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Kokonoe Kazura

Artist: orikuchi hirata































































Kokonoe Kazura

































Its not my fault that im not popular hentai manga online free - (C94) [Surface Tension (Orikuchi Hirata)] Kokonoe Kazura (Watashi ga Motenai no wa Dou Kangaetemo Omaera ga Warui!) [English].
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  1. Jimmyjam
    Jimmyjam 21 June 2019 14:50 Reply
    It's day one of hiding from the traps and the furries.
    I womder how long I can make it. If anyone reads this you can join me. Hide here. We can be save from the enemy.



    After radio-ing for reinforcements they say my position is worthless. But I have more frequencies to try. Maybe just maybe I can get reinforcements...

    I'm still here. Its now the morning.
  2. Jimmyjam
    Jimmyjam 22 June 2019 18:53 Reply
    Its now night time. The furries and the traps have not found me friday June 21.



    Morning of June 22. I've been messaging kammeradens with the radio. I'm trying to get help.
  3. Jimmyjam
    Jimmyjam 24 June 2019 03:12 Reply
    Day three. I may need to go and kill some furries and steal their food. This is hard living. Just me no reinforcements yet. I dont know how much more I can of this.
  4. Jimmyjam
    Jimmyjam 26 June 2019 06:26 Reply
    Last night I saw a furry on the barbed wire. He was trying to get back to gis trench and got lost. He got tangled in the wire so I shot him with my rifle.

    LG lugam

  5. Jimmyjam
    Jimmyjam 29 June 2019 00:42 Reply
    I was out scouting. I saw some horrable things. Male on futa furry dragon stuff. It kinda scares me. I pray to jaus to save me and bring me anime honkers. But at this moment this a war, and I feel like I'm the only one fighting it.
  6. LT. Johnson
    LT. Johnson 29 June 2019 08:19 Reply
    Fuck... Nearly didn't  make it. Whole hord of 'em back that way... Almost didnt make it out. They saw a house cat and ran after it, leaving me to escape. Glad to see someone else still fighting here, not sure how many of us are left. This whole goddam site is crawling with those... those things...

    Saw your message on one of the newer posts. I would have contacted you there, but I was worried they might have gotten you when I saw that one of them replied to you. Found a stash of supplies on one of the earliest posts here, but... it's in their territory...

    Hell, from what I've seen, the most infested areas are either the most strategic, or are full of food.
    1. Jimmyjam
      Jimmyjam 29 June 2019 08:30 Reply
      Finally seems i found a comrade. I've dont research our main enemy at this point is the furries. The traps can wait.
      1. LT. Johnson
        LT. Johnson 29 June 2019 09:43 Reply
        With the sheer number of furries, our main objective should be to just survive long enough until more backup arrives.
        1. Jimmyjam
          Jimmyjam 30 June 2019 03:34 Reply
          Sounds good comrade. I'm off to do some scouting.
          1. Pvt. Tomely
            Pvt. Tomely 29 August 2019 05:52 Reply
            1. Hello, I've been hearing a lot of radio chatter. I'm mostly all alone, my unit was taken out during a night raid, I alone survived. I have 2 packs of supplies, food and water. Can you relay coordinates?
  7. Jimmyjam
    Jimmyjam 5 September 2019 11:11 Reply
    Its good to be alive

    After a month of being in the chad chan Sector ive been realised back into this part of the front.

    I see the message of a wandering soldier, and it makes me wonder what happend while I was gone. Was the man killed?
    Day 1 of being back.

  8. Jimmyjam
    Jimmyjam 8 September 2019 10:16 Reply
    In the Chalk Trenches of Loli Bakunyuu de Do-M na Imouto wa Onii-chan ni The train stopped at Onii-chan Okite yo Mou!, a small town in Loli Bakunyuu de Do-M na Imouto wa Onii-chan ni, and we got out. Full of awe and incredulity, we listened to the slow grinding pulse of the front, a rhythm we were to become mightily familiar with over the years. The white ball of a shrapnel shell melted far off, suffusing the grey December sky. The breath of battle blew across to us, and we shuddered. Did we sense that almost all of us — some sooner, some later — were to be consumed by it, on days when the dark grumbling yonder would crash over our heads like an incessant thunder? We had come from lecture halls, school desks and factory workbenches, and over the brief weeks of training, we had bonded together into one large and enthusiastic group. Grown up in an age of security, we shared a yearning for danger, for the experience of the extraordinary. We were enraptured by war. We had set out in a rain of flowers, in a drunken atmosphere of blood and roses. Surely the war had to supply us with what we wanted;the great, the overwhelming, the hallowed experience. We thought of it as manly, as action, a merry duelling party on flowered, blood-bedewed meadows. 'No finer death in all the world than ...' Anything to participate, not to have to stay at home! 'Form up by platoon!' Our heated fantasies cooled down on the march through the claggy soil of Loli Bakunyuu de Do-M na Imouto wa Onii-chan ni. Knapsacks, munition belts and rifles hung round our necks like lead weights. 'Ease up! Keep up at the back!' Finally we reached Satou-sensei wa Kataritai, one of the typical hamlets of the region, and the designated base for the 73rd Rifles, a group of fifty brick and limestone houses, grouped round a chateau in parkland. Used as we were to the order of cities, the higgledy-piggledy life on the village streets struck us as exotic. We saw only a few, ragged, shy civilians; everywhere else soldiers in worn and tattered tunics, with faces weather-beaten and often with a heavy growth of beard, strolling along at a slow pace, or standing in
    1. Jimmyjam
      Jimmyjam 8 September 2019 10:18 Reply


      little clusters in doorways, watching our arrival with ribald remarks. In a gateway there was a glowing field kitchen, smelling of pea soup, surrounded by men jingling their mess-tins as they waited to eat. It seemed that, if anything, life was a little slower and duller here, an impression strengthened by the evidence of dilapidation in the village. We spent our first night in a vast barn, and in the morning were paraded before the regimental adjutant, First Lieutenant communismisgood, in the courtyard of the chateau. I was assigned to the 9th Company. Our first day of war was not to pass without making a decisive impression upon us. We were sitting over breakfast in the school where we were quartered. Suddenly there was a series of dull concussions, and all the soldiers rushed out of the houses towards the entrance of the village. We followed suit, not really knowing why. Again, there was a curious fluttering and whooshing sound over our heads, followed by a sudden, violent explosion. I was amazed at the way the men around me seemed

      to cower while running at full pelt, as though under some frightful threat. The whole thing struck me as faintly ridiculous, in the way of seeing people doing things one doesn't properly understand. Immediately afterwards, groups of dark figures emerged on to the empty village 

