The big push to Sand Bar

OldCorps

Clanker
I look around me, at all the bodies spralled on the ground, noticing a few dozen others, like me, sitting dazed, suffering in silence, no one moaning. The sun is just rising.

I place my hand in my head and recap the events of the previous night. At the outset, there had been 250 of us.

For twelve days straight we had been run ragged, reinforce here, a breakthrough must be made here, time is critical, support needed there, there's a break at position X, fix it. Twelve long days of frantic attempts to comply with orders.

We were all on our chin straps. Finally the order came through, transport will arrive at 18.00 to pull us out.

Our tense bodies relaxed, smiles began to appear on the faces of the troops again.

18.00, no trucks. 19.00, no trucks. We all start to get those deep down in the stomach feelings, something is FUBAR. Finally, at 21.30 we hear the rumbling of the trucks. Relief. We scramble aboard. I make sure to keep my men close by. No seats, just roof bars and hang ropes to hold onto. Two and three quarters of an hour of the most joyous bumpy ride later we pull up at our location.

We pile off the trucks and the RSM tells everyone to fall in and keep the noise down.

Strange i thought to myself, we're in a safe area, surely?

It is then the CO speaks to us all, "due to a cock up in transport i have to tell you we have only one hour to complete a last objective, the big push to the Sand Bar. We have tried to increase our timings but this is not possible due to the large amount of troop movements". He pauses and listens for sighs or moans of disagreement, but, we remain calm, having been through this for the last twelve days.

He smiles, proud of his men, you can see it written all over his face. I see him looking at the young soldiers in front of him, almost as if to say "what horrors will i witness come sunrise"?

After the details of the big push to Sand Bar have been passed down, i grab my four men and run through what we have to do. Stay close to me at all times, in a diamond formation. We must keep going and not get caught up in the bottle neck. If that happens we fail, and that is not an option i will accept.

My blokes all had nicknames, Hawk the best shot in the Regiment. Swifty, our rugby playing fanatic, thin and agile and fast as shit off a shovel. Owley, with his almost super human ability to see in the dark. Magpie, if you need something he will find it or nick it. And finally me, Chief. Why have they not given me a bird nick name?

We form up for the big push. I look around me, my chest expanding in pride and adrenaline. There are cooks, clerks, storesmen, medics, pay clerks, even a couple of Veterinary Corps bods attached to us were in the throng. No one wanted to miss this one. Except the MP's, loitering on the ouyskirts.

As if a giant invisible hand had pushed me, we were off. My guys formed up and we made a steady hard push forward. Forward is the only thought in my mind. I check my 12, my 9 and 6 finally checking my 3 o'clock. Where is he? Taken down? Caught up in the melee? I can't stop, we have to keep going forward. Then I hear it "Chief, head down". I listen to my 3 o'clock and duck instinctively. A projectle whistles passed my head, hits something solid, i don't know what, and it ricochets' into the distance.

And then it happens - WHAM, a mighty blow to the right side of my ribs, I go down, stars in my eyes, breathing laboured i land on all fours. Struggling to breathe, the Disney stars floating in front of my eyes i pull my chin strap tight on my helmet and begin to crawl forward. Always forward, forward. I see the feet moving past me but not really getting anywhere.

I must keep going, can't get caught in the bottle neck else it will all be over.

I get lower, barging with my shoulders, forcing gaps, finding spaces. After what seems like eternity I put my hand on the cold, hard metal rail. Covered in filth and the detritous of humanity. Never has something so cold to the hands felt so good. I have reached the front, near to achieving the objective.

I try to shout to my men "I'm here, I,m here, reinforce me before i get overrun". But my mouth is too dry with the exercion and adrenaline rush. I reach for the toggle dangling loosely from my jacket and suck on it as if it is a ripe juicy peach. It's working. I can feel the saliva building up in my mouth.

Then I see it. A gap. A small gap, but i must go for it.

