well lads let me know what do you think off them?

I' wrote the storie for a lesson of English last year and graded a 8.5/10 for it.

just give me you're honnest opinions bad or good. I can only learn from them.

friendly greets arne(ken)

"Hello" ,he said, "I'm troy McClure." One second later, he was lying on the ground. Shot dead. The second lieutenant this week. Their average surviving time was one hour, at least he died clean. The other one died in a foxhole with a branch inside his stomach, he fought for his life for more then 3 hours. Quietly, he passed away. Finishing a letter to his girlfriend. Sergeant Foley hated the new "lefty's". they were more then green, straight from the university, they didn't ever saw a German up close. He sighed. "tell HQ we need a new lefty and ask them please that they look for one with a least a bit fighting experience" "on it sir" said private 'Polpy'. His real name was Pollipy, but everyone called him 'polpy'. Foley turned and looked over the forest. He took his Thompson of the ground and ran in the direction of the front line his company was watching over. The Germans didn't wasted any ammo on him and let him run. He reached the front foxhole an dived into it. "Good morning sarg , beautiful day isn't it? How is our new lefty doing it?" "shut up Cleveland. He just went to his ancestors" "goddamned clevey what are you a psychic?" shouted Markx and he gave Cleveland some money. "Gentlemen", said Cleveland, " that's the power of being me. Anyone interested to place a bet for how long our new lefty will survive?" " shut up, cleveland and listen up you guys. The old lefty had got a message from HQ. It looks like we're going to stay here for a while. The replacements are being send south cause they've got some problems going on right there." "goddamned you gotta be kidding?!" "wish I was. take care" and Foley left the foxhole to look up the other members of his company. " holy crap, did you heard that? HQ is leaving us to die here." ,hissed Cleveland. 'just shut up you", mumble Klinsy who hasn't said a word for a long time, "nobody cares about us in England why would HQ care now?" "shut up, you stupid pole", hissed Cleveland. "he's right you now. If it wasn't for this bloody stinking war. You'd be still in a London jail.", said Markx. 'oh, put a branch in your ass and dance like a chicken. Maybe the Germans will mercy us and shoot you to peaces." Cleveland spit on the ground to empower his words and turned his back to his companions. There was a smile playing on his face.

Chapter 2


Foley reached his foxhole at the moment that polpy laid down the phone. One look at his face said enough for Foley. He dind't had to ask it. The only thing that polpy said was "he's the same age as your son, Edward. He graduated from the Military academy, two weeks ago. He volunteered to come. He'll be here in 3 hours." Polpy looked up. He glaced in front of him. A dark shade covered his face. "Morris's shot wound has worsen. They're thinking about amputating his leg." Foley looked down. Morris was polpy's son. The same age as his and as the new lefty. He was shot down over Belgium a few weeks ago. He was a fighter pilot. Foley's son was serving in the third army, As a tank navigator. Foley was pride about his son, but at the same time afraid. He'd seen what happens with some tanks and including the crewmembers. They were both 19 and to young to fight, but apparently it was necessary. The fact that they had got a new lefty who was as green as the last lefty wasn't a surprise to him. He'd anticipated it, but you never knew if this was you're lucky day.
"here", he said, "take a zip. It will cheer you up. They should give the guy that invented tea a medal." It was a poor try to cheer up polpy. "how did we get in this mess, Edward?" ,he asked. "can you tell me that? We're been fighting sinds 1940 and we're the only ones who aren't dead, missing or wounded. And now our sons are starting to fight too. There 19, goddamned. They should be playing football or at least having fun, instead of shooting Germans and risking their lives." His eyes filled with tears and he coulded say a word. Quietly he drank his tea. Foley looked at him. He was 39 and polpy was 42. too old for active duty, but that doesn't count in war. A few weeks ago they heard story's of children of 13,14 year who were fighting to death because their "fuhrer" told them to. It was terrible, he heard. They were screaming after their mothers when they were injured. 14 years, not even old enough to call them 'men'. He shaked his head. The world was going insane, it seemed. The radio started to produce sounds; polpy toke place before it. Said a few words, knocked his head and kept on listening. Foley calmy drank his tea. Polpy stood up "the new lefty will arrive in 10 minutes. He wants to speak to the highest in rank and wants a full report of the activity today." "well that is going to be short. Lieutenant Mcclure lost his live at 0954 hours. For the rest nothing to mention. Arrival of the new lieutenant at 1105 hours." "If he doesn't wet his pants when he hear that then we will have made a big step.", declamed polpy. "you're right. But you never know with those youngsters. One of these days, they're going to surprise us." "better soon than late, then." Foley said goodbye to polpy and started to walk to meet the new 'lefty'. He put his Thompson against a tree and started to wait. He hoped that the new lefty was rather alright. He could control the men and the listened to him, but he didn't like to be in the center of the attention. In the distance he heard a vehicle approaching. Or the new lefty was to early or it was someone else was approaching. He took his Thompson. On the moment that he stood up and turned he saw the vehicle. It was grey. He took cover behind a tree and unlocked his Thompson. The vehicle was still approaching and he heard some voices over the loudness off the engine. They didn't slow down when they past behind him. They didn't noticed him. At that time he heard and saw a second vehicle. This time it as green. 2 persons were in it and had a discussion, so intense that Foley expected that the driver would hit a tree, but he didn't. the jeep stopped in front of Foley. Foley was terrified by what he saw. That wasn't somebody that was 19, this was just a boy. He had acne on his face and had no reason to shave. His eyes told the story of his youth. He looked like he had run away from his house and joined the army to flee from some neighbor kids who picked on him, but not like somebody who should be capable of leading a company of 15 men. Suddenly he realised that he was staring at the new lefty. He quickly recovered by saying: "sergeant Robert Foley at your service, sir " the lieutenant looked behind Foley. "where are the others?", he asked. His voice was high and strict. "how do you mean, sir?" "well the others sergeants" "I'm the only one, sir. The others died a few day's ago and we didn't got any replacements yet. But we ..." " how do you mean ' we don't got any replacements, yet'? "well we lost some men and now were waiting until we've got replacements for the decided." Foley wanted that the lieutenant said that he could lower his arm. The 'boy' shaked his head like he was a veteran and was surprised that something like this could happen. "right, take my luggage out the jeep and lead me to you're encampment." Foley was glad he could lower his arm, but wasn't glad with the way that the new lefty was acting. It was like he was the experienced lieutenant en Foley was the green sergeant. Thinking about that he started to walk in the direction of the encampment. Somewhere in the forest a mortar exploded. He kept on walking. "sergeant, are you mad?!", shouted the lefty, "get down on the ground and take cover. That's a order." Foley turned around and saw the lefty lying on the ground. Good thing he didn't had to laugh. That mortar fell more then a mile from where they were and the new lefty was shaking like a weasel on the ground. "not to worry, sir. He can't harm us. He fell to far away." "well for the love of ..." the lefty stood up and was more concern about his clothes then about the fact that he just proved to Foley, that he came straight from university. Foley continued his way and reached the first foxhole. He heard a retching sound. He turned around and saw the new lefty looking at the old lefty. HQ didn't ad the time to pick him up, so they had laid him next to a tree. The boy just saw his first dead person in his young life and if he had lucky that wasn't going to be his last. Foley turned around, again and jumped in to the foxhole. This lefty was like the others before him. Tomorrow they would probably had another one. "you're foxhole, sir." ,he said. "If you need anything I'm at the foxhole to you're right." The lefty shook his head and said "thank you, sergeant" Foley went to his own foxhole. The last thing he heard before he went was "mammy ..."

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Sixty-four bomber pilots and crew lie in the cemetery at Wevelgem Communal and today many locals still pay their respects to those brave men from high in the skies.

The story is good. I can see the differences in our languages with the punctuation, spelling, capitalization and grammatical errors. We would phrase some things in a different manner, also. Please don't think I am making fun of your or being critical, your command of the English language far outstrips anything I know about the Belgian language.

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Best Regards,
JW

you could be sure I don't think that. I appreciate the fact you give comments on it.

now I can work on approving it.

greets arne(ken)

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Sixty-four bomber pilots and crew lie in the cemetery at Wevelgem Communal and today many locals still pay their respects to those brave men from high in the skies.

Which Army are you writing about?
They sound like Americans in their speech, "Holy crap" "godamned" "foxhole" etc
Your English is bloody good.
Just the soldiers sound like GIs and not Tommies.

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that's the problem with my English writing. I'm afraid. I tried to portrait Tommies here but probably saw to many American movies and read to many American English books. sow you could say this storie is American English about a group of Tommies.

