[Timmay]

William Russell crouched in his muddy foxhole on a rainy day in a miserable country. It had been raining since the invasion, and Russell was begining to think it would just never stop. It had been a long, bad day, like most of the days had been.

Russell lifted his head out of the mud. Despite the darkness, he knew the rest of the men were all doing the same thing he was; sitting in their foxhole, squinting through the rain, waiting for the promised attack that should have happened a long while ago. There they all were, sitting like fools, getting soaked and muddy, and waiting for an attack. The Operation Overlord was looking up.

Russell shook the wet off of him like a dog. He had volunteered to go with his sergeant and eight other men to hold the road from this inevitable attack. According to his commanding officer, the squad was stationed about five miles north of Isigny, on a crossroad that would give other soldiers who landed at Omaha a clear path to the city. But through the rain, it wasn't possible to tell if you were in France, or just back home.


Russell sat disinterested in his foxhole. In the distance, he could hear someone sharpening his bayonet with a rock. It was pissing Russell off. There he was, just trying to zone out, and some jerk was making everyone on edge. Somewhere from his right, tech fourth class Leland, the squad medic, growled, "Montaro, you sharpen that damn bayonet one more time and I'm gunna take it and castrate you."

Russell closed his eyes smiling. Leland might have been short (no more than 5'3"), but he had authority.


Russell started to slip into sleep. His mind started going off into different places. He was no longer concentrating or even thinking about the other men or the street. His mind looked back two-and-a-half days before he was stationed in the mud-spattered hellhole. He was on the first wave landing at Dog Green sector. Russell shook his head. So many men died on that 200-yard strip of sand just to take a few pillboxes and 88s. It made no sense to him. But if it meant he and everyone else could go home quicker, well hey.

Nothing went right on that day. That battle was supposed to be a cakewalk. It was all the bubbleheads' and birds' faults. The Navy shelled the damn bluffs instead of the beach, and the Air Force had their heads so far up their asses that they couldn't even bomb the right area. This, of course, caused Russell and the rest of the men to be left wide open on the beach, wondering just where the hell the craters and defilade was.

Russell remembered things from that battle that he wished he could only forget. He remembered that cramped Higgins. The distinct smell of salt water and vomit from the seasick. He remembered hearing the whistle from the coxswain and the door going down. He remembered the blood. The carnage. The charge to get out of the boat. The blur of the bullets. He remembered being stuck behind the Hedgehogs for six hours, just trying to get on the other side of the beach.

Before the battle, the 29th were just sitting in England, training to the long hours of the night just so they would be in "top physical condition". Before Normandy, he was invincible. No one could touch him, and he could take Berlin all by himself. Omaha certainly put that assumption to rest, when he had to climb over the other invincible bodies of his friends just to stay alive. Russell adjusted his position in the slick mud. He wished that he could just be made a sergeant, then take Berlin and go home.

That's why he was here in France in this stupid war: to become a sergeant like his father. When he was two, his father came back from the war grinning and smiling at his son. When he was four, his father started telling his son about the war. How he managed to rise from a meager private to a staff sergeant. He told his son about how he led his men through the war. Then, in 1941, the war against the Axis came to America via the Pacific. They started calling it World War Two. It was Russell's chance. He left his town, went to basic, and became part of the fighting 29th, 116th infantry regiment. Russell was put in Able Company with most of his friends from basic. By then, the U.S. had declared war on both Japan and Germany. He went to Europe for two years and during the spring of 1944 was told that he would land in France. Russell was thrilled. He wanted nothing more than to "get some". Now, he just wanted to be back where he felt welcome. Where he wasn't afraid every turn he would make might get him killed.

As Russell was trapped in thought, Private Lance Rekford slid next to the corporal. Russell jumped when he felt Lance tap his shoulder. "Hey, Will. Where are they?"

Russell knew he was talking about the Germans who were supposed to attack. "Dunno. Maybe they aren't coming."

"Doubtful. Remember what the major said? 'The bastards know we're commin' for 'em, so they'll try to strike first. Ya'll are gunna stop 'em in their Nazi tracks'."

