Charlie's War: June 2011

This is the short war story of Captain Heinrich Wilhelm von Briesen, an Austrian soldier who fought in a group of Austrian volunteers who were hired, funded, and supplied by the British to fight the Germans during what many call World War 1, also called "The Great War" and "The War to End All Wars", but was killed during the Second Battle of Ypres.

It was May 10, 1915. I am Heinrich Siegfried Friedrich Wolfgang Wilhelm von Briesen. I was commander of 13 fighting men called "Die Osterreichische Freiwillige" (The Austrian Volunteers), and my group was under my order, by they were funded by Field Marshal Sir George Stuart White, a British field commander. I was armed with a Mauser C96 automatic pistol after my right arm was amputated, so I cannot use a saber or rifle. The Germans were advancing across rough terrain. I was in a trench with a well-known fellow British officer named Captain Thomas Wilson Carlisle. There were many "new weapons", including heavy machine guns, poison gas, flamethrowers, tanks, high-caliber pistols and bolt-action rifles, and Maxim and Gatling guns. The newest was a terror to all British forces- poison gas and mustard gas. Used by German stormtroopers, it inflicted horrific wounds on British, Canadian, and other forces. Thomas Carlisle was seen chocking from the poison gas while I ran to the mortars. The battle had just begun.

The British medical aid group was comprised of a medic and his assistant, a surgeon, and two riflemen. They came down the trenches, saving the lives of British and Austrian soldiers while there riflemen snipe enemy German stormtroopers. I saw them come down the trench, and they gave me a gas mask. I saw French infantrymen storm the German trenches, armed with Lebel rifles and bayonets. They perished by German gas. I said: "Alright, Fritz- you get the French, the British, the Canadians...but not the Austrians!" I broke open a fresh box of Stokes mortars. I stormed the German trenches while I threw the mortars at a German general. He said: "Mortars-nein-NEIN! He screamed as my mortars exploded. I saw that he was a brigadier general. I raised my pistol in the air and said: "For Austria!"

Below: A Mauser C96 automatic pistol, used by Captain Heinrich Wilhelm von Briesen.

The Three Brits

This story is the war story of British soldiers and officers from World War 1- one Irishman and two Englishmen, and their names are- P.F.C. Charles Buffery, Lt. James Darragh Carlisle, and Maj. Francis McCloskey. P.F.C. (Private First Class) Charles Buffery was in the very mobile Yorkshire Lancers, armed with a Lee-Enfield bolt-action rifle with a standard 1907 bayonet, cavalry lance pole, Webley-Fosbery .455 Automatic Revolver, and a cavalry saber. Lt. James Carlisle commanded a small British assault team, armed with a spiked club and a soap-filled sock, and Maj. Francis McCloskey was an explosives expert, armed with poison gas, DeKalb explosives, fragmentation grenades, stick grenades, smoke grenades, mortars, landmines, plastic bombs, gelignite, dynamite, and a homemade explosives launcher, which could launch all of these explosive weapons. These British soldiers were all very highly trained.

Chapter 1= “Charlie Buffscum”

It was late February of 1916, and I was at the British Army recruitment building. I was joining the Yorkshire Lancers of the British Army. My name is Charles Richard Buffery. I was a British soldier. While I was in line, a very tall, cocky Londoner named Gus Falshaw cut in front of me. He said: “Well if it isn’t little Charlie Buffscum, scourge of Surrey- hmmm….how would a muppet like you pass selection for the British cavalry? Is your mother still the ugly Italian nugget I remembered her to be?” I said: “You better shut up, and your one to talk if you mother is a Scottish hedgehog who plays bridge with her pet mouse.” I quickly slid in front of Gus to the recruiting sergeant for the British cavalry. He asked: “What’s your name son…are you British…what’s your age…and have you served before?” I answered: “Charles Buffery, I am British, 29 years old, and I’ve never set foot in the armed forces.” He said: “Alright. Welcome to the cavalry.” I smiled, turned and laughed, saying: “Who’s the muppet who can’t pass selection?” Five weeks later, I was off to Britain’s next door neighbor, France.

We were shipped off to help our French, Canadian, Australian, New Zealander, Indian, and Belgian allies at the Battle of the Somme. New weapons included poison gas, tanks, flamethrowers, heavy machine-guns, and high-caliber rifles. We rode the front line to observe the main, heavily-fortified German positions and large barricades. Then we rode back to the British Army headquarters, and on the way showed extreme acts of isometric existentialism. The commanding British officer, Field Marshal Sir Douglas Haig, gave the Yorkshire Lancers orders to ride in a full, all-open, huge charge against German troops armed with the latest weapons. At first I thought that Haig was crazy, but it turned out that the left flank had a weak spot that our regiment could take easily with our superior extended lances and newly made Webley-Fosbery .455 Automatic Revolvers. I put a gas mask on my horse, put body armor, a helmet, and a gas mask on for me, loaded my weapons, and prepared myself for the charge.

Our commanding officer, Colonel Walter Shepherd, drew his saber and said: “Queen’s Own Yorkshire Lancers, ccchhhaaarrrgggeee!” The Germans heard the call and tried to ready their positions, but by the time we got beyond the mounds, they just straight on fought. Colonel Shepherd was killed by a German sniper’s bullet, which landed in his forehead. I readied my lance and I pierced through a German machine-gunner, impaling him to the trench, and drew my Webley-Fosbery .455 Automatic Revolver. I started to fire my revolver, and shot a German rifleman through the heart. As it clicked empty, I threw it away and dismounted my horse. I ran through the trench to the other side and started to fire my rifle. I attached my bayonet and stabbed a German shotgunner. I drew my saber and jumped into the trench. I fought my way to the end of the left flank, where our new commander, Colonel John Willis Bailey, said: “Buffery, good work. Thanks to you and your saber we have cleared a tenth of that German regiment’s trench. Congratulations.” I smiled and rode back to the barracks.

