Breaking the Siege of Jericho feature - 1985 mod for Half-Life 2

'Easy boy's!' Came a stern call from behind me on that grey and chilly
November morning. We stood, cold footed, ankle deep in mud on the
outskirts of Camp Jericho. We'd been trapped in all but a slither of
land for the last month or so, and our only access point was set with
enemy RPG positions, snipers, and ambush points. For the past two weeks
nothing had got in.
Today would change that. i'd dined that
morning like a proverbial king, Burgers and beans from a ration pack,
and a loaf of relatively fresh bread. It had got wet somewhere before i
got it, so i had to scrape the mushy part off, but it went down well,
we all had a good feast for once. That was when we knew that today we
would break the siege.
On the outskirts, three long trenches circled
the camp. Upton park on the right, Stamford bridge on the left, and
white hart lane to the front. The enemy entrenched no more than 100
yards ahead on all sides, were constantly picking off men with decent
snipers, or raking the walls with machine gun fire. Occasionally they
would mortar us, but we're fearful or drawing out a counter battery
strike, which could knock out those weapons in an instant.... for some
reason they just couldn't break the deadlock.
The narrow strip of
land connected us through Union territory with our civilian village in
Lefevre walk, which in turn connected us with the main front line at
Bow Road. We were caught in the middle. To the North, hackney was
Union, to the South, Poplar was too. We had carved small strips of land
to which we laid claim. We ruled the countryside, but the union ruled
the cities. Don't get me wrong, we still held great swathes of land,
but where it was important, the docks and factories, well we just
couldn't take them.
Back to the present I stood still, my cold and
bare fingers resting gently on the carbon fibre plastic of my SLR, its
butt resting on the firestep to prevent it being caked in mud. The
smell of the corpses of Soldiers and unionists alike lay in The No mans
land between the lines, lost, but thier legacy remaining in smell and
memory. I looked to the right, standing high and brave and observing
our light bombardment of the enemy Trench was Major Price, our company
Commander. He'd pulled us through the shite of Europe, and kept us
together during the exchange and now, he was leading us over, directly
into the enemy guns.
A lot of people will tell you that the union
were badly trained, poorly equipped and incompetently led. I beg you
challenge any man who makes this assumption, for the men we faced had
practically the same weapons as us, we're better fed, we're led by men
skilled only in the art of guerilla warfare, and fought for a cause
they believed just and fair. In comparison, we we're low on ammunition,
half starved, and we're low on morale. Actually, for a reason unknown
to me, that morning, morale appeared noticeably higher, we were being
pro-active for once, and we were going to give the union the good news,
albeit on the end of our rifles.
Major price finished scanning the
enemy position and passed the L96 he was using to a man below him. He
then took his sword from his ammunition pouch, and slotted it onto the
end of his SLR. Turning and nodding at the Company Sergeant Major
waiting behind us, who, in turn, and with a much louder voice than
previous shouting to us 'Company, Fix! Swords!' and there was a
commotion of fumbling and metallic clicks as the hundred or so men
stood in the Trenches of white hart lane fixed long blades onto black
rifles.
Major price spoke for the first time. 'Bugle Major, Sound
the Advance!!' And the bugles erupted into a volley of chorus. We stood
by the ladders waiting to move. He turned to us, and looked up and down
the line, a sense of immediate pride filling his bloodshot blue eyes.
'On the Signal, Company will advance!!!' And formalities over, he
turned back into the father figure he had always been. 'Lads, move
fast, and clear the wire, then drop, we'll fire and manoeuvre up, 6
& 8 platoon moving first, 7 & 8 Covering. Get within 20 yards
and then in with your swords, don't give the bastards a chance to run,
and don't worry about prisoners, they'll only be hanged anyway!!!'
And
with those soft words spoken we waited, what seemed to be an eternity
while the thud of mortar and light artillery rounds smashed into the
Union line. A whistle sounded to my left, and another to my right, and
Major Price blew his, and out we charged.
It was like being born
as i emerged from the trench. The first time i'd seen open daylight in
front of me without being walled by palisade, parapet or wall for
weeks. The grass was green were it was not pitted by shell hole or
mangled with rotting corpse. Like the field of Flanders our
grandparents had fought on, a flurry of poppies had grown towards the
centre of the lawn, and we're now swaying elegantly in the icy wind as
i dashed through the barbed wire, and lay flat on the cold wet grass.
We waited in line for everyone else to get out and through, and then,
once ready, the platoons began to move off. My platoon was one of the
ones to move, and we stood slowly whilst the other put down thin
covering fire. We did not advance in open order like the did in wars
previous, but in a thin worm like column, dashing forward, and dropping
into shell holes whilst the others sprinted to us.
It was 50 yards
in that we started to take enemy fire. A man next to me was hit in the
left cheek and he dropped, not screaming or crying, but paralysed with
fear and agony, as the top part of his jaw fell into his mouth, his
tongue, split, flapped, and the muscled fell away, I saw his spitting
out what was left of teeth and bone and trying not vomit, and continued
running, there was no time for wounded now, we had to keep the momentum
of the assault coming on, but more and more men were succumbing to the
small arms fire now, men we're falling all around, a whip, a thud and a
scream ending the lives of many a close mucker. The bullets cut through
us like angry bees, shipping past our heads, smashing into bone and
muscle. I felt the immense pressure in my stomach, the pain and tension
of fear, but before i knew it we were on them, in there trench. Most
had abandoned it and ran; it being lightly defended, and had ran back.
Those who stayed we're butchered by the sword, or we're clubbed to
death. The closest i ever got to an enemy was a union shop steward who
suddenly appeared from a dug-out with a cricked bat, nails hammered
through one end, who swung idly, catching me off guard are tearing
through the muscle in my left shoulder. I don't remember shouting, but
my friends say I did, as i tripped him and pushed him back with my
weight, and then slammed the sword on the end of my rifle, into his
face, cracking through skull, slicing his nose of cleanly, and
splintering through the wooden beam behind. He didn't scream, though
I'm told i did. We carried on going, moving fast, Major Price, hit, but
alive and kicking leading us forward. We heard the second wave advance
from behind us, just as the barrage lifted, and we turned, right, ready
to roll up the flank, as the other two platoons did the same on the
left. then we waited, as men passed us and moved onwards. We waited for
a counter attack that never came.

At 1500 hours i collapsed from
blood loss to my shoulder and was brought back into Jericho by a
medic.... the siege was lifted, and I was given a tin of fish paste for
tea. We'd suffered over 80% casualties in our attack, but thanks to us,
we would live to fight again, for not the first time in this war, i
envied those that had fallen on the field, for they we're free, and for
us all that loomed wad the prospect of a long drawn out insurgency... I
prayed to a god i didint believe in.