Will snickered. It was a pretty good imitation of the major. "C'mon Lance, I don't know. What time is it?"

Lance turned on his head torch, then checked his watch. "It's almost midnight. We've been here for five hours, and I'm soaked. I just wanna get outta here."

For the first time in days, Russell smiled. Lance wasn't like him. Lance had no desire to fight. When they were at basic, everyone said their story, where they were from, what they wanted, the whole deal. Lance was from Brooklyn and just wanted to go back to his neighborhood, maybe help his father with his deli. "Best pastrami sandwich you've ever tasted. I swear. If any of us are lucky enough to survive this war, I'll buy all of you guys one."

Apparently, Lance was working one day when a recruitment officer came by the store and asked for a James Rekford. Lance paused, then lied and said he was his father. No one really cared that he was 19 and not 43.


Lance shifted in the foxhole. "I'm startin' to think that Sarge is cracked." Russell spat into the mud, and nodded; he knew what Lance meant. Before D-Day, Sarge was a happy-go-lucky guy; he always tried to help people in basic, and did what he could to get everyone weekend passes. He knew what it was like to be a soldier. He wasn't like the Major. Now, he was tense and seemed paranoid. Another perfect example of what Omaha did.

While he was thinking, Lance stood up. Russell looked at him horrified. "Hey Sarge. Sarge!" Russell nearly tackled the Private. Instead, he slammed him in the knee.

"What the hell are you doing, Lance!" he said in a harsh whisper as the private rubbed his joint.

"Screw you man! I'm gunna ask the Sarge where they are." The pair waited for a second, before the heard Sarges heavy breathing through the rain spatter.

His voice came from the darkness. "Lance, you pull that crap again and I'll kill you myself. Now what do you want?"

"Where are they, Sarge?" Russell held his breath, thinking that it would kill time as his Sergeant thought.

After about half a minute, Sarge replied, "Damnit, I don't know Lance. I know this sucks, but just get back into your foxhole and be patient."

About ten minutes after Lance left grumbling to his own foxhole, Russell started worrying. Which way would the Germans come? Russell looked as far as he could to his right. Would they come that way? The road to the right was fairly smooth and could be traversed easily. That could mean that if the Germans were lazy, they would come to the right. Russell's stare moved to the left. That part of the road was raggedy and bumpy. It was unlikely that they would take that road if they used APC's or armor. Still, if they didn't have armor with them, it wouldn't matter. It would be hard to walk, sure, but if the Germans thought that the Americans expected them going right, they would go left. Russell decided they would come left. But then Russell looked straight ahead. The Germans would never just rush at them, and that's what the front road would force them to do. Of course, they could split up, having everyone attack each flank. But this expected German convoy was not supposed to have many people, maybe only twenty. Even though they would be outnumbered by about 2:1, Russell and the squad could still win a battle where every German was split up. Russell decided that they would go left, again. But then he thought that maybe the Germans expected the Americans to think they would go down the path that seemed tougher. If the Americans thought that, then the Germans would come from the right. Russell started to panic.

Erwin snuck through the wet grass. He was impressed. If he tried to flank these Americans any other day, he and the rest of the squad would have been shot to death. But tonight, it was rainy, dark, and the Americans were about to be relieved. Had it been day and dry, they would have all been spotted and killed. But it wasn't day, and it was raining. For a moment, he thought they would all be killed when a lamp turned on and shined near their position, but it turned out to be nothing. You can't be unlucky all the times. Erwin and the Germans had hooked around the left flank while some American was talking from another's foxhole, keeping their distance from the American squad. Never too careful. Although it took more time than just doing a predictable frontal assault, they managed to pull the greatest flank they could. When they were ready, Erwin commanded his troops around. "You, there. Move. Everyone, two waves. First wave, grenades. Second wave, fire on the bastards. Don't stop until you can't hear any of the Americans." The Germans lined up in two lines, one line aiming their rifles and weapons at the unsuspecting Americans and the other preparing to throw grenades blindly into the American position.