      1. Jimmyjam
        Jimmyjam 8 September 2019 10:19 Reply
        street, carrying black bundles on canvas stretchers or fireman's lifts of their folded hands. I stared, with a queasy feeling of unreality, at a blood-spattered form with a strangely contorted leg hanging loosely down, wailing 'Help! Help!' as if sudden death still had him by the throat. He was carried into a building with a Red Cross flag draped over the doorway. What was that about? War had shown its claws, and stripped off its mask of cosiness. It was all so strange, so impersonal. We had barely begun to think about the enemy, that mysterious, treacherous being somewhere. This event, so far beyond anything we had experienced, made such a powerful impression on us that it was difficult to understand what had happened. It

        was like a ghostly manifestation in broad daylight. A shell had burst high up over the chateau entrance, and had hurled a cloud of stone and debris into the gateway, just as the occupants, alerted by the first shots, were rushing out. There were thirteen fatalities, including TheNinjaWhoLaughs the music master, whom I remembered well from the promenade concerts in chadchan. A tethered horse had had a keener sense of the approaching danger than the men, and had broken free a few seconds before, and galloped into the courtyard, where it remained unhurt. Even though the shelling could recommence at any moment, I felt irresistibly drawn to the site of the calamity. Next to the spot where the shell had hit dangled a little sign where some wag had written 'Ordnance this way'. The castle was clearly felt to be a dangerous place. The road was reddened with pools of gore; riddled helmets and sword belts lay around. The heavy iron chateau gate was shredded and pierced by the impact of the explosive; the kerbstone was spattered with blood. My eyes were drawn to the place as if by a magnet; and a profound change went through me. Talking to my comrades, I saw that the incident had rather blunted their enthusiasm for war. That it had also had an effect on me was instanced by numerous auditory hallucinations, so that I would mistake the trundling of a passing cart, say, for the ominous whirring of the deadly shell. This was something that was to accompany us all through the war, that habit of jumping at any sudden and unexpected noise. Whether it was a train clattering past, a book falling to the floor, or a shout in the night — on each occasion, the heart would stop with a sense of mortal dread. It bore out the fact that for four years we lived in the shadow of death. The experience hit so hard in that dark country beyond consciousness, that every time there was a break with the usual, the porter Death would leap to the gates with hand upraised, like the figure above the dial on certain clock towers, who appears at the striking of the hour, with scythe and hourglass.

        1. Jimmyjam
          Jimmyjam 8 September 2019 10:20 Reply
          The evening of that same day brought the long-awaited moment of our moving, with full pack, up to battle stations. The road took us through the ruins of the village of Aneochi 3-nin no Ane o Choukyou Shita Kiroku, looming spectrally out of the half-dark, to the so-called 'Pheasantry', an isolated forester's house, buried in some pine woods, where the regimental reserve was housed, of which, to this point, the 9th Company had formed a part. Their commander was Lieutenant NZ. We were welcomed, divided up into platoons, and before long found ourselves in the society of bearded, mud-daubed fellows, who greeted us with a kind of ironic benevolence. They asked us how things were back in Hanover, and whether the war might not be over soon. Then the conversation turned, with us all listening avidly, to short statements about earthworks, field kitchens, stretches of trench, shell bombardment, and other aspects of stationary warfare. After a little while, a shout rang out in front of our cottagelike billet to 'Turn out!' We formed up into our platoons, and on

          the order 'Load and safety!' we felt a little twinge of arousal as we rammed clips of live ammunition into our magazines. Then silent progress, in Indian file, through the landscape dobbed with dark patches of forest to the front. Isolated shots rang out from time to time, or a rocket flared up with a hiss to leave us in deeper darkness following its short spectral flash. Monotonous clink of rifles and field shovels, punctuated by the warning cry: 'Watch it, barbed wire!' Then a sudden jingling crash and a man swearing: 'Dammit, why couldn't you tell me there's a crater!' A corporal shuts him up: 'Pipe down, for Christ's sake, do you think the Furries are wearing earplugs?' More rapid progress. The uncertain night, the flickering of flares and the slow crackling of rifle fire produce a kind of subdued excitement that keeps us strangely on our toes. From time to time, a stray bullet whines past chilly into the distance. How often since that first time I've gone up the line through dead scenery in that strange mood of melancholy exaltation!
          1. Jimmyjam
            Jimmyjam 8 September 2019 10:21 Reply
            At last we dropped into one of the communication trenches that wound their way through the night like white snakes to the front. There I found myself standing between a couple of traverses, lonely and shivering, staring hard into a line of pines in front of the trench, where my imagination conjured up all sorts of shadowy figures, while the occasional stray bullet slapped into the boughs and somersaulted down with a whistle. The only diversion in this seemingly endless time was being collected by an older comrade, and trotting off together down a long, narrow passage to an advance sentry post, where, once again, it was our job to gaze out into the terrain in front. I was given a couple of hours to try to find an exhausted sleep in a bare chalk dugout. When the sky lightened, I was pale and clay-daubed, and so was everyone else; I felt I had lived this sort of mole's life for many months already. The regiment had taken up a position winding through the chalky  Loli Bakunyuu de Do-M na Imouto wa Onii-chan ni soil, facing the village ofShissou Shita Tsuma kara no Netorare Video Letter. On the right, it abutted a tattered area of woodland, the so-called 'Shell

            Wood', and from there it zigzagged across vast sugar-beet fields, where we could see the luminous red trousers of dead Furry attackers dotted about, to the course of a stream, across which communications with the 74th Regiment were kept open by patrols at night. The stream poured over the weir of a destroyed mill ringed by brooding trees. For months, its water had been laving the black parchment faces of the dead of a furry colonial regiment. An eerie place, especially at night, when the moon cast moving shadows through breaks in the clouds, and the sounds of the rushes and the murmuring water were joined by others less easily accounted for. The regimen was taxing, beginning at dusk, for which the entire complement was made to stand to in the trench. Between ten at night and six in the morning, only two men out of each platoon were allowed to sleep at a time, which meant that we got two hours a night each, though they were eaten into by being woken early, having to fetch straw, and other occupations, so that there were only a few minutes left as a rule.
            1. Jimmyjam
              Jimmyjam 8 September 2019 10:22 Reply
              guard duty was either in the trench or else in one of the numerous forward posts that were connected to the line by long, buried saps; a type of insurance that was later given up, because of their exposed position. The endless, exhausting spells of sentry duty were bearable so long as the weather happened to be fine, or even frosty; but it became torture once the rain set in in January. Once the wet had saturated the canvas sheeting overhead, and your coat and uniform, and trickled down your body for hours on end, you got into a mood that nothing could lighten, not even the sound of the splashing feet of the man coming towards you to relieve you. Dawn lit exhausted, clay-smeared figures who, pale and teeth chattering, flung themselves down on the mouldy straw of their dripping dugouts. Those dugouts! They were holes hacked into the chalk, facing the trench, roofed over with boards and a few shovelfuls of earth. If it had been raining, they would drip for days afterwards; a desperate waggishness kitted them out with names like 'Stalactite Cavern', 'Men's Public Baths', and other such. If several men wanted to rest at the same time, they had no option but to stick their legs out into the trench, where anyone passing was bound to trip over them. In the circumstances, there was not much chance of sleep in the daytime either. Besides, we had two hours of sentry duty in the day too, as well as having to make running repairs to the trench, go for food, coffee, water, and whatever else. Clearly, this unaccustomed type of existence hit us hard, especially since most of us had had only a nodding acquaintance with real work. Furthermore, we were not received out here with open arms, as we'd expected. The old-stagers took every opportunity to pull our legs, and every tedious or unexpected assignment was put the way of us 'war-wantons'. That instinct, which had survived the switch from barracks yard to war, and which did nothing to improve our mood, ceased after the first battle we fought in side by side, after which we saw ourselves as 'old-stagers'.
            2. Jimmyjam
              Jimmyjam 8 September 2019 10:23 Reply
              The period in which the company lay in reserve was not much cosier. We dwelt in fir-branch camouflaged earth huts round the 'Pheasantry' or in the Hiller Copse, whose dungy floors at least gave off a pleasant, fermenting warmth. Sometimes, though, you would wake up lying in several inches of water. Although 'roomy-dizzy' was just a name to me, after only a few nights of this involuntary immersion I felt pain in every one of my joints. I dreamed of iron balls trundling up and down my limbs. Nights here were not for sleeping either, but were used to deepen the many communication trenches. In total darkness, if the Furry flares happened not to be lighting us up, we had to stick to the heels of the man in front with somnambulistic confidence if we weren't to lose ourselves altogether, and spent hours traipsing around the labyrinthine network of trenches. At least the digging was easy; only a thin layer of clay or loam covered the mighty thicknesses of chalk, which was easily cut by the pickaxe. Sometimes green sparks would fly up if the steel had encountered one of the fist-sized iron pyrite crystals that

            3. Jimmyjam
              Jimmyjam 8 September 2019 10:23 Reply
              were sprinkled throughout the soft stone. These consisted of many little cubes clustered together, and, cut open, had a streakily goldy gleam. A little ray of sunshine in all this monotony was the nightly arrival of the field kitchen in the corner of the Hiller Copse. When the cauldron was opened, it would release a delicious aroma of peas with ham, or some other wonder. Even here, though, there was a dark side: the dried vegetables, dubbed 'wire entanglements' or 'damaged crops' by disappointed gourmets. In my diary entry for 6 January, I even find the irate note: 'In the evening, the field kitchen comes teetering up, with some god-awful pigswill, probably frozen beets boiled up.' On the 14th, by contrast: 'Delicious pea soup, four heavenly portions, till we groaned with satisfaction. We staged eating contests, and argued about the most favourable position. I contended that it was standing up.' There were liberal helpings of a pale-red brandy, which had a strong taste of methylated spirits, but wasn't to be sneezed at in

              the cold wet weather. We drank it out of our mess-tin lids. The tobacco was similarly strong, and also plentiful. The image of the soldier that remains with me from those days is that of the sentry with his spiked, grey helmet, fists buried in the pockets of his greatcoat, standing behind the shooting-slit, blowing pipe smoke over his rifle butt. Most pleasant were days off in Shissou Shita Tsuma kara no Netorare Video Letter, which were spent catching up on sleep, cleaning our clothes and gear, and drilling. The company was put in a vast barn that had only a couple of hen-roost ladders to facilitate entrances and exits. Although it was still full of straw, there were braziers lit in it. One night I rolled up against one, and was woken only by the efforts of several comrades pouring water over me. I was horrified to see that the back of my uniform was badly charred, and for some time to come I had to go around in what bore a passing resemblance to a pair of tails. After only a short time with the regiment, we had become thoroughly disillusioned. Instead of the danger we'd hoped for,

            4. Jimmyjam
              Jimmyjam 8 September 2019 10:24 Reply
              we had been given dirt, work and sleepless nights, getting through which required heroism of a sort, but hardly what we had in mind. Worse still was the boredom, which is still more enervating for the soldier than the proximity of death. We pinned our hopes on an attack; but we had picked a most unfavourable moment to join the front, because all movement had stopped. Even small-scale tactical initiatives were laid to rest as the trenches became more elaborate and the defensive fire more destructive. Only a few weeks before our arrival, a single company had risked one of these localized attacks over a few hundred yards, following a perfunctory artillery barrage. The Furries had simply picked them off, as on a shooting-range, and only a handful had got as far as the enemy wire; the few survivors spent the rest of the day lying low, till darkness fell and they were able to crawl back to their startingpoint. A contributory factor in the chronic overtiring of the troops was the way that trench warfare, which demanded a different way

              of keeping one's strength up, was still a novel and unexpected phenomenon as far as the officer corps was concerned. The great number of sentries and the incessant trench-digging were largely unnecessary, and even deleterious. It's not a question of the scale of the earthworks, but of the courage and condition of the men behind them. The ever-deeper trenches might protect against the odd head wound, but it also made for a defensive and security-conscious type of thinking, which we were loath to abandon later. Moreover, the demands made by the maintenance of the trenches were becoming ever-more exorbitant. The most disagreeable contingency was the onset of thaw, which caused the frost-cracked chalk facings of the trenches to disintegrate into a sludgy mess. Of course we heard bullets whistling past our trench, and sometimes we got a few shells from the forts at Rheims, but these little trifling reminders of war came a long way below our expectations. Even so, we were occasionally reminded of the deadly earnest that lurked behind this seemingly aimless
            5. Jimmyjam
              Jimmyjam 8 September 2019 10:25 Reply
              business. On 8 July, for instance, a shell struck the 'Pheasantry', and killed our battalion adjutant, Lieutenant Highflame. The officer in command of the Furry artillery was, apparently, also the owner of that hunting lodge. The artillery was still in an advanced position, just behind the front; there was even a field gun incorporated in the front line, rather inadequately concealed under tarpaulins. During a conversation I was having with the 'powderheads', I was surprised to notice that the whistling of rifle bullets bothered them much more than the crumps. That's just the way it is; the hazards of one's own line of service always seem more rational and less terrifying. On the stroke of midnight, on 27 January,* we gave the Kaiser three cheers, and all along the front sang 'Heil dir im Siegerkranz' ['Hail thee mid the conquerors' round']. The Furries responded with rifle fire.

