First blood
Checkpoint Charlie, West Berlin
7:30 AM Local Time
July 4th, 1965
First Blood
Private George Henderson was an enlistee in the United States Army. Drafted in 1963, he had been stationed in Europe. He was grateful he hadn’t been sent to Indochina, but he could always get transferred. There had been rumors that the crazy fucks in China had been sending tank crews into that hellhole, but they were only rumors. But all of that was only a figment of his imagination, as he was celebrating Independence Day with his buddies.
But something in the back of his head was telling him that something was wrong.
“Was that a gunshot?” The voice was unnaturally slurred, as if they was drunk. Or bleeding out.
Pvt. Henderson turned around, and saw his best friend, a black man named Harold, staring at a hole in his chest. Then, more gunshots. They were coming from the Soviet side of the checkpoint.
Other members of the platoon were panicking.
“Get to some fucking cover!”
“Oh shit!”
“Schiße!”
George lifted up a M14 rifle, and opened fire. He managed to nail some damn commies. But they were numerous.
After 30 minutes of pitched battle, and with 26 confirmed kills, a AKM round struck his sternum, crippling Pvt. Henderson. He was then punched to death by Soviet soldiers.
He was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor.
7:30 AM Local Time
July 4th, 1965
First Blood
Private George Henderson was an enlistee in the United States Army. Drafted in 1963, he had been stationed in Europe. He was grateful he hadn’t been sent to Indochina, but he could always get transferred. There had been rumors that the crazy fucks in China had been sending tank crews into that hellhole, but they were only rumors. But all of that was only a figment of his imagination, as he was celebrating Independence Day with his buddies.
But something in the back of his head was telling him that something was wrong.
“Was that a gunshot?” The voice was unnaturally slurred, as if they was drunk. Or bleeding out.
Pvt. Henderson turned around, and saw his best friend, a black man named Harold, staring at a hole in his chest. Then, more gunshots. They were coming from the Soviet side of the checkpoint.
Other members of the platoon were panicking.
“Get to some fucking cover!”
“Oh shit!”
“Schiße!”
George lifted up a M14 rifle, and opened fire. He managed to nail some damn commies. But they were numerous.
After 30 minutes of pitched battle, and with 26 confirmed kills, a AKM round struck his sternum, crippling Pvt. Henderson. He was then punched to death by Soviet soldiers.
He was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor.