Wings of Honor: Bad Moon Rising

Chapter 3: The Longest Day

That night, me and a couple other airborne were pushing into Normandy. We had arrived at a place named Ravenoville.
We were close to the beaches, and knew German reinforcements would be using the closest parallel roads. We only had gammons between us, so we posted up in the bushes and buildings along the road. It was then that we were reinforced by some Brits and fellow airborne from the Eagles, and even a couple from the 82nd. We fortified the city in preparation for armor and motorized infantry.
I only remember seeing the field light up with tracers. 20mm Flack fire and 88s lashed above us. I was barely a 2nd Lieutenant then, leading a section of five soldiers. Hugging the hedgerows, we took the long way and outflanked a Howitzer half track that was firing on us.
We opened up with grenades and rifle fire, instantly blowing up the half track and the five guys around it. We retreated after our little offensive, but one man stuck his head out too high above the hedgerows. A buzz saw cut his head clean off by the neck, and he dropped. One of my boys stopped to drag him screaming, but I was forced to drag his ass back.
Machinegun fire crackled over us, illuminating the fuzzy dawn fields. We held on as long as we could, I went through three different weapons I remember, an M1 rifle, an Enfield, and even a German semi-auto when I had no other choice.
We were pushed back to Saint-Marie after a day's defense. It wasn't until we went back in with the 4th Infantry was that city taken back.
So many bodies littered the floor, roads, and fields. Krauts, Airborne, Brits, and civilians. They weren't even a part of this war, and yet they were forced into it.
I saw them hung, slabs of wood displaying their crimes in German. A fellow airborne translated it for me.
Desertion, Cowardice, Fraternization, Cowardice, Cowardice, Cowardice. All the cowards were civilians... and one German soldier dressed in grey.
When we pushed out, I caught a glimpse of SS in leopard jackets. Golden hair, fair skin, perfect physique, bleeding from his nose, clutching his abdominal where a clear hole was punched through.
It was not a month later after hard fighting, we pushed into Daucho, and I saw the evils that this regime had put my religious cousins through.
I had to restrain myself from punching an SS officer we captured not soon after. My mind was so done with this shit, I wanted to skin him alive with only my rusty, dull bayonet. I wanted to give him a glimpse of the pain he put me through, the pain he put others through.
But... I only curled my fist, shed a tear, and let the MPs circle around me. I took a deep breath, and carried on with my duties.
Somehow, I knew God had forgiven him. He was special, he was alive somehow, for a reason. I couldn't bring myself to kill him, he was protected. Or maybe, a guardian angel whispered into my ear.
Don't do it. Don't do it.
I didn't. But I had to go right back. I was sent back to the airport to get ready to jump for operation Varsity. My last operation before I was sent away. The last battle I saw before I got here.
Darkness surrounded me, but inside, there was a small but strong flame that did not waver in the wind.

The first thing I noticed this morning, was the footprints left all around camp. Anything that wasn't secured tightly to the ground or inside the tent was uprooted and flung to all hell.
My pots and pans of water, now a deep colored green somehow. The entire area reeked of piss. Monkey piss. I was livid.
"You came HERE? Tore up MY place? I'M GONNA FIND YOU YOU LITTLE.... YOU LITTLE... YOU LITTLE SHHHHHHHHHITS!"
I screamed into the jungle. But no one who gave a damn heard.
In a fleet of rage, I grabbed my Springfield and its bandolier. I don't know what I was going to use it for, but I was simultaneously triggered by the monkeys and craving some fresh meat.
Using my low powered scope, I scanned the area, looking for anything living. I found the tribe chilling in the trees, they were enjoying the spoils of whatever I left outside. I had already found K ration wrappers tin keys in their wake. The boxes themselves I kept inside, but the food was scattered. I trained my sights on the largest one, highlighted in orange.
He was the only one not eating, keeping a lookout. The alpha male. The leader. If I got him, the troop would likely scatter, leaving my camp clear.
I let my finger rest on the trigger, I flicked it off safe. I began to take up the slack on the trigger. Letting my breath out. But then my mind shifted.
What were the consequences of shooting the monkeys?
The immediate consequences is that they would be scattered, chased away. But then they would be left disorganized and broken, like we were when we dropped into Normandy. Most of our leading officers and NCOs were scattered and lost. I was one of the few officers who dropped with them that made it. And then, the shots. Anything within 25 miles would hear the Springfield's report. Dragons especially. I would attract Rainwings, and put myself and my dragonette at risk.
No. I couldn't do that. I let my finger off the trigger, taking a breath,, watching as the alpha male finally wised up and led the troop away. I stood there, bringing my rifle back to ready position. I took a deep breath. It wasn't worth it to kill them. Their absence might bring in other advisories, maybe a more aggressive monkey tribe. I wasn't about to risk it. I returned to camp, setting my rifle about my tent. I went about my morning duties.