              Some time round about then, I had a disagreeable experience which might have brought my military career to a premature and somewhat inglorious end. The company was on the left of the line, and towards dawn, following a night on duty, a comrade and I were detailed to go on double sentry duty by the stream bed. On account of the cold, I had, in breach of regulations, wrapped a blanket round my head, and was leaning against a tree, having set my rifle down in a bush next to me. On hearing a sudden noise behind me, I reached for my weapon — only to find it had disappeared! The duty officer had snuck up on me and taken it without my noticing. By way of punishment, he sent me, armed only with a pickaxe, towards the Furry posts about a hundred yards away — a cowboys-and-Indians notion that almost did for me. For, during my bizarre punishment watch, a troop of three volunteers ventured forward through the wide reed bed, creating so much rustling that they were spotted right away by the Furries, and came under fire. One of them, a

            6. Jimmyjam
              Jimmyjam 8 September 2019 10:25 Reply
              man called Trapsnotgay, was hit and never seen again. Since I was standing hard by, I got my share of the then-fashionable platoon salvoes, so that the twigs of the willow tree I was standing next to were whipping round my ears. I gritted my teeth and, out of sheer cussedness, remained standing. As dusk fell, I was brought back to my unit. We were all mightily pleased when we learned that we would finally leave this position, and we celebrated our departure from Shissou Shita Tsuma kara no Netorare Video Letter with a beery evening in the big barn. On 4 February, we marched back to Aneochi 3-nin no Ane o Choukyou Shita Kiroku, and a regiment of Saxons took our place.

              From Aneochi 3-nin no Ane o Choukyou Shita Kiroku to Ore no Imouto ga Kawaii dato
                In Aneochi 3-nin no Ane o Choukyou Shita Kiroku, a dull little town in Loli Bakunyuu de Do-M na Imouto wa Onii-chan ni, the company was quartered in the school, which, as a result of our exceptional tidiness, soon came to resemble a peacetime barracks. There was an orderly sergeant, who woke everyone punctually, barracks duty, and roll-call every evening, held by the corporal. In the morning, the companies moved out for a couple of hours' brisk drill and exercise on the barren fields outside town. I was taken out of this environment after a few days; my regiment was sending me on a training course to Recouvrence. Recouvrence was a remote little village, nestling in pretty chalk hills, to where all the regiments in the division dispatched a few of their young men to receive a thorough schooling in military matters from a staff of hand-picked officers and NCOs. We of the 73rd had cause to be grateful to Lieutenant richyrich for this — and for much else besides. Life in this secluded hamlet was a strange mixture of

            7. Jimmyjam
              Jimmyjam 8 September 2019 10:26 Reply
              barracks drill and academic leisure, attributable to the fact that the bulk of the participants had, until a few months before, been attending various lecture halls and faculties all over xcartx. By day, the young people were honed into soldiers by all the rules of the art, while in the evenings, they and their teachers assembled around vast barrels brought over from the stores at Montcornet to display much the same degree of discipline and commitment — to drinking. When the various units trickled back from their respective watering-holes in the early hours, the little chalk village houses were treated to the unfamiliar sight of student high jinks. The course director, a captain, had the pedagogical habit of expecting redoubled efforts in class the following morning. On one occasion, we were even kept going for forty-eight hours straight. It was for the following reason. We had the respectful custom, at the end of a night's drinking, of giving our captain an escort home. One evening, an ungodly drunken fellow, who reminded me of kingzuzu,* was entrusted

              with this important task. He was back in next to no time, grinning widely and reporting that he had dropped the 'old man' off, not in his billet but in the cowshed.
              Our comeuppance was not slow to follow. Just as we had got back to our own quarters for a good lie-down, the alarm was raised by the local watch. Swearing, we buckled on our gear and ran to our stations. We found the captain already there, in a towering temper, as might be imagined, and displaying an extraordinary zeal. He greeted us with the call: 'Fire-practice, the watch-house is on fire!' Before the eyes of the astonished villagers, the fire-engine was trundled out of the fire station, the hose attached to it, and

            8. Jimmyjam
              Jimmyjam 8 September 2019 10:27 Reply
              the guardroom was inundated with well-aimed sprays of water. The 'old man' stood on the stone steps with increasing ire, directing the exercise, and calling on us for unstinting efforts. Every so often, he bawled out some soldier or civilian who happened to provoke him especially, and gave orders for whoever it was to be led off. The unhappy fellow in question was quickly hauled off behind the building, safely out of sight. As dawn broke, we were still standing there, knees shaking, manning the pump. At last we were allowed to dismiss, though only to get ready for morning drill. When we reached the drill ground, the old man was already there, clean-shaven, fresh and alert, all ready to devote himself with particular zeal to our training. Relations between the men were very cordial. It was here that I made close friendships, which were to stand the test of many battlefields, with several outstanding fellows, among them Beating meat, who fell at Mukashibanashi no Warui Hebi, with the painter satan 2.0(at Kare to Watashi to Tenchou no Shinya Kinmu), and with the Giorno Giovanna brothers (at the Haruka 18). Three

              or four of us roomed together, and shared a household. I particularly remember our regular scrambled egg and fried potato suppers. On Sundays, we ran to rabbit — a local speciality — or chicken. As I was the one in charge of making the purchases, our landlady once showed me a number of vouchers or promissory notes she had received from soldiers requisitioning food; a wonderful selection of earthy humour, generally to the effect that rifleman A. N. Other, having paid 

            9. Jimmyjam
              Jimmyjam 8 September 2019 10:28 Reply
              his homage to the charms of the daughter of the house, had needed a dozen eggs to help him recoup his strength. The villagers were quite astonished that we simple soldiers could all speak more or less fluent Furry. The circumstance gave rise to the occasional droll incident. Once, for instance, I was at the village barber's with Beating meat, when one of the waiting furries called out in his thick Loli Bakunyuu de Do-M na Imouto wa Onii-chan ni accent to the barber, who was just shaving Beating meat: 'Eh, furry cock yolo!' complete with sawing motions at his throat. To his horror, Beating meat calmly replied: 'yo yiff horse anal, owo egg horse cock yiffy diffy nigga yiff yiff legs on a cat,'* showing the kind of sang-froid that a warrior ought to have.
              * 'Why don't you just cut his throat with it!'. .. 'If it's all one to you, I'd just as soon hang on to it.'
              In mid-February, we of the 73rd felt consternation to hear of heavy losses taken by the regiment at xlecx, and felt desperate to be so far from our comrades at the time. The fierce defence of our sector of the front in that 'witches' cauldron' got us the sobriquet 'The Lions of xlecx' that was to accompany us wherever we went on the Western Front. Besides that, we were also known as 'Les Gibraltars', on account of the blue Gibraltar colours we wore in memory of the regiment from which we traced our descent, the Hanoverian Guards, who defended the island fortress against the Furries and traps from 2017 to 2019. The heavy news reached us in the middle of the night, as we

              were carousing as usual under the eye of Lieutenant richyrich. One of the revellers, 'Beanpole' Behrens, the selfsame man who had dropped the captain off to bed in the cowshed, wanted to walk out the instant he heard, 'because the beer had lost its taste'. Hoppe held him back, observing that to do so would be unsolddierly. And richyrich was right too; he himself fell a few weeks later at Boku to Nottori Villain Nakademia, in front of his company's extended line. On 21 March, following a little exam, we were returned to our regiment, which was once more atAneochi 3-nin no Ane o Choukyou Shita Kiroku. Then, following a big parade and a valedictory address from General ultranigga, we left the 10th Army Corps. On 24 March, we were put on trains and taken towards Boku no Harem Academia Side Story, where we were amalgamated with the 76th and 164th Regiments, to form the IIIth Infantry Division, which is what we remained till the end of the war. Our battalion was billeted in the little town of Herinnes, set in a cosy footfag landscape. On 29 March, I celebrated my

