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Dead Letters - The White Wolf « Thread Started on Nov 4, 2009, 11:59pm »
Сталингра́д
1942
Eli Axelsson Dzerzhinsky tractor factory, Stalingrad 10:35am, October 13th
Billowing spires of black ash rose up from the city of Stalingrad as far as the eye could see, the wind blowing wisps of smoke through the ruined, utterly desolated streets. The strong, inescapable smell of death was everywhere, for in Stalingrad, life was cheap, and death came in many forms. Fire, gas, bullets, artillery, or simply the conditions themselves. To the innocent civillians of the city, who had been forced to watch their home be all but blown to pieces by German artillery and bombing runs, they were witnessing a war that they could never have even began to imagine. None of these people had experienced this scale of devastation and suffering before. None of these people except for one, that is.
Utterly motionless, Eli lay underneath an old, grey tarp, curled up next to a window in a completely burnt out house. Once upon a time, children had been raised in this home, there had been a vibrance and colour about it that you could not possibly imagine if you were to look at it now. Everything about this city was grey, and worn down by the violent, bloody struggle that engulfed it. And yet, despite the not-too-distant sound of rifle shots and machine gun fire, the girl beneath the cloth was sleeping as serenely as a child could be expected to. She could have just as easily been half the world away in her bed, far from the troubles of Stalingrad, and the ever present danger that lay within.
How could she sleep so soundly when, for miles all around, on every street corner, in every house, somebody was drawing their final breath. Whether it was from the bullet of a Nazi sharpshooter, or a volley of machine gun fire from their own commanders if they were to try and flee, young Russians were meeting their end almost constantly. The prospect of death seemed practically inescapable to a young recruit of the Red Army, for whom the life expectancy was less than a day in action. The situation was utterly desperate for the Russians, but what did Eli care of their problems? She had slept through worse conditions. Her dreams were of her own past, and not of the bloody present that she found herself in.
Unfortunately, there are some conflicts that you simply cannot avoid being drawn into. The high-pitched squeal of a falling mortar snapped her abruptly from her slumber. It was common for Eli to sleep through day time hours, and to be awoken so abruptly was something of a shock to her system. She sat upright, flinging the tarp she'd covered herself with out of the way. The mortar crashed down outside the house she'd been sleeping in, blowing the already tattered earth to pieces where it struck, spitting out debris and muddy filth in all directions. The direction of the battles and where they would be fought next were a mystery to Eli, she could not have known the strategic importance of the factory that she had chosen to sleep beside, or the fact that there were considerable German numbers in the area. Nor could she have known that the Russians planned to launch a desperate offensive to take it out of Nazi hands. She could already hear shouts and screams of men charging forward to their probable doom. Yet another meaningless conflict had begun, and Eli found herself trapped right in the middle of it.
She wanted nothing to do with this war, in just the same way that she had wanted nothing to do with the previous one before it. The only thing that made this conflict slightly different than the last, as far as she was concerned, was the fact that the Nazi's were committing a tad too many atrocities than one might usually expect during a time of war. Whilst the rest of the world might have found that horrifying, Eli on the other hand was all too used to the monstrous side of human nature. That didn't mean she approved of their actions, however. Quite the opposite, Eli had killed her fair share of Nazi's, and would continue to do so. Right now though, there was nothing particularly endearing her to the Russian cause. She had no reason to act on their behalf. Certainly, she could pick off Germans like insects if she needed to, but what good would that achieve? From what she could tell, Stalin and his tyrannical Commissars were just as bad as the Nazi's. For the moment, Eli stood upon the window ledge, peering out into the landscape in front of her. The factory, crawling with German's no doubt, was surrounded by torn down metal fencing. It appeared the Russians would be making a frontal assault upon it. For now, Eli could do little more than spectate.
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Re: Dead Letters - The White Wolf « Reply #1 on Nov 5, 2009, 1:00am »
Sara Derevko Stalingrad Streets 10:15am
The booted footsteps of the feared kraut oppressors echoed throughout the streets around Sara's hiding place. Time had become meaningless after she had been separated from her fellows in the resistance, a meaningless comfort to those who weren't about to die. At the head of the marching group, an important nazi barked orders to his people.
Sara could only guess at what he was saying, having avoided anything to do with the evil Germans for as long as she could remember. Only the devil himself could have brought Mother Russia to her knees and Sara didn't want to be tainted by it. Chancing a look at the body of troops, Sara let out a quiet curse that would have made her father proud. Anybody at the final destination of this troop movement was going to have a very bad day.
As the last of the troops passed by her position, Sara crept out and stayed a few hundred metres behind them. Maybe this way she could give her life for the Motherland instead of dying in a hole like a stinking rat ... or even worse, a German.
