Short Story

Moreover, during an extensive struggle on the Morris island, a lot of numbers of torpedoes were being used by the rebels in defense of Fort Wagner. In one of the huge explosions, a corporal of the 3rd colored troops was thrown about 25 yards. “the dead soldier landed entirely naked, with arm resting on the plunger of another torpedo.”

My Platoon Sergeant has a newfound respect for me as a mortarman and a leader. It was now known how knowledgeable I was and how well I could perform under duress. This was the new image I had created for myself. I was very proud of everything I had accomplished, and my platoon was impressed by my accomplishments as well. I had completed a very long and tiring day, but it was well worth it.

When we reached the ridge I turned to look back. The rest of my troop carried on, mortified. But I continued to stare back. If I squinted, I could see two silhouttes against the settin’ sun, one large an’ one small. The large cradled the small one, bent over it as if weepin’. An’ the small ‘un, well it wasn’t movin’ at all. I felt a sob workin’ its way up ma throat, but I pushed it back down when I heard the commander walkin’ up behind me.

Corporal Walter Gordon was sitting up outside of his hole at the top of hill 303 the air was thick with soot and he could barely see twenty feet in front of him. Ringing filled his ears as shells exploded overhead, along with the screams of dying men. The enemy was on his front doorstep. While his comrades fell

Swords crashed against shields like a field of doors slamming shut in the wind. Arrows whistled through the air; a murder of tiny crows swarming above us vulnerable soldiers. The grunts of men impaled by hafts and sliced open by steel join the cacophony of a battle raging into dusk. Wet warmness would splash across me in response to the dying cries of my comrades as one after another of those we battle would push our shields apart and break the line. The ground was wet and sloppy, dried earth had been turned to slush by a rain that did not fall from the sky. The ground was rendered difficult to manoeuvre through, encumbered by the lifeless figures of soldiers now without the allegiance that lead them to a face in the dirt.

Two of my men just got shot. I told everyone to crouch down. A mortar hit the back of the boat and the boat flew into the air and onto the shore. I just stayed under the boat for about twenty-five minutes, because I couldn’t move, I was in too much shock. All my men were everywhere, some were under the boat with me, some were in the water, and some were even lying on the battlefield. I told my men to be ready, on my mark we were all going to go out from under the boat and lay down fire for the oncoming ships that carried more men for our reinforcements.

“Where were you, soldier?” demands Sergeant Emerson as he raises his rifle. The man’s brown eyes widen with fear, while he searches the soldiers’ faces for someone he knows. Everyone remains rigid, but out of the corner of my eye I notice a

I ran instinctively towards the enemy, without fear, without worry. I saw an enemy; he was wearing a brown shirt. Wait, wasn’t that my uniform? I looked down, it was grey. With that information it was a reasonable enough to shoot. Bang! His head had a hole bigger than my fist; it was like a glass you could see through. I felt no remorse, he wasn’t my ally. Shots were exchanged rapidly. Each bullet flew faster than a plane, ending life as we know it. Onwards we marched into the calamity, me and my squad. I looked carefully at each face; I didn’t recognise who these people are. I looked at their name tags, I couldn’t even read it. It was in a different language, was it in German? I don’t remember them... What is going on? Before me there was an ambitious beast, the M4 Sherman. My squad got demolished by a hail of bullets from the beast. My heart

This story brings back some harsh truths about warfare, and explains why so many naïve young men joined up, only to suffer deaths well before their time.

As you must know, I have been promoted to the Royal Field of Artillery. I am not on the front line but somewhat close to it. My field of expertise has helped me reach this position of somewhat recognisable and respectable authority. So far in the war the Royal Field of Artillery has by far decimated the most lives on the enemy’s side.

We began to march. It was dark and cold and scary. Terrified the British could pop out any second, I began to think of the worst. I had heard stories of the town of Lexington having some strange occurrences. One soldier, once reported seeing a ghostly figure in a red coat walking alone in the distance. Which was really weird to EVER see a soldier walking alone at night. Let alone a red coat. We snuck quietly from the south, and we surrounded them by the West, North and South, but we had the East on our side too, it was the shoreline. They were trapped this way because they couldn't sail away.We decided to stop and rest up, and I had been hearing noises of guns cocking, and cannons being wheeled by, and generals quietly whispering orders. Everytime I heard it I would ask if the soldier next to me heard it too, He never heard it. I was concerned so I approached Captain Parker. "Sir i've been hearing noises from the North West. I think we should look for General Hugh Percy and his troops that way.”

We were one step closer to base, but everyone was still vigilant of any dangers. Collins began to talk about his family life and his longing to be home again. I shared how in my wildest dreams I never thought I would be in Vietnam instead of high school. Others shared their stories shared their stories and the fear which inched through our body began to leave us. We were halfway there and Collins began to joke about Vietnamese soldiers which made my comrades chuckle. I didn't hate them. In fact, I had no dislike towards any of the soldiers who I fought. The only reason I showed no compassion for them was because it was my job. So I joined in the laughter and our pace began to slow as we talked away. We were three hours into our trek and we estimated we had walked about six miles. What we didn't know is that we actually had only walked four miles. As the chatter grew louder, someone heard movement near us. We froze like ice sickles suspended from a gutter. The fear grew feverishly throughout our group with our hands glued to our guns. We heard more movement and it seemed to be running towards us. As we continued to listen for the predator, we witnessed a red fox dart past us as fast as a bullet. We all began to chuckle and look at each other with a face with emotions mixed with fear, happiness, and every emotion in between. We contiNued our trek, but at a my h faster pace. As we walked, we did not speak. We all became focused on the common

The aftermath of the team’s artillery strike reveals the isolation one feels in dealing with the problems that occur overseas. The narrator is simply looking for someone who he can relate to as well as express his feelings to. Yet, when he arrives at the desk of the gunnery sergeant he is sadly let down. We notice that once the old gunnery sergeant asks the narrator why he has visited him, our narrator looks at him helplessly and replies, “I thought, maybe, you’d been out there. And seen what we’d done” (284). The word helplessly implies that the narrator is desperate and seemingly has no one left to turn to. The piece of information that is critical to the overall theme of this story is the fact that our narrator wants to know whether

“I fell,” Madge answers through gritted teeth, clutching her calf tightly as she blinks out tears from her eyes as quickly as she can. It was just her luck that she’d fall off the wall like a complete idiot right after being told to quit. Maybe the odds really weren’t in her favor.

A geocacher had spent a whole day playing find the next closest cache. By evening, he wasn’t even sure where he was, at least 50 miles from home. He had parked at a forest preserve ended up on a fairly deserted trail with just a couple caches he had found without incident. At this point according to his smartphone, there was only one cache left in the whole area, but it was just across from an overpass his trail was leading to. As he approached one end, there was a sign with the warning, DO NOT CROSS. He looked around. He hadn’t seen another person or car for some time. The overpass looked fairly normal, a wooden pedestrian walkway over tall trees flanking a fairly wide stream. No other way dry way to cross that he could see. He