time, everyone out of the trench, everyone retreat," our lieutenant orders, so we rush out of the trench, leaving our dignity behind as we ran. Tommy had made us run in terror... and the Yankees were still pursuing us.
As we ran, I heard a Yankee shout, "Fuck you huns," and he fired, hitting our lieutenant, the one who I had served with at the Eastern Front, and he fell just like that. I turned to face him, but Yankee brought more Yankees, so I ran. We just got dealt a huge blow, one of our officers was gone... we will remember this...
Western Front, No Man's Land, 1917
We were finally here to kick some ass. The Brits had pretty much begged ole Wilson to send some troops so he did. But he didn't just send troops, he sent the whole US fucking military force into Europe, clearing out the huns wherever they chose to hide. So we were rushing them, alongside our British, French, and Belgian allies.
The British and French had tanks. The Germans didn't. This was perfect. So we charged their lines, watching them piss themselves in terror as they fired on us. But they were too scared to hit what they were aiming at.
As we dove into their trenches, they tried to brawl us, but we either shot them or stabbed them down. Wonder why they thought brawling an American was a good idea? Maybe they were as stupid as we thought.
Well, one of my brothers was brought down by a fat lizard. I was about to attack when one of our British brothers stabbed the fucker twice. I was thankful that the fucker choked on his own blood. Or drowned in it... whatever. But I was in a rage. That officer needed to go down.
Climbing out of the trench, I shout, "Fuck you huns," and I fired, hitting their officer in the head as he fell to the ground. Another turned around, but he ran as more of us came. And we charged them, using the craters as cover, we finally hit their trench. And we stabbed and shot them.
It finally was between me and the one who was about to face me. We engaged each other, rifle to rifle combat. As I kicked him, he fell to the ground, but he kicked back, sending me to the ground as well. Fucker. Well, he pushed himself to his feet, but I grabbed my pistol and, praying to the good Lord, I fired... and I hit him in the leg.
He screamed before limping away, escaping his death. I was going to get him... that fucker was going to get his, that's for sure... and then I thought about it. Why was I angry with him?