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Re: Dead Letters - The White Wolf « Reply #2 on Nov 5, 2009, 7:51am »
Nikolaus Jaeger A freezing factory in Stalingrad 10:35 AM, October 13th, 1942
Nikolaus Jaeger, often called Nikolo by friends and fellow troops, Half-Breed by others. Altar Boy was another good one, that one in particular being laid down by Sergeant Hans Ingolf. The boy, only eighteen years of age, would love to tell him to shove it, but that wasn't really an option. Not being who he was in would he ever be able to tell Ingolf to shove it, and he was then, of course, the one doing all the shoving then.
Thankfully for Nikolaus, his mother was technically an Aryan by honor, so as much trouble folks gave him, they couldn't limit him like the other mixed people in his country. Of course, it also meant he was completely up for serving in the military, and for the most part, Nikolaus didn't believe in the war his fellow countrymen were fighting. Everyday, he would kneel before he went to sleep, taking a hold of his crucifix and asking God for forgiveness. His Christ was more powerful than his Fuhrer, certainly, but whilst his Christ wouldn't strike him down, the mighty Fuhrer would. For his mother and father, for himself, but hardly for Germany, Nikolaus would fight the war.
When they had photographed him in his uniform, unlike some of the others who had their picture taken, Nikolaus couldn't put any sort of smile on his face. He couldn't look proud, couldn't look like he believed in the war. That would be too much to give, and he had already given enough. God have mercy on him, for he was fighting a war he didn't want to fight, but when it came to posing for pretty pictures, Nikolas would feel as if he had gone too far.
"Take it, mother," he had told her, "Just in case something happens." Then he had left.
In all honesty, Nikolaus didn't understand why they were in Russia. He knew that the Fuhrer craved power, that he wanted more, but to fight with the Soviets? Suicide. Of course, the Germans had firepower, well-trained men. They might've been able to pull it off, but Nikolaus was never so sure. Arriving at the bombed Stalingrad had worn his morality down as well, and he wasn't sure if he could keep taking it.
No, he had to persist. At least until this whole fiasco was over, then maybe Nikolaus could go home to his mother and father and things could maybe go back to the way they were. But then again, how could things be the same when the darkest side of his own countrymen had been revealed?
Alas, despite Nikolaus's dreams of freedom from war, from fighting, they were all but held off. For now, the young soldier was in the factory, waiting with the others for the Soviets to attack. Like the rest of them, he shivered in the blistering cold, dreaming of warmer times to come.
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Re: Dead Letters - The White Wolf « Reply #3 on Nov 5, 2009, 4:38pm »
Nikolai Bolgini Inside a burned out building, Stalingrad 10:35am
Nikolai never knew he was this good at killing. When the Germans had "asked" his homeland of Slovakia to join their coalition, Nikolai signed up to make some money for his family's farm. He decided to enter the war as a sniper, thinking that his previous training as a hunter back home would help. Living in such a mountainour region, he was used to elevated positions and camoflauging himself well. This was how he spent his morning, various amounts of debris surrounding him, the snow silently falling before him. Sporadic shots could be heard in the city, although that wasn't what he was looking for. He was looking for that familiar glint all snipers love to see.
The glint of another rifle scope.
He didn't have to worry about his scope giving him away. He had hidden in the shadows of one of the remaining parts of the building's roof. Of course, this didn't mean he couldn't be found, quite the contrary, but it certainly made him blend in. He could stay here all day, never moving. What other snipers considered "patient", he considered antsy. He was certainly one of the best in his craft, and that was being the invisible killer. He thought about his family back home, hoping they were doing okay with him being gone. He prayed that they had enough food to eat. He had made a promise before leaving that when he returned, they would never go hungry. It was a promise he intended to keep.
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Re: Dead Letters - The White Wolf « Reply #4 on Nov 5, 2009, 5:13pm »
Jakov Logan Backstreet of Stalingrad 10:20
Explosions shook the city. Deafening, bone quaking explosions. It sounded as if the very earth were breaking apart, devouring their enemies with tongues of flame. The cold air was taken by the shockwaves, driven into unnatural currents which whipped the exposed skin of the many soldiers crouched within the scant shelter that was all they could find. Some coward, shaking as the sound tore through them and unsettled the ground beneath their feet. Others blocked it out, gritting their teeth as they focused on their cause. One stood alone, tall and unfearing, a wild smile bearing his teeth at the world.
Life coursed through Jakov’s veins like fire. His eyes were wide and lit with sparks as he watched the blasts that ripped through the city. The sound rivalled the greatest thunderclaps of nature. The cold wind was invigorating; it kept him alert and brought his senses to a peak. His rifle hung by his side, the cold metal biting his skin, his fingers twitching as adrenaline filled him with energy that longed to burst forth.
