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We were like gods once... BIG UPDATE Friday Nov 5!
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<blockquote data-quote="ledded" data-source="post: 1353918" data-attributes="member: 12744"><p><strong>[PLAIN]We were like gods once... [Hanks intro][/PLAIN]</strong></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'"><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">France</span><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">, somewhere near St Lo, </span><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">4:52 am</span><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">.</span></span></span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'"><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“So, Hank, whattaya got for me” Capt Michaels sighs to the slight, grease-stained southerner kneeling next to the M3 halftrack.</span></span></span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'"><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Ding-dang ol’ shoot cap’n, that there thang, ya know, weeeell, we jus’ aint got much with the, er, I got one </span><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Sherman</span><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">, a few trucks an’ jeeps there, dangit, and ya know, them ‘ere Limey-boys. An’ yer M20 car thangy tho' it need a bit ‘o tunin’, ding-dangit. Coulda gimme s’more time ‘ere, cap, coulda got them Shermans back a-rollin”, SSgt Hank Johnson rattles off in a mumbling north Texas drawl, voice half-muffled by the bolts he’s holding in his teeth as he continues to affect some repairs to the vehicle’s tracks.</span></span></span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'"><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">The Captain ignores Hank’s rambling mish-mashed southern patois as well as his marked lack of “sir’s” and salutes; he’s the best damn mechanic Michaels has ever seen, a regular gol-darned miracle worker. If he didn’t bother with military protocol it’s because he had more important things on his mind at the moment.</span></span></span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'"><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Sergeant, just get what you got ready to roll within the half hour. Oh, and Hank… thanks. Make sure you’re on the radio when we roll out; half these youngsters can’t raise nothin’ but Wagner on ‘em” the Captain replies over his shoulder as he walks back towards the CP. Hank continues to work on the halftrack without sparing him a parting glance.</span></span></span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'"><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Hank Johnson, kneeling down by that halftrack, is indeed distracted, but not by the work. </span></span></span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'"><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Oh no. Never that. </span></span></span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'"><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">That just comes natural; just comes out of him like the sweet singing voice of Carol Dupree of the 1st </span><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Baptist </span><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Church</span><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"> choir back home, in </span><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Lipscomb</span><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">, </span><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Texas</span><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">. </span></span></span></p><p> <span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'"><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">No, his thoughts are turned to something entirely different…</span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS'"></span></span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="ledded, post: 1353918, member: 12744"] [b][PLAIN]We were like gods once... [Hanks intro][/PLAIN][/b] [font=Verdana][font=Comic Sans MS][font=Verdana]France[/font][font=Verdana], somewhere near St Lo, [/font][font=Verdana]4:52 am[/font][font=Verdana].[/font] [font=Verdana]“So, Hank, whattaya got for me” Capt Michaels sighs to the slight, grease-stained southerner kneeling next to the M3 halftrack.[/font] [font=Verdana]“Ding-dang ol’ shoot cap’n, that there thang, ya know, weeeell, we jus’ aint got much with the, er, I got one [/font][font=Verdana]Sherman[/font][font=Verdana], a few trucks an’ jeeps there, dangit, and ya know, them ‘ere Limey-boys. An’ yer M20 car thangy tho' it need a bit ‘o tunin’, ding-dangit. Coulda gimme s’more time ‘ere, cap, coulda got them Shermans back a-rollin”, SSgt Hank Johnson rattles off in a mumbling north Texas drawl, voice half-muffled by the bolts he’s holding in his teeth as he continues to affect some repairs to the vehicle’s tracks.[/font] [font=Verdana]The Captain ignores Hank’s rambling mish-mashed southern patois as well as his marked lack of “sir’s” and salutes; he’s the best damn mechanic Michaels has ever seen, a regular gol-darned miracle worker. If he didn’t bother with military protocol it’s because he had more important things on his mind at the moment.[/font] [font=Verdana]“Sergeant, just get what you got ready to roll within the half hour. Oh, and Hank… thanks. Make sure you’re on the radio when we roll out; half these youngsters can’t raise nothin’ but Wagner on ‘em” the Captain replies over his shoulder as he walks back towards the CP. Hank continues to work on the halftrack without sparing him a parting glance.[/font] [font=Verdana]Hank Johnson, kneeling down by that halftrack, is indeed distracted, but not by the work. [/font] [font=Verdana]Oh no. Never that. [/font] [font=Verdana]That just comes natural; just comes out of him like the sweet singing voice of Carol Dupree of the 1st [/font][font=Verdana]Baptist [/font][font=Verdana]Church[/font][font=Verdana] choir back home, in [/font][font=Verdana]Lipscomb[/font][font=Verdana], [/font][font=Verdana]Texas[/font][font=Verdana]. [/font] [font=Verdana]No, his thoughts are turned to something entirely different…[/font] [/font][/font] [/QUOTE]
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