Chapter 2: “Frank McCloskey”

It was 1917, and I was at the British Army Special Forces recruitment center. My name is Frank. I am an Irish-born soldier who joined the Scottish Cameron Highlanders of the British Army Special Forces during WW1. The recruiting officer said: "Next!" I gave the recruiting officer my profile. He said: "Son, you're an Irish Catholic, 37 years old, 6'2' not even Scottish, and you want to be in the Cameron Highlanders. It sure seems like you should be in the Gordon Lowlanders instead of the Cameron Highlanders." I replied: "Be glad that you damn Brits even get Ireland! Without it Great Britain would be just be a flyspeck with nothing but tea and bad prime ministers and that by the Irish is the Lord's truth!" This amazed the Brits watching and almost entirely impressed the recruiting officer, who said: "You've got a brave heart and a strong will, Irishman, and if that is how strong your will is, then I will not get in your way." I nodded my head yes and the Scotsman said: "Alright. You would make a great hardened officer. Go lassie, go!" I spent three months in training. Then, I was ready and we were off to France.

I was called in to disable heavy German positions, throwing explosives at precious, highly-trained German reserve troops, armed with poison gas, flamethrowers, tanks, heavy-machine guns, heavy artillery, newly made high-caliber rifles, and Reichsrevolvers. I did not have those weapons, but I did have tons of belts and packs of high explosives. I was to be guarded by a flamethrower team, two rifleman, two machine-gunners, two officers, two submachine-gunners, an officer, a sniper, seven cavalrymen, four lancers, two auxiliary troops, three medics and their assistants, two rocketeers, four grenadier guards, 60 infantrymen and a group of 30 Scottish Cameron Highlander berserker warriors. I was to prepare a large satchel bomb while protected by the standard infantrymen, armed with bolt-action rifles with a 1907 bayonet. I was ready.

I got all my equipment on and readied my high explosive weapons for combat. My group came. We went the top of a large mountain. 5, 678 feet below us were the German positions. The group started to fire on the German positions as I prepared my large satchel bomb. I dropped my satchel. We heard the explosion and a whole brigade was wiped out. I was congratulated by my commander, Colonel Alexander MacLeish.

Chapter 2: “Jamie Carlisle"

It was 1917 in Passendale, West Vlaanderen, Belgium. I was in my trench, waiting for the German stormtroopers to attack. My name is James Darragh Carlisle. I was born in British India to British parents and I was a lieutenant who commanded a small British assault team during World War 1. I grabbed my standard issue Lee-Enfield bolt-action rifle, Webley-Fosbery .455 Automatic Revolver/ Infantry Saber, and tied a bandanna around my mouth in case of a large German gas attack. The stormtroopers came, armed with submachine guns, Mauser rifles, and stick grenades. I aimed my rifle at the colonel of the stormtroopers. I shot him in the back of the head as he fled in disarray. The Germans lead a gas attack, and the fellow British soldiers held their throats as they chocked hopelessly. I kept up my continuous rifle and pistol fire. I used my high explosives, rifle, pistol, sword, and knife. I threw my weapons away and used captured enemy weapons. As the first wave of stormtroopers was wiped out, my assault team went "over the top", armed with hand grenades, metal knives, homemade clubs, soap-filled socks, spiked clubs, and sharpened entrenching tools and large shovels.

I was armed with a captured German flamethrower weapon, spiked and rocky clubs, and a soap-filled sock. I set fire to a German machine gun nest, disabling the machine gun and killing the nearby German soldiers. I threw away the flamethrower and pulled out my spiked club. I struck a German officer, and saw him brutally bleed to death. I then took out my rocky club and crushed a German's skull in. The German blood and guts spilled over the trench. I was dirty, wounded, unarmed, covered in blood and mud, totally outnumbered and in the middle of a large German infantry trench. I grabbed an MP 18 submachine gun and Luger P08 pistol from the dead German officer and fell back, firing my submachine gun, until I made it back to my trench. I was outnumbered 10 to 1. I was with fellow soldier Moe van der Smut, a Dutch volunteer. I pulled out the Luger P08 Parabellum semi-automatic pistol and started to fire at the German attackers with the pistol. I saw backup come in. I then saw as the backup started to fire that a stick grenade was thrown into my trench by a German stormtrooper...sorry...I have to kill him.

(16.5 million lives were lost as a result of World War 1. It was one of the most destructive conflicts in all of human history. These brave men fought for Great Britain. Charlie Buffery and Frank McCloskey survived the war. Frank was wounded by an enemy German shell. James Carlisle was killed at the Battle of Passchendaele in Belgium by a German stormtrooper when an enemy stick grenade was thrown into his trench. These stories are dedicated to all veterans and casualties of World War 1, enemy or native, soldier or civilian.)

-Reference partly from Treyarch, and part reference from James Carlisle's war journal.

Keller Darragh Clark, descendant of all of the British soldiers and officers of World War 1 who were in the stories that you just read and many other brave soldiers and civilians in different conflicts throughout history.

Charlie's War

Me, Keller Clark

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"Captain Austria"

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

The Three Brits

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