Rising to my knees, with all the strength I had, I push my way through and give my last order of that night during the Great push to Sand Bar -

"Fifteen pints of lager and five double shots of rum".

With ten minutes left i had made it. Not just for me, but my men, my band of brothers.

Elated, I gather my men and we retire to the solitude of our bivvi to enjoy our hard earned trophies.

Swifty looks over at me, lager dripping off his lip and asks "Chiefy, what made you take that route, it was crazy"?

Smiling, i look at him, remembering when i was a sprog, "Nothing comes between a Sapper and his booze at the end of a hard exercise son, you will learn. Especially when there is only an hour on the clock before closing time!".

Chapter II

The Art of War - Dirty tactics at Wash Down

I had the men stood at ease outside the Troopies tent. 2nd Lt Palmer Whitehouse. So newly promoted his pip dazzled the eyes.

I called the men to attention.

PW, as he quickly became known gave his orders. "Men, the Colonel was asking for volunteers to achieve one final task. I offered to volunteer my best men. You will be happy to know he accepted my offer, and i believe you will be immensely proud to learn YOU are my best men."

And so, for us, we lucky few, began the dirty war at Wash Down.
 
Last edited:

Kirkz

LE
I got as far as "ground" and started nodding off, so I sacked it and made a brew and a slice of toast.
 
@OldCorps,
If you get the urge to type any more shite, please feed yourself through a wood chipper.
 

Ritch

LE
8bce00e2853c6e2114fa905d9e8feaba2ba1bc0753ab4c60a0ff55c99fb337a5.jpg
 

Gout Man

LE
Book Reviewer
I look around me, at all the bodies spralled on the ground, noticing a few dozen others, like me, sitting dazed, suffering in silence, no one moaning. The sun is just rising.

I place my hand in my head and recap the events of the previous night. At the outset, there had been 250 of us.

For twelve days straight we had been run ragged, reinforce here, a breakthrough must be made here, time is critical, support needed there, there's a break at position X, fix it. Twelve long days of frantic attempts to comply with orders.

We were all on our chin straps. Finally the order came through, transport will arrive at 18.00 to pull us out.

Our tense bodies relaxed, smiles began to appear on the faces of the troops again.

18.00, no trucks. 19.00, no trucks. We all start to get those deep down in the stomach feelings, something is FUBAR. Finally, at 21.30 we hear the rumbling of the trucks. Relief. We scramble aboard. I make sure to keep my men close by. No seats, just roof bars and hang ropes to hold onto. Two and three quarters of an hour of the most joyous bumpy ride later we pull up at our location.

We pile off the trucks and the RSM tells everyone to fall in and keep the noise down.

Strange i thought to myself, we're in a safe area, surely?

It is then the CO speaks to us all, "due to a cock up in transport i have to tell you we have only one hour to complete a last objective, the big push to the Sand Bar. We have tried to increase our timings but this is not possible due to the large amount of troop movements". He pauses and listens for sighs or moans of disagreement, but, we remain calm, having been through this for the last twelve days.

He smiles, proud of his men, you can see it written all over his face. I see him looking at the young soldiers in front of him, almost as if to say "what horrors will i witness come sunrise"?

After the details of the big push to Sand Bar have been passed down, i grab my four men and run through what we have to do. Stay close to me at all times, in a diamond formation. We must keep going and not get caught up in the bottle neck. If that happens we fail, and that is not an option i will accept.

My blokes all had nicknames, Hawk the best shot in the Regiment. Swifty, our rugby playing fanatic, thin and agile and fast as shit off a shovel. Owley, with his almost super human ability to see in the dark. Magpie, if you need something he will find it or nick it. And finally me, Chief. Why have they not given me a bird nick name?

We form up for the big push. I look around me, my chest expanding in pride and adrenaline. There are cooks, clerks, storesmen, medics, pay clerks, even a couple of Veterinary Corps bods attached to us were in the throng. No one wanted to miss this one. Except the MP's, loitering on the ouyskirts.

