AT FIRST NO one believed it could be done.
A special task force, created for the sole purpose of freeing people? Not for fighting? Such a thing was unheard of.
That was, until Camo showed up.
Camo was the codename of a sergeant in the Marines. Everybody had nicknamed him so because once he'd made a joke about camouflage being his favorite "color." It was the kind of silly little thing that stuck. But that didn't bother him.
What did bother him was the fact that, while the Americans were fighting to free countries, they didn't seem to be doing much for the people themselves. [Note--in the newest version of events, and in the Trench Rats world/timeline, widescale Nazi atrocities were being committed in the Thirties. The battalion was formed in the very late Thirties, I think, and went over to Germany--so the Trench Rats here were involved in combat with the Germans BEFORE America's military officially got involved. Then events play out much as they did in the real timeline and US forces show up near the end of the series. I think events in this version might be a little off.] Every week more and more stories of Nazi atrocities poured in, and the military was mostly ignoring them. That is, they were trying to.
All of his free waking hours found Camo sitting around, mulling over the problem; it seemed nobody really cared about the people being killed, just to end the war as quickly as possible. [Note--yes, this is now WAY off. I think in the newest version Camo has some prompting; he doesn't just sit around thinking, "What can I do to help people today...?" It was probably a combination of the above issue, and the Doomsday issue...which I think is coming up.] He'd just started to formulate an idea when he was called to an important meeting; it was highly secret, so he was surprised he was even allowed to attend.
The major giving the meeting--DeVries (everybody pronounced it "Devree")--was pacing around the front of the room slowly, looking at the floor. There were several others in the room, all of them of higher rank than Camo. There were a couple other majors and a lieutenant; the lieutenant he recognized as being one of the surgeons from their unit, nicknamed (as most of their codenames were of colors) Burgundy. He recognized him from the white cross on his armband, and also from his reputation; Burgundy was said to be one of the best doctors they'd had in a long time.
Feeling a little out of place, Camo sat down and shifted uncomfortably until the major in charge turned to face them; then he sat still and tried to look as if he knew what was going on.
"Good afternoon, majors, lieutenant, sergeant," DeVries said, nodding at each of them in turn. "I'm sure none of you has any idea of why you're here right now, except for Lieutenant Burgundy. The truth is, we don't want anybody outside this room to know what's going on right now."
Camo shifted again; just how bad was this?
"This must concern the Nazis, right?" one of the majors asked.
DeVries nodded, confirming Camo's suspicions. So they were finally facing the "problem." "We've received word of an American civilian who was caught behind enemy lines," he said. "The Germans caught him, and he's now in their custody."
Camo sat forward. He hadn't expected this.
"Excuse me, Major, but why all the secrecy?" one of the other majors asked.
"Because of the implications this brings on," Major DeVries explained. "We've also received reports that the Nazis have been conducting top secret medical experiments upon various individuals, including this civilian."
The sergeant almost felt triumphant; but the thought of one of their own over there was enough to dampen that feeling. [Note--out-of-character reaction--Camo is not the sort to feel vindicated or triumphant about anything.] "Just what kinds of experiments, Major?" he asked.
DeVries looked at him, as if not expecting him to ever speak up, or at least hoping he wouldn't. "Genetic experiments involving heightening strength and intelligence," he replied. [Note--not genetic, in the newest versions. Just blood related.]
There was a murmur in the room. "You want us to find him and stop the experiments?" one of the majors asked.
"That, and to bring him back, too," Major DeVries replied. "We have to know what the Nazis are up to. What their techniques are. Their motives." He started pacing again. "However, we also need to send a unit over there. Any volunteers?" And he turned to face them.
No one said anything. Not even the majors. Seizing the opportunity, Camo stood up and addressed the major.
"Major DeVries, I volunteer myself to lead a battalion to free the American citizen," he announced.
The others all looked up at him, stunned but saying nothing. DeVries stared at him closely. "'Battalion'?" he echoed.
