A life in Hell- Part one - Sex Stories

A life in Hell- Part one

I am not a US soldier, I never have been, and hopefully never will be. To those of you who read this and are enlisted, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for the sacrifices that you, your brothers, and your sisters have made for my freedom and those who too sit in their homes in relative safety each night. Thank you, and enjoy! Chapter One: “Get your fuckin’ ass movin’ Jones! Do you wanna look like my mom’s fuckin’ spaghetti?! Get your ass down, NOW!” Sergeant Angelico roars at me in his thick Italian/New York accent. The Japanese begin to open fire on the beach as we are advancing up the beach. We are on Iwo Jima, two thirds of the men around me will be dead by the time we take just the first few hundred feet or so. Or at least thats what Ive been told by others who have survived. The amount of damage that the human body can withstand and survive is sheerly incredible. There’s a soldier lying on the beach with both of his legs lying about ten yards away, and he is still calling for a medic, as though nothing were amiss. I cannot say whether or not he is still alive as of now for we have moved about thirty yards ahead. The cacophony of war is horrendous. Plain and simple, it is hell in every imaginable way, it is utterly infernal. Our mission is to advance up the beach, and eventually seize the island of Iwo Jima. I can’t say that that is going to happen any time soon, no matter how much I wish we could end this war in minutes, or better yet, seconds. The Japanese are ...

... like cockroaches: you kill one, five more come out of the ground. Which happens to be littered with what seems like millions of tunnels that they’ve dug in preparation for our arrival. As I reach a crater in the black sand, I hear the tell tale whistle like sound of an incoming artillery shell, and I know I will not make it this time. I will be one of those “two thirds”. “GET DOWN, GOD DAMN IT!” Sergeant Angelico bellows as he dives over me to save me from the majority of the blast damage. To this day, I will never forget the bravery of the man who made my life living hell throughout my training, and even beyond. As the mortar shell explodes but feet away from me I silently send a prayer to God thanking him for my life, and asking Him to look after Sergeant Angelico for me. Trying to stand up is difficult, as the sergeant is about six and a half feet tall and almost three hundred pounds, but I manage it. Once on my feet I look about me, and immediately drop back in the crater as I’m in the middle of a huge battle that has no clear victor. Pain. Red waves of scalding red hot agony. Getting shot sucks I think to myself, just before letting out a bark of maniacal laughter and blacking out... My name is Will Jones, William Oswald Jones. Both of my parents are British, but I grew up a farm kid in rural Georgia. They came over on a ship, and bought a large piece of land that we take care of every spring so that we can make a living. At a very young age I fell in love with science, ...