Sergeant Drysdale opened his mouth, but his first words were blown out of the air, and out of his lungs, by the truck that exploded into flames and twisted metal a few feet away. "What's going on?" Jacob muttered, feeling his head still spinning. Unorthodox, it did the trick as suddenly the young soldiers eyes fluttered open and he Drysdale's broad, ugly staring down at him. Not an expert in battlefield resuscitation by any means, the Sergeant delivered a sharp slap across his friends face. Yet Jacob was still out, his head having struck the hard desert rock as he was laid out. Drysdale wasn't sure until he had pulled his friend to cover and saw he wasn't even bleeding from the gunshot wound. He thought he'd get his arm shot off at any moment, but it seemed their sharpshooter had moved on, probably convinced that his near miss on Private Decker had been a fatal shot. The Sergeant kept his wits about him, having been under fire before and reached a hand out and seized Jacob by a boot and started dragging him to cover. A third shot couldn't be heard though as by then, a crescendo of gunfire, punctuating by the booms of heavier weapons, tank cannons, filled the air. The round thudded into his canteen, causing it to explode into a liquid mess soaking his entire leg as he toppled to the side, his arms flailing as he thudded to the ground. Before Drysdale, already rolling towards the nearest cooking cauldron, could tell him to get down, a second rifle round thudded into the side of the dumb struck privates waist. While the Sergeant practically fell backwards behind the ammo box, Jacob meanwhile rose clean up to his feet. That same rifle shot ended the conversation rather abruptly as a whole as both the Sergeant and Private Decker immediately sprung to action. I hear he knew Colonel Darby when they were back in Minnesota and-."Ī rifle round tore through the Corporals khaki shirt before he could finish the sentence.
"The Captain is probably still on his combat patrol, looking to impress the Colonel so he can get a commission on that new ranger unit they're making. Speaking the self evident truth, Corporal Dryer decided to put in his two cents. We probably have a clear march to Rommel's rear. "These Frenchies aren't going to fight any longer. Not now," the Sergeant replied staring off to the side, a look of discontent in his face. "What's wrong Sarge?" asked Jacob, thinking just because his more senior NCO had been in the army for some nine years now, that he must have some sort of precognition. When no one answered, Drysdale shrugged and planted his butt back on the ammo box he was using as a seat. "Anyone see our dear Captain yet?" He glanced around, noticing two double gold bar Lieutenants standing about, reminding everyone of their inherent authority just by their glowers and frowned. "He's right," the Sergeant said, rising slowly to his feet before shielding a hand above his eyes, staring off into the distance. "That's great Iowa, you reckonin on stuff." "You reckon hillbilly?" Corporal Dryer asked slickly, his dark eyebrows raising. "The humidity isn't stifling the cooling effect of your sweat I reckon." "Dry heat," Private Jacob Decker said sagely. He had concerns about the encampment being so wide and exposed, but the officers, ninty day wonders, weren't concerning themselves with setting up a guard beyond several patrols and sentries, so he didn't bother.
"It's not too bad," Sergeant Drysdale responded, checking over his shoulder. Not satisfied yet, he placed it back on the grill over their fire. "It's too fucking hot to be beautiful here," Corporal Dryer said as he shook about his tin cup, watching the grains of poorly ground coffee start to break apart in the hot water. One Man Army which can be found in the stickied thread)
(This is another Mistyverse story, the second one starring Guy Roedecker, the hero from the first story.