Communisto
Condottiere
Frans winced as the artillery battery roared it's triumphant cacophony of fire and death toward Durban. He watched as the shell soared through the air before impacting upon the the British positions, which was a twisted nightmare of rubble by now. The Boer positions circled the entire city. They were entrenched upon the rugged hills and cliffs overlooking the town, which was situated on the only flat area in the entire region; the coast. From there, the Boers had pounded the city with artillery and the Commandos often made short raids, moving in close and sniping at the British positions.
Despite the odds, Frans had to admit that the British were indeed lucky that they had been able to hold on for as long as they did, a few of them did surrender though, they would peak out from the rubble and furiously waved any white clothe they could find; socks, underpants, sheets.
The artillery batteries boomed again overhead as Frans' unit weaved through the tall rocks and twisted trees toward the north most part of the British line. The commander gave the signal to halt once they reached the shadow of a particularly large tree. The area was perfect, large dusty boulders dotted the area and it was several meters higher than the British position they had spotted below, which the commandos had successfully flanked. Frans could make out their bright crimson uniforms scurrying around amid the artillery explosions. The Limeys lined up along a short ridge and poked their slow loading rifles out at some unseen Boer position. An officer strode along valiantly, shouting in a hoarse voice as he directed the volley. The loud cracks of the British weapons were lost amid the torrent of the battle.
"Take positions" the commander said in a low voice. Instantly and silently, the commandos inched and melded into the dusty crag. Their bodies fit into place among the cover like child's puzzle pieces. They would be near invisible from the British perspective, in their dusty khakis and wide hats. "Load weapons." Frans did as he was ordered, ramming the bullet into the breech of his rifle.
"I get the officer" said Dries to the far right. No one objected, Dries was easily the best shot in the unit.
"Steady, boys...." This was the part Frans hated. His finger itched, it took all the willpower he had not to pull the trigger. "Make sure you got your target." Frans selected the closest redcoat, his bright white helmet was a tempting target, but Frans knew he would have a better chance if he aimed at the chest. "Steady..." Frans could feel the sweat dripping dangerously close to his eyes, he hoped it would not hinder him.
"Fire!"
The Boer rifles cackled their cruel laugh as the commandos opened fire. Their bullets tore through the air and impacted on the young British soldiers. Frans saw the officer's head split open, bloody mist sprayed in the air, it was almost refreshingly enticing in the hot African sun. He fell among his men. The other British disastrously tried to swing round and shoot at the commandos but they mostly shot wildly, wasting precious time which they now had to use to reload.
Fran's target was already dead, face down in a pool of his own blood which turned the sand into a pink mud. The young man had never known what killed him. By now the commandos had reloaded, cutting the rest of the British line down. The survivors turned and fled toward the core of the British formation.
The commandos moved on.
Despite the odds, Frans had to admit that the British were indeed lucky that they had been able to hold on for as long as they did, a few of them did surrender though, they would peak out from the rubble and furiously waved any white clothe they could find; socks, underpants, sheets.
The artillery batteries boomed again overhead as Frans' unit weaved through the tall rocks and twisted trees toward the north most part of the British line. The commander gave the signal to halt once they reached the shadow of a particularly large tree. The area was perfect, large dusty boulders dotted the area and it was several meters higher than the British position they had spotted below, which the commandos had successfully flanked. Frans could make out their bright crimson uniforms scurrying around amid the artillery explosions. The Limeys lined up along a short ridge and poked their slow loading rifles out at some unseen Boer position. An officer strode along valiantly, shouting in a hoarse voice as he directed the volley. The loud cracks of the British weapons were lost amid the torrent of the battle.
"Take positions" the commander said in a low voice. Instantly and silently, the commandos inched and melded into the dusty crag. Their bodies fit into place among the cover like child's puzzle pieces. They would be near invisible from the British perspective, in their dusty khakis and wide hats. "Load weapons." Frans did as he was ordered, ramming the bullet into the breech of his rifle.
"I get the officer" said Dries to the far right. No one objected, Dries was easily the best shot in the unit.
"Steady, boys...." This was the part Frans hated. His finger itched, it took all the willpower he had not to pull the trigger. "Make sure you got your target." Frans selected the closest redcoat, his bright white helmet was a tempting target, but Frans knew he would have a better chance if he aimed at the chest. "Steady..." Frans could feel the sweat dripping dangerously close to his eyes, he hoped it would not hinder him.
"Fire!"
The Boer rifles cackled their cruel laugh as the commandos opened fire. Their bullets tore through the air and impacted on the young British soldiers. Frans saw the officer's head split open, bloody mist sprayed in the air, it was almost refreshingly enticing in the hot African sun. He fell among his men. The other British disastrously tried to swing round and shoot at the commandos but they mostly shot wildly, wasting precious time which they now had to use to reload.
Fran's target was already dead, face down in a pool of his own blood which turned the sand into a pink mud. The young man had never known what killed him. By now the commandos had reloaded, cutting the rest of the British line down. The survivors turned and fled toward the core of the British formation.
The commandos moved on.