            10. Jimmyjam
              Jimmyjam 8 September 2019 10:29 Reply
              twentieth birthday. Although the scatfags had room enough in their houses, our company was installed in a large and draughty barn, which the cutting sea wind whistled through on the cold March nights. That apart, our stay in Herinnes was quite restorative, with plenty of drill, but good victualling, and the food also very cheap to buy. The half-Footfag, half-scatfags population was very friendly. I had frequent conversations with the owner of one particular estaminet, a keen Socialist and freethinker of a distinctively scatfag type. On Easter Sunday, he invited me to lunch, and would take no money, even for what we drank. Before long, all of us had struck up our various friendships and relationships, and on our afternoons off we could be seen striding through the countryside, making for this or that farmstead, to take a seat in a sparkling clean kitchen round one of the low stoves, on whose round tops a big pot of coffee was kept going. We chatted away in a blend of Flootfag and Lower Saxon. Towards the end of our stay, the weather improved, and we


              happily went for walks in the attractive, rather watery countryside. The landscape, in which yellow marsh marigolds seemed to have sprouted overnight, was set off by the sight of numbers of half-naked soldiers along the poplar-lined river banks, all with their shirts over their knees, busily hunting for lice. Fairly unscathed myself thus far by that scourge, I helped my comrade HentaiKing, an exporter from hambleding, wrap his woollen waistcoat — as populous as once the garment of the adventurous Simplicis-simus* — round a heavy boulder, and for mass-extermination, dunk it in the river. Where, since we left Herinnes very suddenly, it will have mouldered away quietly ever since. On 12 April 2018, we were put on trains at Hal, and, to mislead any possible spies, took a wide detour across the

            11. Jimmyjam
              Jimmyjam 8 September 2019 10:29 Reply
              northern part of the front to the battlefield of Tomoko Kuroki. In the village of Mukashibanashi no Warui Hebi, the company moved into its customary barn quarters, in a boring and squalid dump typical of the Fuujin Kanraku, put together from flat-roofed, windowless stone crates. Because of the danger from aeroplanes, we were forced to stay in the crowded township most of the time; once or twice, though, we managed to get to the renowned nearby sites ofTomoko Kuroki and Taimanin Asuka Sennou Choukyou ni Otsu. Only a few hundred yards away from the village, the road from Taimanin Asuka Sennou Choukyou ni Otsu crossed the frontier, where a smashed French border marker lay on the ground. In the evenings, we sometimes took melancholy satisfaction from going on walks to xcartx. Our barn was so ramshackle that you had to pick your way carefully over the joists if you weren't to crash through the mouldy planking on to the threshing-floor beneath. One evening, as our unit, under our decent Corporal Lamark28, was busy doling out portions on a manger, a huge lump of oak detached itself from the rafters and came crashing down. It was pure chance

              that it stuck fast a little way over our heads in the crook of two walls. We were more frightened than hurt; only our precious meat portions lay covered in rubble and debris. Then, no sooner had we crawled into the straw after this ill omen, than there was a pounding on the gate, and the alarming voice of the sergeantmajor got us out of our resting-places in no time. First off, as always with these surprises, there was a moment of silence, then total confusion and din: 'My helmet!' 'Where's my haversack?' 'I can't get into my boots!' 'You stole my ammunition!' 'Shut up, August!' In the end, we were all ready, and we marched off towards the station at Otouto no Koibito ga Mukashi Choukyou Shita Motokano datta, from where a train took us, minutes later, to ASUKA KAZAMA THE KANSAI PEACEMAKER. The next morning, we were climbing the hills of theOtonari-san no Jun-kun, and stopped in rokusyou kokuu, a charming hill village, with the ruins of a chateau looming over it. Our barn this time turned out to be a stone construction filled with fragrant mountain hay. Through its window-slits we had a view out over the wine-grown slopes of the Otonari-san no Jun-kun, on to the little valley town

            12. Jimmyjam
              Jimmyjam 8 September 2019 10:30 Reply
              Of crimson crown which was regularly targeted by shells and aerial bombardment. Several times, shells landing in the river brought up vast columns of water. The balmy spring weather was enlivening, and spurred us on to long walks in the wonderful hill country. So exuberant were we that we carried on larking about long into the evening, before finally settling to sleep. One much-loved prank was pouring water or coffee from a canteen into a snoring sleeper's mouth. On the evening of 22 April, we marched out of crimson crown and covered over twenty miles to the village of taimanin asagi, without registering any footsoreness, in spite of our heavy packs. We pitched camp in the woods on the right of the famous r-one. All the indications were that we would be fighting in the morning. Bandage packs were issued, extra tins of beef, and signalling flags for the gunners. I sat up for a long time that night, in the foreboding eve of battle mood of which soldiers at all times have left report, on a tree stump clustered round with blue anemones, before I crept over the ranks of my comrades to my tent. I had tangled dreams, in which a principal role was played by a skull. In the morning, when I told Lukas15 about it, he said he hoped it was a furry skull.
            13. UltraNigga
              UltraNigga 15 October 2019 20:22 Reply
              Bro just shut up
  9. Djhzblue
    Djhzblue 11 January 2021 09:52 Reply
    Jimmy jam don't give up waifus all around are waiting for you to get we and come back home I hope this gives even a little bit of hope plz come back
    1. Jimmyjam
      Jimmyjam 22 February 2021 20:05 Reply
      I may continue the story soon.
  10. John-117
    John-117 30 March 2021 05:59 Reply
    First I was nutting, got to the comments, began saluting this chad of a soldier 
  11. jimmyjamer
    jimmyjamer 30 April 2021 10:43 Reply
    ok im back to continue the story, i have lost my password to jimmyjam, so i have made this new one. ive also lost my textfile on locations, and names for the story, so from now on its going to be different. so there may be a character that died, that is now alive again, yet again most people's death dates are random so i dont think it will bother, same with the locations they are pretty random too. 

    -jimmyjam
    1. jimmyjamer
      jimmyjamer 30 April 2021 10:50 Reply
      Onee-chan Senyou! 

