gilmourwow
NewbieX
Here's for all of the gore fans out there, who wouldnt hesitate to enlist to watch some fun stuff go down.
What's the most you ever lost on a coin toss?
Imagine waking up on June 6th, 1944.
You're 18. Tall, athletic, handsome, brave, intelligent. Trained and handpicked for years for your unique strength, insights and intelligence. A true leader.
German tanks and machine guns have taken over the world.
You have one chance to stop the world from being plunged into an eternity of genocide and hellfire.
All of your friends drop out of the assignment.
All you know it's some beach in France. They tell you that the beaches are deserted and the bunkers destroyed.
An easy march to Paris, where hundreds of thousands of abused beautiful young women are waiting for their soul mates and heroes.
You wake up confident, energized, a bit of butterflies in your stomach, but you know you'll make it through the day. Your officers are the bravest versions of you, and they have never told a lie.
There are 5,000 alpha men in your group.
Tall. Highschool quarterbacks, many of them. Alpha leaders.
You've never felt so confident, so heroic, so purposed in your life. You're surrounded by true men. Heroes.
The motor starts and the boat lurches forward.
-------------
You feel the first surges of exhilaration. The first shot of adrenaline. The first unexpected creeping wave of doubt.
And then you learn the true meaning of fear.
--------
There are no heroes in war. Only victims.
There are things you see on a battlefield that are not meant for flesh-and-blood creatures to witness; impossible things, acts of propulsion and psychics only made manifest by the cruelty of Satan and the sheer white hot hatred of man, things that I can describe beyond words but are still somehow left undescribed, a grotesque carnival of horror and brutal gore on steroids.
We can begin with Omaha beach. When the landing craft were approaching the shells began hitting the waves at 1000 yards or more, some of them hundreds of pounds. Earlier in the day as an ironic act of mercy the Army command had granted the soldiers a feast of epic proportions for breakfast: second and third helpings of every food available, and as a mortal error of greed 9 out of 10 soldiers ate more than they ever did in their lives. When the transports hit the water running, it was an unusually cloudy and windy day, and some waves were nearly 6 feet high. The resulting hours towards the beach were worse than the most tumultuous roller coaster you could imagine: multiply a bloated stomach to maximum capacity with 120 pounds of gear and ammo and waves that nearly capsized you and the result was a horrifying foreshadowing of what was to come. You may have seen cinema depictions of the ride towards the beach, with stalwart young bravados cooly standing packed on the boats facing their judgement, but being there was something you just can't describe and a thing I wouldn't wish on Hitler himself.
With shells weighing as much as individual men crashing into the waves at breakneck speed all around you for 30 minutes and the rocking pendulum of death many soldiers vomited to the point of suffocation and a large amount simply passed out. Because the waves were two or three feet higher than the walls of the boats many were simply overwhelmed with water and capsized hundreds of yards before even hitting the surf, something history books wont mention but really happened. If you can begin to even imagine the proceeding journey to the spot where your boat went under, with seasickness and a hundred pounds of gear on you, there was absolutely nothing to do but sink straight to the bottom while you were already out of breath completely before even going under. Even that description will not match the horror of what truly transpired the moments leading up to the landings, but it gets even worse. The seismic BOOM and thud of a heavy shell hitting a swell near your boat (or a boat near yours) was enough to shake your heart off of it's ligament supports and cause permanent chest damage. Your shins were fractured under the right circumstances, your eyeballs felt like they were going to explode and if your helmet was strapped (which it had to be on the route) it was enough to give you a concussion. In addition to that, the actual sound of an incoming artillery round is something that could have only been synthesized by a monstrous leviathan from hell. You could feel the static in the air bending while it was still yet hundreds of yards away, and the descending crescendo was like demonic freight train slamming towards you full force manned by shrieking Valkyries. It is an experience that won't be felt until you are there, and even afterwards, you feel it for the rest of your life. It becomes embedded into your ancestral DNA and every other experience in the future is deadened and dulled to the point of lead. I can't give the words justice. The sentences I write are brutal, but we hadn't even reached the beach yet.