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Sixty-four bomber pilots and crew lie in the cemetery at Wevelgem Communal and today many locals still pay their respects to those brave men from high in the skies.

That was what I thought, Owen. As I was reading, it sounded like GIs, so I had to start over and notice the obviously British references. I didn't want to get into punctuation, as I am not sure if you Limey's punctuate the same as we do.

Is Cleveland a Brit name? It certainly is a well known US name.

Here some selected edits. You will find that we (Americans) don't write like we talk, for the most part and I suspect the Brits are the same. Where I live (in the Southern US) we don't talk like the actors do in the movies.

"Hello" ,he said, "I'm troy McClure." One second later, he was lying on the ground. Shot dead. The second lieutenant this week. Their average surviving time was one hour, at least he died clean. The other one died in a foxhole with a branch inside his stomach, he fought for his life for more then 3 hours. Quietly, he passed away. Finishing a letter to his girlfriend. Sergeant Foley hated the new "lefty's".they were more then green, straight from the university, they didn't ever saw a German up close. He sighed. "tell HQ we need a new lefty and ask them please that they look for one with a least a bit fighting experience" "on it sir" said private 'Polpy'. His real name was Pollipy, but everyone called him 'polpy'. they were more then green, straight from the university, they didn't ever saw a German up close. He sighed. "tell HQ we need a new lefty and ask them please that they look for one with a least a bit fighting experience" "on it sir" said private 'Polpy'. His real name was Pollipy, but everyone called him 'polpy'.

~~~
"here", he said, "take a zip. It will cheer you up. They should give the guy that invented tea a medal." It was a poor try to cheer up polpy. "how did we get in this mess, Edward?" ,he asked. "can you tell me that? We're been fighting sinds 1940 and we're the only ones who aren't dead, missing or wounded. And now our sons are starting to fight too. There 19, goddamned.

Edited Version using American grammatical rules:

"Hello", he said, "I'm Troy McClure." One second later, he was lying on the ground, dead. He was the second lieutenant this week. Their average surviving time was one hour; at least he died clean. The other one died in a foxhole with a branch inside his stomach. He fought for his life for more than 3 hours, then quietly, he passed away. Finishing a letter to his girlfriend. <I'm not sure what to do with this sentence fragment, does it go with the recently dead Lt or the Sgt?> Sergeant Foley hated the new "lefties". <not sure what a 'lefty' is.> They were more then green. Straight from the university, they had never even seen a German up close. He sighed, "Tell HQ we need a new lefty and ask them please to look for one with a least a bit fighting experience." "On it sir," said private Polpy. His real name was Pollipy, but everyone just shortened it.

~~~

"Here", he said, "take a zip. It will cheer you up. They should give the guy that invented tea a medal." It was a poor try to cheer up Polpy. "How did we get in this mess, Edward", he asked, "can you tell me that? We're been fighting since 1940 and we're the only ones who aren't dead, missing or wounded. And now our sons are starting to fight too. They're 19, goddammit." <if you are going to use an Americanism, although I don't use the word myself>

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Best Regards,
JW

Could be some American immigrants who became British citizens but kept their old accent?
Thats the good thing about Writing about WW2, you can fit it into any context. Story? like that one. Legend? Tiger. Description? Do about a battle. The list is endless.
It also makes me want to finish my Desert story, since I got a free week ahead of me.

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"This Guy Fawkes bloke, do we let him off or what?"

More or less. Actually I would say it is a story about Tommies who speak like Americans. Maybe they are Americans who are in the service of the British. That did happen.

__________________
Best Regards,
JW

GMTA

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Best Regards,
JW

Sorry, what does GMTA mean?

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"This Guy Fawkes bloke, do we let him off or what?"

Great Minds Think Alike.
I didn't know either but I Goggled "GMTA slang".
Up popped the answer.


Jeff,
Cleveland is not only a British name it's an area of England.
Cleveland, England - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Arneken,
Rather than make a big deal out of English and American-English I'd like to compliment you on your command of English.
Keep it up, you're doing well.

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Theres a place called Clevely's near Blackpool.

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"This Guy Fawkes bloke, do we let him off or what?"

I felt like it probably was, Owen. Is it a common Christian or surname or usually used a place-name? One of my GGrandfathers was named Cleveland.