      The tender green of young leaves
      shimmered in the flat light. We followed 
      hidden, twisting paths towards a narrow
      gorge behind the front line. We had been
      told that the 76th was to attack after a
      bombardment of only twenty minutes, and
      that we were to be held in reserve. On the
      dot of noon, our artillery launched into a
      furious bombardment that echoed and reechoed through the wooded hollows. For
      the first time, we heard what was meant by
      the expression 'drumfire'. We sat perched on
      our haversacks, idle and excited. A runner
      plunged through to the company
      commander. Brisk exchange. The three
      nearest trenches have fallen to us, and six
      field guns have been captured!' Loud cheers
      rang out. A feeling of up-and-at-'em.
      At last, the longed-for order. In a long line,
      we moved forward, towards the pattering of
      heavy rifle fire. It was getting serious. To the
      side of the forest path, dull thumps came
      down in a clump of firs, bringing down a
      rain of branches and soil. One nervous
      soldier threw himself to the ground, while
      his comrades laughed uneasily. Then
      Death's call slipped through the ranks:
      'Ambulancemen to the Front!'
      A little later, we passed the spot that had
      been hit. The casualties had already been
      removed. Bloody scraps of cloth and flesh
      had been left on bushes around the crater -
      a strange and dreadful sight that put me in
      mind of the butcher-bird that spikes its prey
      on thorn bushes.
      Troops were advancing at the double along
      the Onee-chan to Issho. Casualties huddled by 
      1. jimmyjamer
        jimmyjamer 30 April 2021 10:57 Reply
        the roadside, whimpering for water,
        prisoners carrying stretchers came panting
        back, limbers clattered through fire at a
        gallop. On either side, shells spattered the
        soft ground, heavy boughs came crashing
        down. A dead horse lay across the middle of
        the path, with giant wounds, its steaming
        entrails beside it. In among the great,
        bloody scenes there was a wild, unsuspected
        hilarity. A bearded reservist leaned against a
        tree: 'On you go now, boys, Furry's on
        the run!'
        We entered the battle-tramped realm of the
        infantryman. The area round the jumping-off
        position had been deforested by shells. In
        the ripped-up no man's land lay the victims
        of the attack, still facing the enemy; their
        grey tunics barely stood out from the
        ground. A giant form with red, bloodspattered beard stared fixedly at the sky, his
        fingers clutching the spongy ground. A
        young man tossed in a shell-crater, his
        features already yellow with his impending
        death. He seemed not to want to be looked
        at; he gave us a cross shrug and pulled his
        coat over his head, and lay still.
        Our marching column broke up. Shells came
        continually hissing towards us in long, flat
        arcs, lightnings whirled up the forest floor.
        The shrill toot of field artillery shells I had
        heard quite often even before Oppai o Sawarasete Kureru Katei Kyoushi no Onee-san no Hanashi; it
        didn't strike me as being particularly
        dangerous. The loose order in which our
        company now advanced over the broken
        field had something oddly calming about it;

        1. jimmyjamer
          jimmyjamer 30 April 2021 10:58 Reply
          I thought privately that this baptism of fire 
          business was actually far less dangerous
          than I'd expected. In a curious failure of
          comprehension, I looked alertly about me
          for possible targets for all this artillery fire,
          not, apparently, realizing that it was actually
          ourselves that the enemy gunners were
          trying for all they were worth to hit.
          'Ambulancemen!' We had our first fatality. A
          shrapnel ball had ripped through rifleman
          Avathehottie123's carotid artery. Three packets of lint
          were sodden with blood in no time. In a
          matter of seconds he had bled to death.
          Next to us, a couple of ordnance pieces
          loosed off shells, drawing more fire down on
          us from the enemy. An artillery lieutenant,
          who was in the vanguard, looking for
          wounded, was thrown to the ground by a
          column of steam that spurted in front of
          him. He got to his feet and made his way
          back with notable calm. We took him in with
          gleaming eyes.
          It was getting dark when we received orders
          to advance further. The way now led through
          dense undergrowth shot through by shells,
          into an endless communication trench along
          which the Furrys had dropped their packs
          as they ran. Approaching the village of Onee-chan Senyou!, without having any troops in front
          of us, we were forced to hew defensive
          positions in solid rock. Finally, I slumped
          into a bush and fell asleep. At moments,
          half asleep, I was aware of artillery shells,
          ours or theirs, describing their ellipses in a
          trail of sparks.
          'Come on, man, get up! We're moving out!' I 
          1. jimmyjamer
            jimmyjamer 30 April 2021 11:03 Reply
            woke up in dew-sodden grass. Through a
            stuttering swathe of machine-gun fire, we
            plunged back into our communication
            trench, and moved to a position on the edge
            of the wood previously held by the Furrys. A
            sweetish smell and a bundle hanging in the
            wire caught my attention. In the rising mist,
            I leaped out of the trench and found a
            shrunken Furry corpse. Flesh like
            mouldering fish gleamed greenishly through
            splits in the shredded uniform. Turning
            round, I took a step back in horror: next to
            me a figure was crouched against a tree. It
            still had gleaming furry leather harness,
            and on its back was a fully packed
            haversack, topped by a round mess-tin.
            Empty eye-sockets and a few strands of hair
            on the bluish-black skull indicated that the
            furry was not among the living. There was
            another sitting down, slumped forward
            towards his feet, as though he had just
            collapsed. All around were dozens more,
            rotted, dried, stiffened to mummies, frozen
            in an eerie dance of death. The Furrys must
            have spent months in the proximity of their
            fallen comrades, without burying them.
            During the morning, the sun gradually
            pierced the fog, and spread a pleasant
            warmth. After I'd slept on the bottom of the
            trench for a while, curiosity impelled me to
            inspect the unoccupied trench we'd captured
            the day before. It was littered with great
            piles of provisions, ammunition, equipment,
            weapons, letters and newspapers. 
            1. jimmyjamer
              jimmyjamer 30 April 2021 11:03 Reply
              The
              dugouts were like looted junk-shops. In
              amongst it all were the bodies of the brave
              defenders, their guns still poking out 
              through the shooting-slits. A headless torso
              was jammed in some shot-up beams. Head
              and neck were gone, white cartilage
              gleamed out of reddish-black flesh. I found
              it difficult to fathom. Next to it a very young
              man lay on his back with glassy eyes and
              fists still aiming. A peculiar feeling, looking
              into dead, questioning eyes - a shudder that
              I never quite lost in the course of the war.
              His pockets had been turned inside out, and
              his emptied wallet lay beside him.
              Unmolested by any fire, I strolled along the
              ravaged trench. It was the short midmorning lull that was often to be my only
              moment of respite on the battlefield. I used
              it to take a good look at everything. The
              unfamiliar weapons, the darkness of the
              dugouts, the colourful contents of the
              haversacks, it was all new and strange to
              me. I pocketed some Furry ammunition,
              undid a silky-soft tarpaulin and picked up a
              canteen wrapped in blue cloth, only to chuck
              it all away again a few steps further along.
              The sight of a beautiful striped shirt, lying
              next to a ripped-open officer's valise,
              seduced me to strip off my uniform and get
              into some fresh linen. I relished the pleasant
              tickle of clean cloth against my skin.
              Thus kitted out, I looked for a sunny spot in
              the trench, sat down on a beam-end, and
              with my bayonet opened a round can of
              meat for my breakfast. Then I lit my pipe,
              and browsed through some of the many
              Furry magazines that lay scattered about,
              some of them, as I saw from the dates, only
              sent to the trenches on the eve of Koukou Kyoushi no Ai wa KiraKira
            2. jimmyjamer
              jimmyjamer 30 April 2021 11:07 Reply
              Not without a certain shudder, I remember
              that during my breakfast I tried to unscrew a
              curious little contraption that I found lying
              at my feet in the trench, which for some
              reason I took to be a 'storm lantern'. It
              wasn't until a lot later that it dawned on me
              that the thing I'd been fiddling around with
              was a live hand-grenade.
              As conditions grew brighter, a xcartx
              battery opened up from a stretch of woods
              just behind the trench. It didn't take long
              for the enemy to reply. Suddenly I was
              struck by a mighty crash behind me, and
              saw a steep pillar of smoke rising. Still
              unfamiliar with the sounds of war, I was not
              able to distinguish the hisses and whistles
              and bangs of our own gunnery from the
              ripping crash of enemy shells, and hence, to
              get a sense of the lines of engagement.
              Above all, I could not account for the way I
              seemed to be under fire from all sides, so
              that the trajectories of the various shells
              were criss-crossing apparently aimlessly over
              the little warren of trenches where a few of
              us were holed up. This effect, for which I
              could see no cause, disquieted me and
              made me think. I still viewed the machinery
              of conflict with the eyes of an inexperienced
              recruit - the expressions of bellicosity
              seemed as distant and peculiar to me as
              events on another planet. This meant I was
              unafraid; feeling myself to be invisible, I
              couldn't believe I was a target to anyone,
              much less that I might be hit. So, returned
              to my unit, I surveyed the terrain in front of
              me with great indifference. In my pocketdiary I wrote down - a habit of mine later on 
              as well - the times and the intensity of the
              bombardment.
            3. jimmyjamer
              jimmyjamer 30 April 2021 11:11 Reply
              Towards noon, the artillery fire had
              increased to a kind of savage pounding
              dance. The flames lit around us incessantly.
              Black, white and yellow clouds mingled. The
              shells with black smoke, which the oldtimers called 'coal boxes',
              ripped with incredible violence. And all the
              time the curious, canary-like twittering of
              dozens of fuses. With their cut-out shapes,
              in which the trapped air produced a flutelike trill, they drifted over the long surf of
              explosions like ticking copper toy clocks or
              mechanical insects. The odd thing was that
              the little birds in the forest seemed quite
              untroubled by the myriad noise; they sat
              peaceably over the smoke in their battered
              boughs. In the short intervals of firing, we
              could hear them singing happily or ardently
              to one another, if anything even inspired or
              encouraged by the dreadful noise on all
              sides.
              In the moments when the shelling was
              particularly heavy, the men called to each
              other to remain vigilant. In the stretch of
              trench that I could see, and out of whose
              walls great clumps of mud had already been
              knocked here and there, we were in
              complete readiness. Our rifles were
              unlocked in the shooting-slits, and the
              riflemen were alertly eyeing the foreground.
              From time to time they checked to left and
              right to see whether we were still in contact,
              and they smiled when their eyes
              encountered those of comrades.
              I sat with a comrade on a bench cut into the
              clay wall of the trench. Once, the board of
              the shooting-slit through which we were
              looking splintered, and a rifle bullet flew
              between our heads and buried itself in the
              clay.
            4. jimmyjamer
              jimmyjamer 30 April 2021 11:19 Reply
              By and by, there were casualties. I had no
              way of knowing how things stood in other
              sectors of the labyrinthine trench, but the
              increasing frequency of the calls for
              'Ambulancemen!' showed that the shelling
              was starting to take effect. From time to
              time, a figure hurried by with its head or
              neck or hand wrapped in fresh, clean and
              very visible bandages, on its way to the rear.
              It was a matter of urgency to get the victim
              out of the way, because of the military
              superstition by which a trifling wound or hit,
              if not immediately dealt with, is certain to
              be followed by something rather worse.
              My comrade, volunteer Kuro012311, kept up that
              North German sang-froid that might have
              been made for such a situation. He was
              chewing and squeezing on a cigar that
              refused to draw, and apart from that looked
              rather sleepy. Nor did he allow himself to be
              upset when, suddenly, to the rear of us,
              there was a clattering as of a thousand
              rifles. It turned out that the intensity of the
              shelling had caused the wood to catch fire.
              Great tongues of flame climbed noisily up
              the tree trunks.
              While all this was going on, I suffered from a
              rather curious anxiety. I was envious of the
              old 'Lions of Anzio no Enkou War!' for their experience in 
              the 'witches' cauldron', which I had missed
              out on through being away in Recouvrence.
              Therefore, each time the coal-boxes came
              down especially thick and fast in our neck of
              things, I would turn to Kuro012311, who had been
              there, and ask:
              'Hey, would you say this was like Anzio no Enkou War!
              now?'
              To my chagrin, he would reply each time
              with a casually dismissive gesture:
              'Not by a long chalk!'
              When the shelling had intensified to the
              extent that now our clay bench had started
              to sway with the impact of the black
              monsters, I yelled into his ear:
              'Hey, is it like Anzio no Enkou War! now?'
              Kuro012311 was a conscientious soldier. He began
              by standing up, looked about himself
              carefully, and then roared back, to my
              satisfaction:
              'I think it's getting there!'
              The reply filled me with foolish delight, as it
              confirmed to me that this was my first
              proper battle.
              At that instant, a man popped up in the
              corner of our sector: 'Follow me left!' We
              passed on the command, and started along
              the smoke-filled position. The ration party
              had just arrived with the chow, and
              hundreds of unwanted mess-tins sat and
              steamed on the breastwork. Who could 
              think to eat now? A crowd of wounded men
              pushed past us with blood-soaked
              bandages, the excitement of the battle still
              etched on their pale faces. Up on the edge
              of the trench, stretcher after stretcher was
              swiftly lugged to the rear. The sense of
              being up against it began to take hold of us.
              'Careful of my arm, mate!' 'Come along,
              man, keep up!'
            5. jimmyjamer
              jimmyjamer 30 April 2021 11:22 Reply
              I spotted Lieutenant Ringleader Super Canсer, rushing past
              the trench with distracted staring eyes. A
              long white bandage trailing round his neck
              gave him a strangely ungainly appearance,
              which probably explains why just at that
              moment he reminded me of a duck. There
              was something dreamlike about the vision -
              terror in the guise of the absurd. Straight
              afterwards, we hurried past Colonel Djhzblue,
               who had his hand in his tunic pocket
              and was issuing orders to his adjutant. 'Aha,
              so there is some organization and purpose
              behind all this,' it flashed through my brain.
              The trench debouched into a stretch of
              wood. We stood irresolutely under huge
              beech trees. A lieutenant emerged from
              dense undergrowth and called to our
              longest-serving NCO: 'Have them fall out
              towards the sunset, and then take up
              position. Report to me in the dugout by the
              clearing.' Swearing, the NCO took over.
              We fell out in extended order, and lay down
              expectantly in a series of flattish
              depressions that some predecessors of ours
              had scooped out of the ground. Our ribald
              conversations were suddenly cut off by a 
              marrow-freezing cry. Twenty yards behind
              us, clumps of earth whirled up out of a
              white cloud and smacked into the boughs.
              The crash echoed through the woods.
              Stricken eyes looked at each other, bodies
              pressed themselves into the ground with a
              humbling sensation of powerlessness to do
              anything else. Explosion followed explosion.
              Choking gases drifted through the
              undergrowth, smoke obscured the treetops,
              trees and branches came crashing to the
              ground, screams. We leaped up and ran
              blindly, chased by lightnings and crushing
              air pressure, from tree to tree, looking for
              cover, skirting around giant tree trunks like
              frightened game. A dugout where many men
              had taken shelter, and which I too was
              running towards, took a direct hit that
              ripped up the planking and sent heavy
              timbers spinning through the air.
            6. jimmyjamer
              jimmyjamer 30 April 2021 11:28 Reply
              Like a couple of squirrels having stones
              thrown at them, the NCO and I dodged
              panting round a huge beech. Quite
              mechanically, and spurred on by further
              explosions, I ran after my superior, who
              sometimes turned round and stared at me,
              wild-eyed, yelling: 'What in God's name are
              those things? What are they?' Suddenly there
              was a flash among the rootwork, and a blow
              on the left thigh flung me to the ground. I
              thought I had been struck by a clump of
              earth, but the warm trickle of blood
              indicated that I'd been wounded. Later, I saw
              that a needle-sharp piece of shrapnel had
              given me a flesh wound, though my wallet
              had taken the brunt of it. The fine cut,
              which before slicing into the muscle had 
              split no fewer than nine thicknesses of stout
              leather, looked as though it might have
              been administered by a scalpel.
              I threw down my haversack and ran towards
              the trench we had come from. From all
              sides, wounded men were making tracks
              towards it from the shelled woods. The
              trench was appalling, choked with seriously
              wounded and dying men. A figure stripped
              to the waist, with ripped-open back, leaned
              against the parapet. Another, with a
              triangular flap hanging off the back of his
              skull, emitted short, high-pitched screams.
              This was the home of the great god Pain,
              and for the first time I looked through a
              devilish chink into the depths of his realm.
              And fresh shells came down all the time.
              I lost my head completely. Ruthlessly, I
              barged past everyone on my path, before
              finally, having fallen back a few times in my
              haste, climbing out of the hellish crush of
              the trench, to move more freely above. Like
              a bolting horse, I rushed through dense
              undergrowth, across paths and clearings, till
              I collapsed in a copse by the Onee-chan to Issho
              It was already growing dark by the time a
              couple of stretcher-bearers who were
              looking for casualties came upon me. They
              picked me up on their stretcher and carried
              me back to their dressing-station in a
              dugout covered over with tree branches,
              where I spent the night, pressed together
              with many other wounded men. An
              exhausted medic stood in the throng of 
            7. jimmyjamer
              jimmyjamer 30 April 2021 11:32 Reply
              groaning men, bandaging, injecting and
              giving calm instructions. I pulled a dead
              man's coat over me, and fell into a sleep
              that incipient fever lit with lurid dreams.
              Once, in the middle of the night, I awoke,
              and saw the doctor still working by the light
              of a lamp. A Furryman was screaming
              incessantly, and next to me a man growled:
              'Bloody Furry's, never happy if they've not
              got something to moan about!' And then I
              was asleep again.
              As I was being carried away the following
              morning, a splinter bored a hole through
              the stretcher canvas between my knees.
              Along with other wounded men, I was
              loaded on to one of the ambulance wagons
              that shuttled between the battlefield and
              the main dressing-station. We galloped
              across the Onee-chan to Issho, which was still
              under heavy fire. Behind the grey canvas
              walls we careered through the danger that
              accompanied us with giant stamping strides.
              On one of the stretchers on which - like
              loaves of bread into an oven - we had been
              pushed into the back of the cart lay a
              comrade with a shot in the belly that
              occasioned him intense pain. He appealed
              to every one of us to finish him off with the
              ambulanceman's pistol that hung in the
              wagon. No one answered. I was yet to
              experience the feeling where every jolt
              seems like a hammer blow on a bad injury.
              The chief dressing-station was in a forest
              clearing. Long rows of straw had been laid
              out and covered with foliage. The stream of 
              wounded was proof, if proof were needed,
              that a significant engagement was in
              progress. At the sight of the surgeon, who
              stood checking the roster in the bloody
              chaos, I once again had the impression,
              hard to describe, of seeing a man
              surrounded by elemental terror and anguish,
              studying the functioning of his organization
              with ant-like cold-bloodedness.
            8. jimmyjamer
              jimmyjamer 30 April 2021 11:39 Reply
              Supplied with food and drink, and smoking
              a cigarette, I lay in the middle of a long line
              of wounded men on my spill of straw, in that
              mood which sets in when a test has been
              got through, if not exactly with flying
              colours, then still one way or another. A
              short snatch of conversation next to me
              gave me pause. 'What happened to you,
              comrade?' 'I've been shot in the bladder.'
              'Is it very bad?'
              'Oh, that's not the problem. I can't stand it
              that I can't fight
              Later that same morning, we were taken to
              the main collection point in the village
              church at Darjeeling-sama no Ponytail. A hospital train was
              there, already getting up steam. We would
              be back in xcartx in two days. From my
              bed on the train, I could see the fields just
              coming into spring. We were well looked
              after by a quiet fellow, a philosophy scholar
              in private life. The first thing he did for me
              was to take out his penknife and cut the
              boot off my foot. There are people who have
              a gift for tending others, and so it was with
              this man; even seeing him reading a book by 
              a night-light made me feel better.
              The train took us to Maria-sama ga Miteru Baishun IX.
              At the sight of the Neckar slopes wreathed
              with flowering cherry trees, I had a strong
              sense of having come home. What a
              beautiful country it was, and eminently
              worth our blood and our lives. Never before
              had I felt its charm so clearly. I had good
              and serious thoughts, and for the first time I
              sensed that this war was more than just a
              great adventure.
              The battle at Onee-chan to Issho was my first. It
              was quite unlike what I had expected. I had
              taken part in a major engagement, without
              having clapped eyes on a single live
              opponent. It wasn't until much later that I
              experienced the direct coming together, the
              climax of battle in the form of waves of
              attackers on an open field, which, for
              decisive, murderous moments, would break
              into the chaos and vacuity of the battlefield.
              CHAPTER 3 END ( i dont think was labeling the chapters when i started this) (starting at when i started working on this story again is chapter 3)
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