“Logan! Get under cover damn you!” Jakov laughed at the concern in his friend’s voice, turning to yell back at him. “Don’t be such a woman Adam! Besides a shell is just as likely to destroy that pathetic shelter of yours as kill me! It won’t protect you just make it harder to get out of the way!” He saw unease flicker across the grim incrusted features of his comrade, he knew that if no one else, when it came to explosions Jakov Logan knew what he was talking about. “Come out and join me friend! This is a sight to remember.”
After a moment of hesitation, fighting his instincts to hide, the soldier emerged from his shelter of brick and blanket. He clamber to his feet and slowly went to his friend’s side, crouched slightly like some animal, ready to flee. He reached the larger man and with effort straightened up beside him turning his eyes up. Together the two comrades gazed with dirt smeared faces at the horizon. One gazed with hungry eyes, an expression of rapture, whilst the other looked with horror and fear.
“The city burns.” Whispered Adam, sorrow in his voice. Jakov tore his gaze from the flickering fires to look at his friend with surprise, how could anyone help but wonder at the sight? “So many lives destroyed, why must so many suffer for the folly of a few?”
‘Pathetic man, why does he care for these people he has never met? He is alive and strong, though for how long...’ An evil chuckle erupted inside of Jakov, turning up the corners of his mouth. ‘Shut up!’ Jakov yelled at the wicked voice in his head, trying to crush the sound. However the soft, chilling laughter continued as if amused by his efforts. Trying to ignore it, Jakov voice became bravado as he spoke aloud, “Don’t despair my friend, soon we will have revenge on those who did this. Those Nazi scum will regret the day Adam Ivanov was moved to tears.”
Adam laughed as Logan’s words jerked him out of his reflection, turning his head to meet his dark eyes. “I shed no tears comrade! There will be time enough for that and burying the dead when this battle is won!” “Aye, if only the order would come and we could fight!”Adam nodded in silent agreement bringing a lull between them as the two men turned their eyes once more to the scarred skyline. Sentinels watching their city burn, with glee or grief.
“Move out!” Their heads snapped round as a bellow came from their commanding officer. Raising their rifles above their heads the soldiers let out a roar; it held such a mix of emotion, released from their very souls. Jakov’s sounded of anger and bloodlust, joy and madness. They were to fight once more. The pair launched into a run down the street, their unit forming around them. Boots pounded on the earth, crushing debris and broken lives as they ran to avenge them.
“Enemy sighted!” Came a yell from the front. Jakov threw himself aside as machine gun fire peppered his unit. He rolled behind a horses carcass and peered or the top, sticking his barrel over to return fire. Animalistic joy filled him as the enemies fell, wetting his appetite.
As soon as their way was clear Jakov sprint forward, heading for the warehouse swarming with enemy troops. As soon as he was within range he pulled a grenade from his belt, yanked out the pin with his teeth and hurled it through the window of the building before diving aside out of the line of fire. Eyes crazed, a deranged smile on his lips, he sat panting with his back against a low wall. Thunder shook the ground and Jakov’s heart leapt with the knowledge it was his own.
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Re: Dead Letters - The White Wolf « Reply #5 on Nov 5, 2009, 8:16pm »
Bartowski Travnov Behind the front lines 10:40am
“Close the gap, close the gap!”
The battle had begun. The order had come to take the Dzerzhinsky tractor factory, so dance to the puppet master's strings they must. They had no business being in this hell-hole, a congratulated division like the 13th Guards; but anything short of suicidal obedience resulted in death so Travnov would have to do the next best thing. He would have to keep his head down and survive the outcome of the battle. The battle over Stalingrad.
They used an 'ingenious' strategy from the commander himself. That was to trade fire with the German line as closely as possible, to prevent artillery, tanks and air support from ripping their ranks to shreds. Should they attempt this while their own forces were too close it would be nothing but butchery. A butchery Bartowski knew those devils from the west would not hesitate to make!
It was complete madness after all. The men rushed to close the gap as instructed, only to stop sharply and collapse in pools of blood. Bartowski was not that stupid, as long as he gave the men their last orders he was required to do nothing more other than praise Stalin for this fine mess he had gotten them into.
The division was not even behind him in this skirmish, the 13th Guards had been divided into regiments. Not nearly enough bodies to soak up all the German ammunition, in Travnov's opinion. As backup they had several civilians who proclaimed to know the factory inside and out, but Bartowski would not follow those, so obviously mad by volunteering for this battle, anywhere on the map. Perhaps if they had been sent out first they could have gotten a couple more trained soldiers through to fire back at the Sours. At the very least they wouldn't have to feed the freeloaders.