As if a giant invisible hand had pushed me, we were off. My guys formed up and we made a steady hard push forward. Forward is the only thought in my mind. I check my 12, my 9 and 6 finally checking my 3 o'clock. Where is he? Taken down? Caught up in the melee? I can't stop, we have to keep going forward. Then I hear it "Chief, head down". I listen to my 3 o'clock and duck instinctively. A projectle whistles passed my head, hits something solid, i don't know what, and it ricochets' into the distance.

And then it happens - WHAM, a mighty blow to the right side of my ribs, I go down, stars in my eyes, breathing laboured i land on all fours. Struggling to breathe, the Disney stars floating in front of my eyes i pull my chin strap tight on my helmet and begin to crawl forward. Always forward, forward. I see the feet moving past me but not really getting anywhere.

I must keep going, can't get caught in the bottle neck else it will all be over.

I get lower, barging with my shoulders, forcing gaps, finding spaces. After what seems like eternity I put my hand on the cold, hard metal rail. Covered in filth and the detritous of humanity. Never has something so cold to the hands felt so good. I have reached the front, near to achieving the objective.

I try to shout to my men "I'm here, I,m here, reinforce me before i get overrun". But my mouth is too dry with the exercion and adrenaline rush. I reach for the toggle dangling loosely from my jacket and suck on it as if it is a ripe juicy peach. It's working. I can feel the saliva building up in my mouth.

Then I see it. A gap. A small gap, but i must go for it.

Rising to my knees, with all the strength I had, I push my way through and give my last order of that night during the Great push to Sand Bar -

"Fifteen pints of lager and five double shots of rum".

With ten minutes left i had made it. Not just for me, but my men, my band of brothers.

Elated, I gather my men and we retire to the solitude of our bivvi to enjoy our hard earned trophies.

Swifty looks over at me, lager dripping off his lip and asks "Chiefy, what made you take that route, it was crazy"?

Smiling, i look at him, remembering when i was a sprog, "Nothing comes between a Sapper and his booze at the end of a hard exercise son, you will learn. Especially when there is only an hour on the clock before closing time!".

Chapter II

The Art of War - Dirty tactics at Wash Down

I had the men stood at ease outside the Troopies tent. 2nd Lt Palmer Whitehouse. So newly promoted his pip dazzled the eyes.

I called the men to attention.

PW, as he quickly became known gave his orders. "Men, the Colonel was asking for volunteers to achieve one final task. I offered to volunteer my best men. You will be happy to know he accepted my offer, and i believe you will be immensely proud to learn YOU are my best men."

And so, for us, we lucky few, began the dirty war at Wash Down.

You are a dick.
 
I once had hopes and dreams, then I read this thread.
 
I look around me, at all the bodies spralled on the ground, noticing a few dozen others, like me, sitting dazed, suffering in silence, no one moaning. The sun is just rising.

I place my hand in my head and recap the events of the previous night. At the outset, there had been 250 of us.

For twelve days straight we had been run ragged, reinforce here, a breakthrough must be made here, time is critical, support needed there, there's a break at position X, fix it. Twelve long days of frantic attempts to comply with orders.

We were all on our chin straps. Finally the order came through, transport will arrive at 18.00 to pull us out.

Our tense bodies relaxed, smiles began to appear on the faces of the troops again.

18.00, no trucks. 19.00, no trucks. We all start to get those deep down in the stomach feelings, something is FUBAR. Finally, at 21.30 we hear the rumbling of the trucks. Relief. We scramble aboard. I make sure to keep my men close by. No seats, just roof bars and hang ropes to hold onto. Two and three quarters of an hour of the most joyous bumpy ride later we pull up at our location.

We pile off the trucks and the RSM tells everyone to fall in and keep the noise down.

Strange i thought to myself, we're in a safe area, surely?

