Realistic or Modern ~ The Devil's Marauders ~

[Achilles676]

Pvt. Andy Hutchison

05/30/44
~0610
Troopship
​

“Hey. You know what all the commotion ‘round here is about? We getting real close, or something?”

Andy hesitated for a moment before turning his head slowly to see a soldier with a 'private' emblem on his arm adressing him directly. He was unsure of what was happening for a moment but then shook his head and smiled lightly.

"Hey, yeah man, we're pretty close. I'd say less than an hour but I got no idea." Andy stuck out his hand and introduced himself, "Andy Hutchison, first squad, second platoon. You're lookin' a little green, bud. Maybe you should find Barbaro if you know him. See if he's got ginger. You never know what some of these guys carry."

Seasickness was something Andy was partially familiar with. He had spent enough time on the coast to have been out on the water a time or three. His younger sister loved to fish and two or three times a year, he would rent a boat for the two of them and their brother, the oldest the three, and go out to sea for a day. Thinking about his family grounded Andy a bit and some of his exitement faded but he kept the smile on his face.

 

[PenguinFox]

Pvt. Dean Evans​

Dean watched and listened to everything going on. It seemed not everyone was on the same page. When Barbaro shouted out the order though Dean got to moving. He quickly walked down to his bunk, grabbed the rest of his things and returned to the upper deck. After scanning the increasingly large crowd he spotted Landau on a railing and pushed his way over to him. He gave the sergeant a quick salute and addressed him. "I don't think we were ever properly introduced sir. Evans. Dean Evans. Seems I'm to be your eyes and ears. I'm also prepared to do anything else you ask of me sir." his voice was quieter than necessary but still loud enough to hear. He readjusted his pack and wrinkled his nose a bit. He still hadn't quite gotten used to the constant cigar and cigarette smoke all around him. The Lonely Astronaut

 

[Winter_Wolf]

Private Clyde "Mickey" McGowan
Grenadier​

Private Mickey McGowan heard Sergeant Landau's question--"is something wrong with your hand Private? Or have you been holding your weapon for too long?" At first the Private thought he was referring to his hand which was searching all over his clothing for a pencil. However before he opened his mouth he realized that that obviously wasn't the problem itself. It was that preoccupation had kept him from saluting his non-commissioned officer. Mickey figured that the wise course of action would be to say as little as possible, so he kept his mouth open for as short a period of time as possible, excuses be damned.

"No, sir. No excuse."

Clyde snapped as clean a salute as he could muster, but he couldn't help fear that he was garnering attention. Indeed, not only was it bad enough that he was starting off the morning on the wrong side of the squad leader...practically the entire squad was showing up to witness it as well. First Ahlborne appeared, and before Clyde could scowl too much at the older Grenadier's hand slapping his shoulder, Barb came right up near him. It came as a relief when it was time for everyone to get their things. Mickey ran off immediately, and returned a few minutes later with his things. He frowned that he might not get to do his sketch.

 

[JesterTheSheep]

Time: May 30th, 1944, ~0610 hours
Location: The "Troopship"

Private Byers​

After noticing that everyone was gathering to one central point, Austin sighed, grabbed his gear, and joined the rest of them. He did a quick check - helmet, pack, rations, ammo, canteen...

"SHIT."

He rummaged around his belongings, looking for the picture of his family...
"Thank god." He picked it up off of his bunk, stuffing it in his pocket. He half-jogged to the mass of soldiers, joining his squad.

 

[memphis]

Pvt. Marcellinus Delaney​

Date: May 30, 1944
Location: The Troopship

“Marcellinus Delaney, but you can just call me Marco, or Marcy.” Marcellinus had never been particularly unfond of his name, but after years of having it slaughtered by sports commentators at games, and being told Marcellinus sounded more like a disease than a name, he’d realized it was just easier for everyone if he cut out a few syllables. “Looks like we’ll be working together.” He offered Andy a neighborly smile, masking the discomfort of seasickness.

Marcellinus found himself having to resist the urge to laugh at Andy’s comment regarding his appearance. A little green, huh? That was being generous; Marcellinus knew he looked like shit. Felt like it, too. “Been sick as a dog since I got on this goddamn boat,” he explained, nodding. How he yearned to be back at home, in his creaky little bed that he had to share with one of his older brothers, his Ma doting over him, fixing him a comforting bowl of homemade soup. Lord, was he homesick. Between college, prison, and this shit, Marcellinus was certain he’d never see his family again. “I’ll be fine, though, we’re almost there, and the Sarge seems kinda busy, anyhow.”

Upon hearing one of the Sergeants, Barb, call out orders, Marcellinus turned his head, taking it all in. He drew in an uneasy breath, nodding and craning his neck back toward Andy. “Well, it looks like that’s my cue to split and get ready, but I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around. Thanks for the advice with the ginger.”