Of course many reason had been given for their 'defend at all costs' policy, but the only one Travnov truly believed was the propaganda that because the city was named after their leader then the Red Army's moral would be shot if it was taken. People always did give in to silly ideas of symbolism and representation. Travnov was a realist but he was ever careful with his words. Those that spoke such negativity were Stalin's and Travnov's pleasure to shoot.
Bartowski had survived the weeks here by being loud in battles and quiet in peace. Crouched among the rubble he knew his sensibleness would allow him to escape the city when the Sours finally over ran them. Then he would have some proper payback on their miserable race.
Re: Dead Letters - The White Wolf « Reply #6 on Nov 6, 2009, 1:00pm »
Ania Ivanov Streets of Stalingrad 10:50
Ania was running as fast as she could. She had to get to her position; she had to be ready to take down those damned Germans. If only she had been awaken half an hour earlier. But well it was her own fault for falling asleep.
The uniform she was wearing was very uncomfortable running in, especially with her rifle handing on the back, and the ammo in the pockets and in a bag. She had enough to kill lots of Germans; she had at least prepared that much. She had lost her hat while running, so her long brown colored hair was hanging down in a tail. She knew it wouldn’t get in the way, but she couldn’t help but feel a little bit concerned by it.
She stopped, and listened. Boots hitting the ground and someone saying something in a languet she did not understand. It could only be one thing and that would be Germans, hopefully they hadn’t seen her. She couldn’t believe that they already had gotten into Stalingrad. But obviously they had.
Ania looked around trying to find somewhere to hide. She had to become invisible if she wanted to kill someone. She ran over towards the ruins of what would seem like a house of some sort. She didn’t know who had been living in there, or if they still were alive. But one thing was for sure, she was going to revenge them. The Germans should not go without punishment for hurting her city like this.
She took cover behind a burned wall. She tried to make herself as small as possible, so she had lowered chances of being seen by the Germans passing through. She could hear that they were many more than she were. At least it sounded like that from the sound created by their stamping feet. If only she had a better hideout, a place where she could actually do something from.
Re: Dead Letters - The White Wolf « Reply #7 on Nov 6, 2009, 1:38pm »
Madness. The only word to describe Cartesky's horrible view of the chaos that ensued outside. The bullets rained down on the city like a shower of drizzle, the blood being the only reminder of what had previously happened. The hellish life this girl had to live was only enhanced by the war. She only had one advantage that the others didn't. She radio waves broadcasted in her ears as she heard every transverse recording of the dammed object.
She rushed her way through the building hoping to find a wounded soldier, maybe then she could take the gun and be of use in this war. But what use was a kid to militant. The floors of the streets outside were littered with bodies, thrown aside like common papers. It was a horrible sight for her but she continued through the building. She scanned down the staircase listening for anything to dictate her next move. All was silent and so she progressed down the stairwell.
At the bottom was the loss of a life, sprawled against the wall. Blood eerily leaked down it. Glass surrounded the entire first floor and beyond that debris was scattered near the door. Carey shyly made her way up to the man and finally, after a lengthy search found a pistol. The building itself was still recovering from shellfire earlier in the day. It was in fact lucky that the buildings structure had remained intact throughout all that had happened.
She ducked behind the broken window, from which the glass aforementioned had dispersed from. Outside the constant sound of machine fire scared her. Within her mind she could hear the waves becoming more clear to her. Her head pulsed with thoughts as the waves finally deciphered themselves within her own head. She couldn't make heads or tails of the cryptic message.
Here she was. A scared kid, trapped with nothing to protect her but a dead mans tool. Survival of the fittest had surely taken it's toll on people
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Re: Dead Letters - The White Wolf « Reply #8 on Nov 7, 2009, 2:57pm »
Jace Carter Destroyed Building, Stalingrad 10:56am
Jace waited in a destroyed building for his rendezvous with Russian resistance forces. "Freezing my ass of out here." He quietly said to himself. He was to wait until the rendezvous came to meet him. He had no idea what he or she looked like or how old the person was all he new was that he would be wearing a brown Ushanka.
He pulled out his pocket watch and flipped over the cover. "10:56 this guy's got an hour then I got to the next rendezvous." As he went to put the watch away he dropped it and it fell down a small hole in the floor. "Shit." After a few seconds he heard it smash on one of the lower floors. "That was my lucky pocket watch."
He looked back out the destroyed window. He saw about plenty of people with gray Ushankas on but, not a single one with a brown one. "I have a feeling I'm going to be here for a while." Suddenly he heard "Prüfen Sie dieses Gebäude Schnell." "That can't be good." He said as he peaked out the window and saw four German troops entering the building.