__________________
Best Regards,
JW

He fought for his life for more than 3 hours, then quietly, he passed away. Finishing a letter to his girlfriend. <I'm not sure what to do with this sentence fragment, does it go with the recently dead Lt or the Sgt?>

it goes about the Lt who died in the foxhole and wrote a last note/letter to his girlfriend.

Sergeant Foley hated the new "lefties". <not sure what a 'lefty' is.>

isn't it the short version of Lt? a lefty? I think I heard or read it once somewhere and thought it was a common shortening of it.
thank you I'm working on a sequel for the moment

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Sixty-four bomber pilots and crew lie in the cemetery at Wevelgem Communal and today many locals still pay their respects to those brave men from high in the skies.

BTW, Im writing a Story too!

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"This Guy Fawkes bloke, do we let him off or what?"

well this is what i've done so far, you might want a Translator handy!

“It’s quiet, too quiet…” Just as private First Class Johnson uttered the last ‘t’ of the last ‘quiet’, the gut-wrenching buzzing noise from an MG42, opened up on their right flank. The patrol hit the deck instantaneously, and tried to bury themselves in the snow, but to no avail. Within thirty seconds three of the five where dead. Only Sergeant Hassley and PFC Johnson remained alive. Hassley screamed at Johnson. “It’s your fault! We all know if someone says its too quiet it’s an Ambush!”
“What are we going to do Serge?!”
“There’s only one thing we can do, and that’s surrender!”
“But Sergeant…?!
At this point, Hassley was waving his white and blue handkerchief form the end of his Thompson SMG. Two German soldiers advanced on their position.
“Put your veapons down unt vollow us.”
The two Americans complied. They where marched to a Prisoner staging area, where about 100 others where also imprisoned. It was a box surrounded by barbed wire, and two Wirblewind Flackpanzers standing watch. Anybody trying to escape would be blown to pieces in a hail of 20mm shells. From inside this box, the men could see some massive new tanks driving past.
“What the hell is that?” said the young Private
Another American Approached them. “that’s what the Germans call a Jagdtiger. It’s a massive self-propelled anti Tank gun. My Sherman Got shot out from underneath me, it blew up when I had got 5 meters away. I am lucky to be alive.”
After a short stay in the holding area, 50 of the Americans where lead away, to one of the permanent POW camps. Hassley saw his chance.
“Come on boy, move!” He said, dragging Johnson into the snow-covered bushes. German voices and Rifle fire could be heard, so the pair ran through the forest as fast they could. After 10 minutes, no more shouting or shooting could be heard. The run slowed to a walk.
A little while later, our heroes came across a German supply depot. Taking out a knife he had concealed inside his uniform, Hassley silently signalled for Johnson to stay put. He crept up on A German sentry, then Grabbed him and slit his throat. He asked Johnson If a spoke any German, who reluctantly agreed, fearing what his Sergeant was going to tell him to do.
“put this uniform on. I want you to lead another sentry over here so I can kill the bastard, but bring no more than one.”
Johnson walked up to a sentry, who was about 100 meters away from Hassley. Johnson said,
“Einer unserer Kameraden getötet worden! Folge mir nach!”
The guard picked up his K98 that was leaning against a tree, and followed Johnson. When he walked past the tree that Hassley was hiding behind, he got his throat cut by a gruff American sergeant. Hassley swapped uniforms, and picked up the rifle. Only then He noticed that Johnson’s uniform had an extra stripe on it than his, but as he was about to complain, A German voice rang out not to far away.
“Hey! Hast du jemanden schreien hören?”
Johnson replied, “Nien!” he then whispered, come on Serge, run!”
The two Americans ran round the perimeter of the depot, to the main gate. They showed their captured papers, and the Guard was to tired to notice that the photographs on the papers where of a different person than the people holding them! He let them pass. Then two German guards Appeared
“ Haben Sie zwei Soldaten zu Fuß Vergangenheit?”
“Uhhh, ja.” Replied the sleepy guard.
“Scheiße! Sie sind entweder nen oder nicht deutsch! Lassen Sie nicht niemand sonst auf, wir werden nach ihnen suchen.”

THE END SO FAR

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"This Guy Fawkes bloke, do we let him off or what?"

totally not bad I would say.

keep on writing...

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Sixty-four bomber pilots and crew lie in the cemetery at Wevelgem Communal and today many locals still pay their respects to those brave men from high in the skies.