At 500 yards we began receiving concentrated MG42 rounds. The fastest machine gun in the world, the MG had the gentle priviledge of gifting the front ramp of the transport 20 or so white-hot rounds per second, and because there were more than 5 MGs on Omaha, that meant more than 100 bullets could potentially hit your boat per second. Each individual round had the ability to split your body cleanly in two and vaporize you in a torrent of steel.
With the grotesque pandemonium literally bending the metal platform under your feet, your genitals had far and away completely retruded into your stomach and your anus puckered in like an unfortunate mouth after sipping battery acid. This experience continued in some cases more than 30 minutes after most of the landing craft had drifted spectacularly off of their intended targets, in some cases nearly a mile. In addition to many soldiers nearly already dying from being capsized, many suffered concussions to the point of a zombified stupor.
Many boats were still nearly 100 yards away from the beach before they hit a wall of sand and were forced to engage.
Then the ramp (in some cases after the driver's whistle blew, in many cases the holder was already dead) flung open in a metallic SWOOSH and Satan made his first appearance of the day.
With 50+ supersonic MG rounds honing in on your face at nearly 3,000 feet per second, many bodies just simply vanished. Again, the cinema (notably Saving Private Ryan) offers a toddler-friendly sanitized picnic version for bored and happy campers, but the gruesome reality was far beyond the point of being able to witness. The only reassurance you had before being shattered into dust was glimpsing the laser-like stream of bullets slicing into your body three times the speed of sound.
With faces, eyeballs, throats, hands, intestines, and legs being splattered mercilessly into the air like the Grim Reaper's lawn mower exhibition, you were lucky to be able to choke to death on blood and vomit before your boots hit the sand. Others were not so fortunate. Because of the phenomenal force of steel and fire shrieking through the front entrance to Hell soldiers had no chance but to knock kindly on the side door.
Because of the intensity of the war and general fitness/testosterone levels of men in the 1940's, (before the global government very brilliantly allocated massive resources devoted to increasing estrogen in the water supply and food to further sterilize the civilian population), soldiers trained for D-Day were of exceptional shape and proportion. If the U.S army of today had attempted the same beach operation in the same indescribable conditions like those of June 6, 1944, many of the soldiers would have died from shock and exhaustion before even making it to the opening of the landing craft ramps.
What's the most you ever lost on a coin toss?
Imagine waking up on June 6th, 1944.
You're 18. Tall, athletic, handsome, brave, intelligent. Trained and handpicked for years for your unique strength, insights and intelligence. A true leader.
German tanks and machine guns have taken over the world.
You have one chance to stop the world from being plunged into an eternity of genocide and hellfire.
All of your friends drop out of the assignment.
All you know it's some beach in France. They tell you that the beaches are deserted and the bunkers destroyed.
An easy march to Paris, where hundreds of thousands of abused beautiful young women are waiting for their soul mates and heroes.
You wake up confident, energized, a bit of butterflies in your stomach, but you know you'll make it through the day. Your officers are the bravest versions of you, and they have never told a lie.
There are 5,000 alpha men in your group.
Tall. Highschool quarterbacks, many of them. Alpha leaders.
You've never felt so confident, so heroic, so purposed in your life. You're surrounded by true men. Heroes.
The motor starts and the boat lurches forward.
-------------
You feel the first surges of exhilaration. The first shot of adrenaline. The first unexpected creeping wave of doubt.
And then you learn the true meaning of fear.
--------
There are no heroes in war. Only victims.
There are things you see on a battlefield that are not meant for flesh-and-blood creatures to witness; impossible things, acts of propulsion and psychics only made manifest by the cruelty of Satan and the sheer white hot hatred of man, things that I can describe beyond words but are still somehow left undescribed, a grotesque carnival of horror and brutal gore on steroids.
We can begin with Omaha beach. When the landing craft were approaching the shells began hitting the waves at 1000 yards or more, some of them hundreds of pounds. Earlier in the day as an ironic act of mercy the Army command had granted the soldiers a feast of epic proportions for breakfast: second and third helpings of every food available, and as a mortal error of greed 9 out of 10 soldiers ate more than they ever did in their lives. When the transports hit the water running, it was an unusually cloudy and windy day, and some waves were nearly 6 feet high. The resulting hours towards the beach were worse than the most tumultuous roller coaster you could imagine: multiply a bloated stomach to maximum capacity with 120 pounds of gear and ammo and waves that nearly capsized you and the result was a horrifying foreshadowing of what was to come. You may have seen cinema depictions of the ride towards the beach, with stalwart young bravados cooly standing packed on the boats facing their judgement, but being there was something you just can't describe and a thing I wouldn't wish on Hitler himself.
