Project Ketchup - A World War 2 Story

Chapter 1: Project Ketchup

                                                        Chapter One: Project Ketchup

Gunfire, that's all Riley could hear. No quick interlude for the General's orders to program him, he just nodded as if there had been and prayed to high heaven his instincts could help shepherd his FNGs and him through this battle.

The shots soon broke off into shorter bursts. Still loud, still deafening; but it was possible to communicate verbally. Riley made a quick run for the Jeep, then knelt down behind it and turned on his knees to face ten men who were being forced by citizens of America to attack German military workers who were occupying parts of France.

"I used to play baseball," said Riley "They'd always put me in the outfield 'cause I could throw it all the way back to first base. Ok, we're gonna make a run for that foxhole about fifty yards from my back-"

"That's suicide," interrupted a man with an Irish accent who wore the American uniform half-heartedly "Greeley and Thompson were slaughtered in that hole just five minutes ago, that being our second biggest concern, we'll never make it there alive, are you completely oblivious to the lead hurricane out there?"

"Then when we're clear," Riley continued as though he hadn't been made a fool of "We're gonna move to the one where Clark was- I mean, is. Kinda like running from base to base; but it'd hardly be baseball without a pitcher and a ball... so, I'm the pitcher, and here's my ball." He flashed them a smoke bomb. "Two packs of fags say I can hit their bunker and leave 'em guessing while we run for it."

"You're on," said the Irish man nervously.

Riley sprung up and flung the smoke bomb through the air, his men crouched and waited.

Riley reached into his shirt pocket and removed two tattered packs of cigarettes, Chesterfields.

"Look's like I quit smoking," he announced as he tossed them to the Irish man "Let's get sketchy!"

He turned and broke straight into an intense sprint, around the car an into the German's blind spot.

"But-" started one of the other men.

"Does that mean he missed?" asked someone else whose terror went unnoticed by his comrades.

"Fucking move!" barked the Irish man and within thirty seconds, they were all in the foxhole Riley had mentioned earlier. The smoke bomb had landed about three feet in front of the German's position, probably more effective than if it had landed right on them.

"We're fucked!" declared the General, whose was called Smith "We need to get those men out right now! We need to get the fuck out right fucking now!"

"We just sent Riley out there," said the man with the radio who knelt beside Smith.

"Look!" yelled General Smith, holding out his binoculars for the designated radio operator for the day "They just brought in three more cars!"

"Cease fire! Cease fire! Cease fire!" Riley screamed at his men, immediately upon their cooperation, was the awkward realization similar to when you discover you were the only one in a room talking, you're talking really loudly, and everyone's staring at you.

They had been the only one's shooting, the German's had ceased their fire and Riley guessed they were waiting for something.

"Reckon you can redeem yourself with a real grenade?" asked the Irish man "Three more cars; see?"

Riley looked where he was pointing and could vaguely see the German backup vehicles. A grenade found its way into Riley's hand.

"We wait a moment," he said "This looks funny."