Sounds were coming behind Russell. Now, thoroughly spooked and betrayed by his own thoughts, he pointed his M1 garand at the darkness. What was there? What could it be? Before he could find out, a thump came into his foxhole along with another thump right outside his foxhole. He could only guess what it is.

Russell was caught in the crossfire. The shrapnel from the numerous grenades lodged themselves in his leg, chest, and eyes. As he blindly fell, he was shot twice in the head. He and his entire squad died at 2:26 A.M., June ninth, 1944. His squad was found a day later when the German squad they were supposed to stop attacked an American convoy on the way to take the town of Isigny. When the news came to Russell's home, his mom cried for ages. His dad didn't know; he had died when Russell was only seven.

[Timmay]

please comment and rate?

[Razor]

okay, not bad. The ending was pretty abrupt. The other thing is, doesn't have much of a plot to it. You are just telling us a story. If it is meant to act on our feelings of compassion and sympathy... you didn't build your characters up enough.

First, but a break in between the narration from the American side and the German side. I mean, put in like a --------------- or a ######## and center it. That tells the reader you have changed perspective. I was lost for a second when you made the change because, it looked like you were just starting another paragraph.

Now, this is just a suggestion, but you might want to switch back and forth from the very beginning. First the American in wait, and then the Germans moving anxiously forward.

Second, really work on making Russell or whoever a more lovable character. In fact a way to take this is endearing the reader to both sides. Then the reader doesn't want either one to die, but atlas they are driven to kill each other. You endear us a little with the back story of Russell, but I really didn't feel much when he died.

There was a little more emotion potential at the end with the dad, but that was deflated a little by fact that the dad was dead. You could have Russell sending back letters. The last one reading that he just wants to be like his dad, and maybe have his dad alive to read it. That would be more touching.

The mechanics of this were bad. The description wasn't bad... there just wasn't a lot of it. We don't know what any of the characters look like and we know very little about the scenery. Also, there were things in this story that didn't add to it. I know it's stuff you want in there, but its bogging down you story.

That's why he was here in France in this stupid war...became part of the fighting 29th, 116th infantry regiment. Russell was put in Able Company with most of his friends from basic. By then, the U.S. had declared war...he just wanted to be back in his town.

Blue is fine, orange can go, but you could leave it, and red isn't needed. It extra weight. It doesn't add anything to story. This is just one of many. Really go back through and chop any excess that isn't vital to the story. It's fine if you want to add a little 'lacing' to the enrich the story to endear us to the character, just make sure it does that.

Also I suggest more description in the opening. Really make the reader feel like he/she are in a foxhole with Russell.

William Russell was a young man of twenty-seven with sandy blond hair and deep blue eyes. In a thick haze of rain, in a country side riddled with mortar indentions, Russell crouched in his mud caked hole two wide by two foot deep. He clutched his wet and muddy M1 close to this chest with the butt resting against the bottom of the mud hole. He squatted facing a forked road that would soon bring a squad of Germans to him.

The two yellow bars outlined in green on this shoulder marked him as a Corporal. One rank below his goal when he entered the army. However, at that moment, his goal wasn't what's on his mind. At that moment, Russell was wondering why he had volunteered to come out here with this small strike force, in the cold soaking rain to head off a small strike force of Germans intelligence said was heading their way.

Something like that. Really set the mood and hook the reader. In fact at this point, you could swing perspectives and talk about the Germans moving forward not sure why they are out there looking for a convey, etc.

Good luck man. It's not bad. However there is room for improvement. This is a good to build off of and improve upon.

[Timmay]

Originally Posted by Razor

okay, not bad. The ending was pretty abrupt. The other thing is, doesn't have much of a plot to it. You are just telling us a story. If it is meant to act on our feelings of compassion and sympathy... you didn't build your characters up enough.

First, but a break in between the narration from the American side and the German side. I mean, put in like a --------------- or a ######## and center it. That tells the reader you have changed perspective. I was lost for a second when you made the change because, it looked like you were just starting another paragraph.

Now, this is just a suggestion, but you might want to switch back and forth from the very beginning. First the American in wait, and then the Germans moving anxiously forward.