With shells weighing as much as individual men crashing into the waves at breakneck speed all around you for 30 minutes and the rocking pendulum of death many soldiers vomited to the point of suffocation and a large amount simply passed out. Because the waves were two or three feet higher than the walls of the boats many were simply overwhelmed with water and capsized hundreds of yards before even hitting the surf, something history books wont mention but really happened. If you can begin to even imagine the proceeding journey to the spot where your boat went under, with seasickness and a hundred pounds of gear on you, there was absolutely nothing to do but sink straight to the bottom while you were already out of breath completely before even going under. Even that description will not match the horror of what truly transpired the moments leading up to the landings, but it gets even worse. The seismic BOOM and thud of a heavy shell hitting a swell near your boat (or a boat near yours) was enough to shake your heart off of it's ligament supports and cause permanent chest damage. Your shins were fractured under the right circumstances, your eyeballs felt like they were going to explode and if your helmet was strapped (which it had to be on the route) it was enough to give you a concussion. In addition to that, the actual sound of an incoming artillery round is something that could have only been synthesized by a monstrous leviathan from hell. You could feel the static in the air bending while it was still yet hundreds of yards away, and the descending crescendo was like demonic freight train slamming towards you full force manned by shrieking Valkyries. It is an experience that won't be felt until you are there, and even afterwards, you feel it for the rest of your life. It becomes embedded into your ancestral DNA and every other experience in the future is deadened and dulled to the point of lead. I can't give the words justice. The sentences I write are brutal, but we hadn't even reached the beach yet.
At 500 yards we began receiving concentrated MG42 rounds. The fastest machine gun in the world, the MG had the gentle priviledge of gifting the front ramp of the transport 20 or so white-hot rounds per second, and because there were more than 5 MGs on Omaha, that meant more than 100 bullets could potentially hit your boat per second. Each individual round had the ability to split your body cleanly in two and vaporize you in a torrent of steel.
With the grotesque pandemonium literally bending the metal platform under your feet, your genitals had far and away completely retruded into your stomach and your anus puckered in like an unfortunate mouth after sipping battery acid. This experience continued in some cases more than 30 minutes after most of the landing craft had drifted spectacularly off of their intended targets, in some cases nearly a mile. In addition to many soldiers nearly already dying from being capsized, many suffered concussions to the point of a zombified stupor.
Many boats were still nearly 100 yards away from the beach before they hit a wall of sand and were forced to engage.
Then the ramp (in some cases after the driver's whistle blew, in many cases the holder was already dead) flung open in a metallic SWOOSH and Satan made his first appearance of the day.
With 50+ supersonic MG rounds honing in on your face at nearly 3,000 feet per second, many bodies just simply vanished. Again, the cinema (notably Saving Private Ryan) offers a toddler-friendly sanitized picnic version for bored and happy campers, but the gruesome reality was far beyond the point of being able to witness. The only reassurance you had before being shattered into dust was glimpsing the laser-like stream of bullets slicing into your body three times the speed of sound.
With faces, eyeballs, throats, hands, intestines, and legs being splattered mercilessly into the air like the Grim Reaper's lawn mower exhibition, you were lucky to be able to choke to death on blood and vomit before your boots hit the sand. Others were not so fortunate. Because of the phenomenal force of steel and fire shrieking through the front entrance to Hell soldiers had no chance but to knock kindly on the side door.
Because of the intensity of the war and general fitness/testosterone levels of men in the 1940's, (before the global government very brilliantly allocated massive resources devoted to increasing estrogen in the water supply and food to further sterilize the civilian population), soldiers trained for D-Day were of exceptional shape and proportion. If the U.S army of today had attempted the same beach operation in the same indescribable conditions like those of June 6, 1944, many of the soldiers would have died from shock and exhaustion before even making it to the opening of the landing craft ramps.