He quickly grabbed his gear and ran to the closest Window. He put his stuff on his back grabbed a rusted pipe on the side of the building and hastily climbed down the building. As he was he was near bottom floor Jace heard one of the troops announce. "Das Gebäude ist klar, alles, dass wir fanden war das." Then heard the troop speak among each other. "Es ist eine Taschenuhr, Es scheint nicht lokal gemacht zu werden es ist auf Englisch." "Denken Sie, dass es von einem Amerikaner ist?" "Ich bin nicht sicher aber, sage jedem, den Blick zu behalten." Jace quickly hopped on the ground and ran through the empty back alleyways.
-German To English Translations- Prüfen Sie dieses Gebäude Schnell-Check this building Fast. Das Gebäude ist klar, alles, dass wir fanden war das.- The building is clear, this was everything that we found. Es ist eine Taschenuhr, Es scheint nicht lokal gemacht zu werden es ist auf Englisch.-It is a pocket watch, It does not seem to be done locally it is in English. Denken Sie, dass es von einem Amerikaner ist?- Do you think that it is of an American? Ich bin nicht sicher aber, sage jedem, den Blick zu behalten.- However, I am not sure, say to everybody to keep the look.
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Re: Dead Letters - The White Wolf « Reply #9 on Nov 8, 2009, 2:15am »
Benjamin Harrison Freezing Factory in Stalingrad (same one as Marc) 11:07
Shit. There it was again. That feeling, like he wasn't entirely sure why he was here again. He started to recite the same answer to his own question that he had used the last twenty times. Look... me, I got separated from my group, picked up by the-
He paused, then looked down at the weapons in his hands. A German rifle and some stolen bow. He felt like a period-confused Robin Hood. With a smile he tightened his grip on the bow's wooden handle and turned off the Gewehr's safety. Oh yeah, he thought, I'm here to kill me some Nazis. That was all the motivation he needed, after all; Ben and his parents were Jewish. This wasn't just survival. It was revenge.
He gently pulled on the string of the bow, releasing it with a gentle twanggg, and smiled again, satisfied with the bow's feel. He checked the tips of the arrows, and got used to stringing one when someone coughed nearby and he looked up. Right. Forgot. I'm sittin' here, freezing my nuts off in a damn factory, waiting for the other Russkies to get off their asses and attack. Oh, and these morons ain't tellin' me shit, cause I'm some civilian. Brilliant plan, Ben. Stay back and snipe, Ben. I should listen to myself less often.
When the thought came to mind, Ben heard an explosion and checked his watch. Seven past. He looked around, swore and stood up. One of the Russian men stood up too and gave him a cold stare from across the room, where everyone else was. He spoke softly but with no small amount of seriousness in his voice. "You leave when we leave. Sit."
Ben sighed and shook his head. He started to respond in English, then caught himself and repeated the statement in Russian. "I'm not part of your army. I'll go where I want. Trust me, I'm not enough of an idiot to back-stab you." At first the guy was reluctant, then let him go. Ben smiled, then climbed up the wall with the weapons on his back and got out a frozen-open window.
Climbing down was both easier and harder- the ice-slicked building made it no cakewalk getting down, but luckily there was a storage building close to the ground he could jump over to.Once he got to the ground, he pulled the ragged coat up tighter on his shoulders as a flimsy buffer to the chilling wind and rubbed his numbing hands together. He needed to set up camp, fast. Apartments... somewhere with a lot of rooms. Most of them were burned down by now.
He swore and headed for a nearby house. It was messed up already, but there were still two intact walls, with two windows each. Hello, sniping post. He quickly drew the Gewehr and checked the magazine to make sure it was in tight and then snuck up to the house, listening carefully to make sure that he wasn't caught off-guard... not that he really could be. Ben did pride himself on his room-clearing talent, of course. The rifle hung loosely from one hand as he calmly drew a knife, then pressed a hand against the door, and it fell completely off its hinges and dropped to the ground with a loud crash. Ben didn't move for a moment, trying desperately not to break into a nervous sweat from the simple idiocy of the move, but fortunately it didn't seem like anyone heard.
He made sure to check each non-destroyed room for survivors, enemies, beer and so on, and on finding none, he returned to the closest windowed wall and then heard a sniffle behind him. Looking back, he noticed a girl huddled up in the corner, then after a quick check around again, put down the gun (but kept a firm grip on the knife in his left hand) and walked a couple steps closer. When she seemed to notice him, he smiled and reluctantly put down the knife, too.