"Yes, sir," Camo said. "I believe it's time we sent a battalion over to help with the freeing of prisoners of war."
DeVries continued looking at him, then sighed. "The plan was to rescue only the civilian, Sergeant," he explained.
"I know that, sir, but I believe it's in our best interest to do this."
"And why is that?"
Camo couldn't think of anything. So he just said, "Because it's the right thing to do." [Note--in a rewrite, I would make this story not so damn obvious.]
A long silence filled the room; Camo tried not to fidget, as he hated long silences, and he could feel the eyes of all his superiors boring into him. Finally the major shrugged.
"All right, then," he said, and Camo couldn't believe it had been so easy. "A battalion--how many men?"
"Four hundred, sir."
"Lord, a whole battalion? I really don't know if we can spare all those men--"
"Trust me, sir. It would be a good investment."
He only said this because he couldn't think of a better word; he could notice one of the majors snickering to the other. His snickers were cut short as soon as DeVries spoke up again.
"All right," he echoed himself, "four hundred men. I suppose you can choose whoever among us you want, but you get only four hundred. A battalion. And you have to have your list prepared at least two weeks from now. Understood?"
"Understood, sir," Camo said. Everyone was dismissed, and Camo was left standing at attention, wondering just how he was going to find four hundred men in fourteen days.
At first the searching was easy. He strolled along in front of the new recruits as they practiced their marching exercises, observing all their quirks, mentally deciding which ones would be best for his dream battalion. For that's what it was right now, only a dream. He had two weeks to make it a reality.
He selected a number of privates, then searched for lance-corporals to fill in the gaps. There were several in the barracks that he'd been keeping an eye on; however, knowing how many more soldiers he needed, there wouldn't be enough. He found the records of all the recruits who'd been dismissed; nothing in there impressed him, until he was about to give up and he found an article:
PRIVATE "PURPLE" RAT--PASSED TRAINING WITH SUCCESS; HAD TO BE DISMISSED DUE TO INAPPROPRIATE BEHAVIOR & INSUBORDINATION. ACCUSED OF FIGHTING W/ DRILL SERGEANT, WHO LATER HAD TO BE HOSPITALIZED.
Needless to say, Camo was impressed.
Going to Major DeVries's office, he saluted and asked what had become of "Purple."
DeVries readily explained. "He got into a big fight with the drill sergeant," he said. "Ended up giving him a broken nose. This was a couple weeks ago. He's in confinement now until we can figure out what to do with him." He gave Camo a funny look. "Don't tell me you're interested in recruiting him." [Note--one spot where I think italics would be warranted--"Don't tell me you're interested in recruiting him."]
Camo stood his ground. He was actually starting to get good at it. "As a matter of fact, sir, I am."
"Oh, Lord, Camo, have you gone nuts? Look what you're doing! First you ask to assemble a whole battalion to go free people in Germany, now you want to recruit a criminal too?"
"He's not exactly a criminal yet, sir. At least not unless I can get him into my battalion. Then he might have a chance."
"And what if he turns around and busts your nose too, Camo? What then?"
Camo allowed himself a shrug. "Then you'll have proven yourself right, Major."
It was pointless to argue; Major DeVries knew that already. He leaned forward and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "All right, then, Camo, you've made your point. Again," he added. "You can go check him out, but don't expect anything wonderful. He is, after all, a miscreant."
Camo saluted and left the room, determined to prove DeVries wrong again.
A corporal led him to the barracks cells and let him in with a key. [Note--I apparently had no clue what barracks really were back then.] "He's in there, cell number 055," the corporal said. "But I wouldn't expect anything from him, Sergeant. He doesn't really talk to anybody."
"Thank you, Corporal," Camo said, and the corporal left, knowing a dismissal when he heard it.
The cells were dim; Camo had to squint to be able to tell there was anybody within. He could just barely make out a form slouched on a seat in the corner of the cell, and cleared his throat.
There was, of course, no reply.
"Private Purple?" Camo addressed the form.
There was a slight rustle. "Yeah?" came an insolent voice.