Second, really work on making Russell or whoever a more lovable character. In fact a way to take this is endearing the reader to both sides. Then the reader doesn't want either one to die, but atlas they are driven to kill each other. You endear us a little with the back story of Russell, but I really didn't feel much when he died.

There was a little more emotion potential at the end with the dad, but that was deflated a little by fact that the dad was dead. You could have Russell sending back letters. The last one reading that he just wants to be like his dad, and maybe have his dad alive to read it. That would be more touching.

The mechanics of this were bad. The description wasn't bad... there just wasn't a lot of it. We don't know what any of the characters look like and we know very little about the scenery. Also, there were things in this story that didn't add to it. I know it's stuff you want in there, but its bogging down you story.

That's why he was here in France in this stupid war...became part of the fighting 29th, 116th infantry regiment. Russell was put in Able Company with most of his friends from basic. By then, the U.S. had declared war...he just wanted to be back in his town.

Blue is fine, orange can go, but you could leave it, and red isn't needed. It extra weight. It doesn't add anything to story. This is just one of many. Really go back through and chop any excess that isn't vital to the story. It's fine if you want to add a little 'lacing' to the enrich the story to endear us to the character, just make sure it does that.

Also I suggest more description in the opening. Really make the reader feel like he/she are in a foxhole with Russell.

William Russell was a young man of twenty-seven with sandy blond hair and deep blue eyes. In a thick haze of rain, in a country side riddled with mortar indentions, Russell crouched in his mud caked hole two wide by two foot deep. He clutched his wet and muddy M1 close to this chest with the butt resting against the bottom of the mud hole. He squatted facing a forked road that would soon bring a squad of Germans to him.

The two yellow bars outlined in green on this shoulder marked him as a Corporal. One rank below his goal when he entered the army. However, at that moment, his goal wasn't what's on his mind. At that moment, Russell was wondering why he had volunteered to come out here with this small strike force, in the cold soaking rain to head off a small strike force of Germans intelligence said was heading their way.

Something like that. Really set the mood and hook the reader. In fact at this point, you could swing perspectives and talk about the Germans moving forward not sure why they are out there looking for a convey, etc.

Good luck man. It's not bad. However there is room for improvement. This is a good to build off of and improve upon.

you hit the nail on the head. im just telling a story. nothing more. not much of a plot. mainly only the facts and thats it. i'm recording history, or basicly just stating an event that undoubtedly happened, either on d-day, or the bulge, or any number of mission costing millions of men their lives. and as for emotion, i want the reader to come up with it themselves. i hate telling people what they should think, how this guy was feeling at the time, or what was going through his mind. that is why this is in the 3rd person.

This story it isnt ment to tell you that you should feel bad for these guys. you can feel whatever emotion you want while reading this. you dont have to just feel sympathy.

The ending was deliberate, and it reflects the title. it ends abruply because the moment these men died, they became nothing more than a statistic. Will Russel here became William Russel, son of a WWI veteren, born 1920, died 1944, ECT. anything human about Will is turned into nothing more than a fact.

If you should get one thing out of this story, its that war isnt the overplayed, glorified thing you see in the movies and read in books. war is what is right here on the page; patrol, patrol, enemy encounter, battle for something useless (pavlov's house, road, bridge), patrol, ambush, death.

[Razor]

all I was trying to say is... the story isn't very captivating. You read it.. and you really don't feel much at all in the end. The thought about them just becoming statistics doesn't come through.

I'm not trying to be mean. I just didn't feel anything for any of the characters. I was never drawn in as a reader. I felt like I was just reading an historical fiction, about some American guys and some German guys, that had very little significants to it.

What I was trying to say before was, that you need to draw the reader in more and make him/her care about the characters more. Right, this reads very matter-factly. It's hard for me as a reader to feel the impact that Russel was unjustly made into a statistic, when I never felt attached to him to begin with.

[Timmay]

w/e man. its not like im angry or anything. you can think whatever you want. i was just tellin you what i thought as i wrote it.

thanks for the imput