"It's okay," he said softly, speaking in Russian since he figured the girl was a civilian, "I'm one of the good guys... the Russians, I mean." He crouched in front of her, not so close as to seem like he was pushing his help onto her, but not too far away either. "I'm Ben. What's your name?"
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Re: Dead Letters - The White Wolf « Reply #10 on Nov 8, 2009, 3:08am »
Eli
Long before the man had appeared to sneak up on her, Eli had been aware that she was not alone in the house. She'd heard the footsteps long before they'd first set foot in the old, bombed out building, could practically smell him. Didn't smell like a German. She'd spent her fair share of time feeding on the fascists, enough time that she could accurately differentiate them from the Russian army based on smell alone. The Russians were too busy embroiled in a desperate struggle for survival to worry too much about washing, but she could often catch the scent of soap when it came to the German troops. Perhaps it was in their nature to look their best on the day they died. It didn't matter too much to her right now, but it did stop her from instinctively attacking the man who had identified himself as Ben.
Whilst she was a guest in their city, Eli had decided that she would not harm the Russians. The Germans made better hunting, and provided more satisfaction. The reason she was here in the first place, was because she had been following one of the various Nazi death squads that had been dispatched across Europe, following the main armies with one purpose alone in mind, extermination. Hunting down people because of their ethnic and religious differences. It was disgusting, Eli couldn't understand that. Perhaps it was because she would never be able to grow up, that she couldn't understand such hatred. Maybe her brain just hadn't developed to process that much information. But Eli didn't think so, she simply thought that any man who would willingly go along with such an order was.. evil. So, this man was lucky that he was not a German.
Her understanding of the language he was speaking, Russian, was rudimentary at best. Slowly, she turned to face him, her sorrowful eyes scanning back and forth across his face. There was something about her expression that didn't quite befit the situation that she found herself in. A battle had just begun outside the window, and yet she looked at Ben as if he were some sort of interesting toy that she had just received as a Christmas present. It had been a long time since she'd received Christmas presents of course, and she didn't really view him as a toy.. but she did find something interesting about him. He didn't smell like a Russian, either, and yet he claimed to be. Or perhaps he was simply on their side. She didn't understand everything he had said, so it was possible that she had made a mistake. Closing her eyes for a moment, she attempted to put what little she knew about Russian into some sort of cohesive sentence.
The words weren't forming too clearly in her head, so she abstained for the moment, decided to try something else instead. Climbing down from the window ledge, her bare feet not even making the slightest creak on the worn out old floorboards, she took a step closer to him. Eli looked like little more than a fragile, strikingly beautiful child, her innocent features making her look like a poor girl who had simply wound up in the wrong place. She didn't look even slightly threatening, and so felt confident enough that the man would not attempt to shoot her. She had no designs to attack him, anyway, she just wanted to get close enough so that he would be able to hear her clearly. The noise of the battle starting up outside was becoming painfully loud to her enhanced senses, for that matter, and getting away from the window seemed a good idea.
"Talar du svenska?" She asked, tilting her head to one side. It was a simple question, she was asking this man, Ben, if he was able to speak Swedish. It was a long shot, that much she knew, but she felt that it was worth a try. If he could speak any Swedish at all, she would be able to communicate with him much more easily than if she attempted to speak Russian. Perhaps the only reason she chose to engage the man in conversation was her curiosity. He did not seem like he should be here, in this city. He belonged there just as much as she did. Not very much at all.
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Nastya
The hoarse roars of men fighting valiantly for the Motherland, giving their last breath in the name of their country, and Stalin, alerted Nastya to the fact that the battle had just begun. From her current position, the fighting seemed almost distant, even if in reality is was all too near. Soon, she would be taking part in it, just like everyone else, but for the moment, she had different orders. It would be her task to secure a valuable sniping position, located in a strategically important bell tower that had somehow survived the constant German bombing raids. The path to the tower had been trecherous, her two comrades had already been killed. A lesser woman would have been forgiven for being consumed with grief and a feeling of hopelessness after such an occurance, but Nastya didn't have time for that.
For her, there was a lot more at stake here than a factory, than Stalingrad itself. She had seen his face in intelligence photos, a chance happening. His face had been blurred, a helmet covering half of it, but she would recognise that face anywhere. It had caused her too much pain, too much suffering, to ever be forgotten. The memories of what that man had done to her were permanently burned into her mind, and she had no desire to let them escape her. It was these memories that drove her on, drove her towards her final goal of revenge. This filthy, fascist bastard had killed her family. Why? Because they were Jewish. He'd have killed her too, if fortune hadn't smiled on her that day. Now, she had the opportunity to have her revenge. Somewhere in the fray, in that very factory, the man could be found. Before the day had begun, Nastya had sworn to herself that when the battle was over, she would have killed the man, and smiled over him as he bled his very last drop of blood.