It is then the CO speaks to us all, "due to a cock up in transport i have to tell you we have only one hour to complete a last objective, the big push to the Sand Bar. We have tried to increase our timings but this is not possible due to the large amount of troop movements". He pauses and listens for sighs or moans of disagreement, but, we remain calm, having been through this for the last twelve days.

He smiles, proud of his men, you can see it written all over his face. I see him looking at the young soldiers in front of him, almost as if to say "what horrors will i witness come sunrise"?

After the details of the big push to Sand Bar have been passed down, i grab my four men and run through what we have to do. Stay close to me at all times, in a diamond formation. We must keep going and not get caught up in the bottle neck. If that happens we fail, and that is not an option i will accept.

My blokes all had nicknames, Hawk the best shot in the Regiment. Swifty, our rugby playing fanatic, thin and agile and fast as shit off a shovel. Owley, with his almost super human ability to see in the dark. Magpie, if you need something he will find it or nick it. And finally me, Chief. Why have they not given me a bird nick name?

We form up for the big push. I look around me, my chest expanding in pride and adrenaline. There are cooks, clerks, storesmen, medics, pay clerks, even a couple of Veterinary Corps bods attached to us were in the throng. No one wanted to miss this one. Except the MP's, loitering on the ouyskirts.

As if a giant invisible hand had pushed me, we were off. My guys formed up and we made a steady hard push forward. Forward is the only thought in my mind. I check my 12, my 9 and 6 finally checking my 3 o'clock. Where is he? Taken down? Caught up in the melee? I can't stop, we have to keep going forward. Then I hear it "Chief, head down". I listen to my 3 o'clock and duck instinctively. A projectle whistles passed my head, hits something solid, i don't know what, and it ricochets' into the distance.

And then it happens - WHAM, a mighty blow to the right side of my ribs, I go down, stars in my eyes, breathing laboured i land on all fours. Struggling to breathe, the Disney stars floating in front of my eyes i pull my chin strap tight on my helmet and begin to crawl forward. Always forward, forward. I see the feet moving past me but not really getting anywhere.

I must keep going, can't get caught in the bottle neck else it will all be over.

I get lower, barging with my shoulders, forcing gaps, finding spaces. After what seems like eternity I put my hand on the cold, hard metal rail. Covered in filth and the detritous of humanity. Never has something so cold to the hands felt so good. I have reached the front, near to achieving the objective.

I try to shout to my men "I'm here, I,m here, reinforce me before i get overrun". But my mouth is too dry with the exercion and adrenaline rush. I reach for the toggle dangling loosely from my jacket and suck on it as if it is a ripe juicy peach. It's working. I can feel the saliva building up in my mouth.

Then I see it. A gap. A small gap, but i must go for it.

Rising to my knees, with all the strength I had, I push my way through and give my last order of that night during the Great push to Sand Bar -

"Fifteen pints of lager and five double shots of rum".

With ten minutes left i had made it. Not just for me, but my men, my band of brothers.

Elated, I gather my men and we retire to the solitude of our bivvi to enjoy our hard earned trophies.

Swifty looks over at me, lager dripping off his lip and asks "Chiefy, what made you take that route, it was crazy"?

Smiling, i look at him, remembering when i was a sprog, "Nothing comes between a Sapper and his booze at the end of a hard exercise son, you will learn. Especially when there is only an hour on the clock before closing time!".

Chapter II

The Art of War - Dirty tactics at Wash Down

I had the men stood at ease outside the Troopies tent. 2nd Lt Palmer Whitehouse. So newly promoted his pip dazzled the eyes.

I called the men to attention.

PW, as he quickly became known gave his orders. "Men, the Colonel was asking for volunteers to achieve one final task. I offered to volunteer my best men. You will be happy to know he accepted my offer, and i believe you will be immensely proud to learn YOU are my best men."

And so, for us, we lucky few, began the dirty war at Wash Down.

Well don't drink at Wetherspoons then!
 

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