Camo bit his lip; he was beginning to wonder if this were such a good idea, but then he thought of DeVries's skeptical look, and forced himself to continue. [Note--way OOC for Camo.]
"My name's Sergeant Camo and I've come to talk with you."
"'Sergeant'?" The form moved, and a large rat--not quite as tall as him, but built stronger--came forward. He still wore his army uniform, but there was a tag with a serial number attached to it. He looked Camo up and down, then smiled bitterly, looking into his eyes. "And what's a full-fledged sergeant want with me?"
"I've reviewed your record, Private, and I've come to ask if you'd be willing to join my battalion."
The private gaped at him, then burst out into laughter. Camo only stood there, trying to conceal his disdain. "Willing--to join--your battalion?" Purple gasped.
"That's what I said."
The private only continued to laugh. "And why would you want me in your battalion, Sergeant?" [Note--I have the strong feeling that that should be italicized--"Sergeant?"] He said the title as if it were full of hot air. "In case you don't remember what you read, I was insubordinate."
"I'm aware of that, Private."
"And I did break the drill sergeant's nose."
"Are you ashamed of what you did?"
Purple gave that bitter smile again, but this time there was something else in it. It looked like humor. "No," he said readily. "And if I had the chance, I'd do it all over again."
Camo lifted his head. "Would you do it to me, Private?"
Purple sized him up, then said, rather thoughtfully, "I'd have to get to know you first, Sergeant."
"Good. In my battalion you'll have the chance."
"Now wait a minute," Purple interjected. "Maybe I don't wanna join your battalion. What then?"
"Then you sit in here until they figure out what to do with you. It's your choice. When you make up your mind, tell the jailor to give me a call. Good day, Private."
Camo left, and Purple was left gripping the bars, staring out after him, wondering just what he should do.
It was only several minutes later when he yelled out through the bars, "Hey, Corporal! C'mere! Corporal!"
On the morning of the twelfth day, he received a note from the warden, stating that the prisoner had agreed to join the battalion, in exchange for the end of his sentence. Camo smiled to himself as he read the letter, knowing all along that that was what Purple would do. But he frowned and sighed as he realized again that he had yet to find two more recruits; a head surgeon and a corporal, or second-in-command. He really couldn't think of any, except for that doctor he'd met at the first meeting almost two weeks ago, the one named Burgundy. And he knew he had little hope of getting him; he was only the best surgeon in the barracks, and a lieutenant, to boot. Nevertheless, he had to try, so he went off to find him.
He found Burgundy easily enough, teaching a class on surgery; Camo frowned slightly with disgust at the sight of all the cadavers the privates were working on. Burgundy saw him out of the corner of his eye, but went right on with the class. Camo sat down off to the side to wait it out. After about a half hour, when he'd dozed off, he awoke to find the students leaving, already cleaned up, and Burgundy still at the front of the room, removing his mask and gloves. He got up and went over to address him.
"Lieutenant Burgundy," he said.
That was all he was able to get out, as Burgundy cut right in. "Sergeant Camo," he confirmed. "I assume you're here about the open surgeon's position."
Camo could only nod, wondering how Burgundy had found out. Had he been that obvious?
"Well, you've found one," Burgundy said, tossing his gloves in the can next to his table.
Camo was caught off-guard by that. "I thought you had other commitments here," he said, meaning Burgundy's high position and the fact that he was married.
Burgundy only continued cleaning the desk, working carefully around the cadaver. "Not at the moment," he said. "You've picked the right time to go looking, Sergeant. I believe you've found your surgeon. When Major DeVries agrees, I'd be pleased to join your battalion."
He said it all with just the slightest hint of emotion, and not a very pleasing one at that. Camo wondered just how Burgundy's home life was going along, but decided against asking. He knew a good thing when it came up to him and shook his hand. "Well," he said. "I'd be pleased having you in my battalion, Lieutenant." And he held out his hand, to make that statement final.