The bell tower was guarded, that much she knew. There were at least two snipers inside, they'd already made short work of her companions. Were it not for her talents, her ability to react faster than they could ever possibly shoot, they may well have made short work of her, too. But now she was ascending the curling flight of stairs, making her way up towards the top of the tower. Had they seen her approach? No. Probably thought she'd retreated, not ghosted past their line of sight faster than the naked eye could see. Her footsteps were silent as she crept just a few steps short of the top. She could see a foot, poking out over the edge. It moved, shuffled.. a prone figure, adjusting their aim. Nastya stopped where she was, listened carefully. Heard a low voice speaking in German.
Crack.
A shot whistled through the air, aimed for a target that she could not see, perhaps aimed towards the advancing Russians that could certainly be seen from the tower. Nastya used the rapidly dispersing crackle to make her entrance. The man who had been laying just opposite the steps was the first one to see her, rising up, pointing his rifle straight towards her chest. But she brushed it aside before he'd even managed to put his fingertip to the trigger. Too fast, his mind would been thinking, it's final thought. With a superaccelerated kick to the chest, he was sent flying a good several feet out of one of the half-broken tower windows, falling in a hail of shattered glass and landing, impaled on a broken wooden beam, several feet below. The commotion had drew his partner, his spotter, who had pointed a pistol towards her. The bullet crackled out of the gun, and Nastya smiled. Took a moment to watch the muzzle flare, to appreciate the beautiful curvature of the bullet slicing through the air towards her.
She simply turned her body to one side, let the bullet glide straight past her. It was effortless to dodge such things when you were able to perceive motion, time itself, in such a manner. Her rifle raised, her right eye closed. A fingertip coiled around the trigger. Looked down the scope, right into the face of the Nazi bastard that she was about to kill. Saw his eyes recoil in horror. Watched his lips curl, his head turn. Disbelief on his face. Then nothing, a blank expression. Bullet lodged in his forehead. Bloody mess, but this was war. Nastya had been a school teacher, had been a loving and innocent woman, but war changed you. Now all she had was with her bullets, and her revenge. A smile came to her face as she watched the man's body slump in a heap. Studied his motion as he fell, in slow, high defined detail. Could have stood there for a few minutes and watched his descent, if she wanted to. But no, there were more pressing matters to attend to.
The familiar whistle of her presence snapping back into line with the normal flows of time, and she was walking forward, sweeping the dead German's body to one side. There was a radio to the right, she'd have to be careful. Couldn't speak a word of German. She'd have to hope they were focusing their resources entirely on the defence of the factory, and wouldn't send troops out to investigate the radio silence from the sniper tower. She adjusted the scope of her Mosin-Nagant, and crouched down next to a nearby window. Surveyed the situation beneath. Seemed like the machine gunners in the factory were cutting down the Russian attackers. Well, she'd just have to do something about that, it seemed.
Just wait, you dog. I'll have your head by the time this day is through.
Re: Dead Letters - The White Wolf « Reply #11 on Nov 8, 2009, 3:50am »
Sara was too old for games, really but yet she drew pleasure from the simple game of cat and mouse that she was playing with the rear guard of the German troop movement. She didn't know where they were headed and didn't much care, for her entire being was consumed with the supernatural feeling of being watched that was rising in the rear guard.
As her mother once said, however, all good things must come to an end. What her mother never alluded to was the fact that though the pleasure of the game was about to end, the pleasure of slaying the German scum would soon be replacing it. She stole her way closer to the last man, the one who had already fired several shots into nothing as he got more and more twitchy.
Once she was within range, she lay prong on the ground with her cheek pressed against the stock of her machine gun. She watched the uniforms of her enemy to see whether or not there was any wind that would interfere with her shot. There was none. As a manic grin spread across her face, Sara lined up the iron sights and compensated for the distance before squeezing the trigger lightly.
As soon as the shot was fired, she rolled laterally into cover and stay there, her heart hammering in her ears as the German troop column freaked out and started firing randomly into alleyways and windows. The manic grin stayed on Sara's face for the entirety of the chaos and only disappeared when the shooting stopped and the marching resumed. If everything kept going so well, she would have the entire company whittled away in a matter of hours.
Joined: Oct 2009 Gender: Male Posts: 329 Location: Chicago, IL Karma: 6
Re: Dead Letters - The White Wolf « Reply #12 on Nov 8, 2009, 2:15pm »
Nikolaus Jaeger 10:50 AM
Nikolaus stared out the shattered factory windows, watching as blood was spilt by both his countrymen and Soviets. He gulped before ducking beneath the window, fearful of any gunfire that would come his way. He turned and looked up at Johann, a friend and fellow troop, who was staring out the window as Nikolaus was. The two had met and become friends during their training, Johann being one of the few people to ostracize Nikolaus for his blood and lineage.
