Burden of Command News

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[h2]You enter the town of Fedala at the head of Able Company.

The streets are quiet. There isn't a French soldier in sight. It seems the enemy has no stomach for this fight.

The only signs of life are the occasional glimpses of locals peeking through the windows above and the few denizens walking the narrow, dusty lanes. They seem unfazed by your presence.

Children appear. A few of your men smile at them. That's all it takes.

The youths are soon buzzing around the column like bees in a field of clover, bounding from soldier to soldier, tugging at pant legs and field jackets. The men hand them candy bars, C-rations, and anything other trinkets they have handy.

The scene reminds you of the stories the old timers told about orphans in France begging American Dough Boys for food during the Great War.

Your heart goes out to these poor kids, but you also know this is putting them and your men in danger.

This wasn't in the training manuals.

You have to do something. But what?

Your blood runs cold as you suddenly realize just how unprepared you are for this and whatever else lies ahead.[/h2]

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[h2]
You lead your men off the beach, thankful to feel solid earth beneath your boots. Whatever waits ahead, at least you're off that infernal Higgins Boat.

As the sun crests the horizon, you spot movement ahead. Your training kicks in again as you and your men hit the dirt.

You reach into your map case and retrieve a set of Army-issued field binoculars. Your eyes strain to make out the figures ahead in the gathering light.

"Infantry." You tell your radio operator. "Some cavalry, too."

You lower the field glasses as fear grips your stomach again.

Dying doesn't scare you as much as the idea of failing your men. Are you up to the task?

The men look to you. You can feel their nervous eyes upon you like a hundred burning spotlights.

It's time to find out what you're made of.

You grab the radio's handset and key the mic. "This is Able Six. All Able elements prepare to attack."
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[h2]You made it ashore in one piece, but there's no time for congratulations.

A successful landing only means you're that much closer to the people who want to kill you.

You pat yourself down, checking your gear out of the habits gained from months of intensive training back in the States.

Frankly, you're surprised you made it this far.

The men start to mill around in the pre-dawn gloom, unsure what to do next.

They look to you. "Whada we do now, Sir?"

The muffled report of heavy machine gun fire echoes from further inland. It gives you focus.

You respond, "We do what we came here to do."

You set your boots toward your objective and march toward the sound of the guns.

"Follow me."[/h2]

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[h2]The landing craft are loaded. The night is dark. The sea is rough.

Your thoughts bounce back and forth from praying your Higgins Boat doesn't capsize to trying to keep your last meal from coming back up.

Thankfully, this should still be a relatively easy landing. The boys up at intel section aren't expecting any resistance on the shore.

You spot a long, bright, horizontal strip ahead in the darkness.

"It's the beach!" someone yells.

Some men allow themselves a smile at the thought of getting of this tin can.

Fear loosens it's grip on your gut. You're almost there.

Then the shooting starts...[/h2]