Burgundy looked at his hand for a moment, then shrugged and shook it. When he released it Camo noticed a bit of blood on his fingers, and tried to discreetly wipe it off on his cape. Burgundy noticed, however, and gave a grim smile. [Note--OOC!!]
"I believe you're going to have to get used to that, Sergeant," he said. "There's a lot of it where we'll be going."
Camo smiled back. "I know, Lieutenant," he said. "I just hope we can get there before too much of it is spilled."
Now the only position left open was that of corporal. Camo knew Burgundy wouldn't go for the second-in-command since he was the surgeon, and that was enough in itself. However, he found he didn't need to go looking for a corporal, as one came right to him.
Everyone called him Drake for no real reason Camo could ascertain; he was shorter than Camo, and rather nonassuming [sic]. Camo had noticed him before but had never seen fit to ask him anything; he didn't seem to have the drive he was looking for. But at noon of the thirteenth day Drake came up to him, stood right in his path, and saluted.
"Sergeant Camo," was all he said.
"Corporal Drake?" Camo inquired, hoping he was getting the name right, as he didn't know him very well. Drake obviously knew him; everybody seemed to, and he had no idea why. Drake only continued standing at attention, and Camo realized he had to tell him to quit doing so. "At ease," he said.
Drake's hand went down, and he looked Camo in the eye, drawing himself up as tall as he could. Camo realized he could look pretty assertive when he wanted to. "Permission to join your battalion," he said, getting straight to the point.
Camo was surprised. Drake had seemed so--neutral before. Why his sudden interest in the battalion now? "Might I ask why, Corporal?" he said.
"Frankly, Sergeant, I admire your purpose. You're the only one here who's decided to do something about the slaughter over in Germany. Nobody else will even acknowledge it."
For the first time Camo noticed the chain around Drake's neck, and the Star of David it held. He felt a pang of discomfort, and gave a smile--though he didn't feel it. Drake only smiled back.
"I'm afraid it wouldn't be a very good idea for you to join, Corporal," he said. "The sights alone--"
"I'm aware of what's going on, Sergeant," Drake cut in as politely as he could, his smile never wavering. "And that's why I'd like to go." His smile changed, and his formal air thinned a little as he leaned forward conspiratorially. "Besides, you do need a corporal, don't you?"
"That's true, but--"
"And you won't find a better corporal than me."
Camo looked him over. "Not very modest, are you?"
Drake shrugged. "Who needs to be modest? This is the Marines."
At that Camo burst out laughing; after a moment, deciding everything was all right, Drake joined. [Note--OOC on BOTH counts.] Camo took his name and number and then went off, to complete his list of recruits.
On the fourteenth day Camo delivered his list to the major, who looked it over, snorted in amazement, and signed his name. "They'll never survive," he said to one of his lieutenants, privately, who merely shrugged in return.
The uniforms were Drake's idea; at first the battalion was going to be dressed in the usual Marine Corps outfits, but Drake hit upon the notion that the Nazis were a superstitious lot. "I've heard stories," he told Camo, "that they practice magic rites in private--you know, black magic. They believe it'll help them win the war. And they have psychics keep predicting that they'll win; they actually believe it all, as long as it's for their own good."
"And?" Camo pressed, not quite understanding.
"So what I was thinking of was why not go along with this? There were thousands of Germans killed in the Great War; if the Nazis believe in fortune-telling and reincarnation, why not in ghosts?"
At first Camo still didn't get it; Drake proceeded to lay out his plan of having the battalion dress in German regalia from the Great War, and thus lead the Nazis to believe they were in fact spirits. "Do you really think they'd fall for such a thing?" he asked in disbelief.
"I don't know," Drake said, "but it's worth a try. Whatever it does, it'll at least confuse them."
Camo sighed, but shrugged and gave in. Four hundred German-style uniforms were ordered.
All the while Major DeVries stood off on the sidelines, shaking his head and muttering to himself. "They'll never make it," he said to one of the other majors standing nearby.
"Give 'em a chance," the major replied. "Let's see what old Camo can do."
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