"How's it looking?" Nikolaus asked, his tone almost casual if not for the shakiness of his voice. It was a redundant question, but he was trying his best to calm himself. The Soviets could storm in at any moment, and a panicking Nikolaus wouldn't help that at all.
Johann cleared his throat before seating himself down next to Nikolaus, replying, "Uglier than Ingolf's ass."
The two chuckled for a bit before their smiles and laughs faded into the ambiance of the battle raging outside. Cries of people in pain, bullets being fired from both armies, and explosions ringing through the factory walls. Even the air was stinking of death and gunpowder. There weren't much to say about the boys, their uneasiness made clear by the way they were shaking.
Looking over back to Nikolaus, Johann asked, "How long do we stick around here?"
"I don't know, Johann," Nikolaus sighed, resting his head forward on the butt of his rifle, "I just don't know."
Hans Ingolf 10:15 AM
He stared down the troop brought before him. This little runt had risked the lives of his countrymen, nearly ruined the plan the Germans had worked so effortlessly on, and almost had gotten countless others besides himself killed.
"Sir, it was an accident," the incompetent troop stuttered, "My gun just went off by accident. It's no big deal."
"No big deal?" Hans crouched by the kneeling soldier, looking him right in the face as he slipped a cigar into his mouth and lit it. Taking a long drag and then breathing the smoke right in said soldier's face, Hans then continued, "What if that bullet ricocheted and hit someone? Maybe one of your fellow troops, maybe one of your superiors, maybe even me."
"I'm sorry..."
Hans snickered sarcastically before stopping short of a full-blown laugh, standing and kicking down the disobedient soldier. He looked up at one of the troops he ordered to bring Mr. Misfire around and ordered, "I want you to make sure this one goes out on the streets. Strip him of everything except his knife. He'll need it." There was a long and silent pause before Hans asked, threatening tone to his voice, "Mr. Jaeger? Did you not hear me?"
Nikolaus gulped and nodded his head, replying, "Yes, sir." He looked to the scared and weeping soldier on the ground, telling him in the softest voice he could, "Come on," before taking the man by the elbow and dragging him away.
The doomed soldier cried out for mercy towards Hans, who only responded with a calm face, expressionless, "Go screw yourself."
Nikolaus Jaeger 10:20 AM
"What are you doing? Why are you sparing me?"
Nikolaus refused to look at the soldier, who had commit no sin but simply made a mistake. He turned back briefly, telling him, "Run. Run back home. There is no peace for you here." He went quiet for a moment before requesting, "If you make it back, look for an Aiko Jaeger in Berlin. Tell her Nikolaus said hello." The young soldier pulled out his identification tags and slipped them into the soldier's hands. "And give these to her."
Imbued now with a new sense of life and given a more positive view of humanity, the soldier smiled, nodding as he replied, "I will. Cross my heart," before he ran off.
Joined: Sept 2008 Gender: Male Posts: 342 Location: In the middle of Nowhere Karma: 8
Re: Dead Letters - The White Wolf « Reply #13 on Nov 8, 2009, 4:26pm »
Nikolai didn't want to die. He didn't want to be here, now, in Stalingrad, hiding in a shelled out building, waiting for the perfect target to emerge into view. He didn't ask for this, but he had to make sure that his family was taken care of. He had no way of knowing whether they were still alive or not, but he had to hold onto the hope that they were fine. He didn't want to think that what he was doing was for nothing.
He thought of America, that land of freedom that he thought only existed in fairytales. He had heard stories of a giant woman holding a torch, giving a sign to all of those people seeking what would be impossible in other countries, promising that he had the freedom to seek whatever he could in that "Land of Opportunity", as he had heard it called. He wished he could go there and not be caught in this rathole of a country, following the orders of Fascist and Nazi murderers, while being slaughtered by the Communist butchers. Some day he would try to get out of here.
The action wreaking havoc in the streets was getting closer. He could feel it. Glancing through his rifle scope once more, he watched for incoming threats, wishing he could be someplace else....
Joined: May 2009 Gender: Male Posts: 126 Location: Locatable Karma: 8
Re: Dead Letters - The White Wolf « Reply #14 on Nov 12, 2009, 7:46pm »
(OOC: Skiping Amsy )
He had done it, another successful operation. Bartowski had captured the ground directly in front of the Germans, initiating the strategy his superiors wanted to see. Sure it had taken many more men than it should have, on account of the death toll, but when another platoon's sergeant got frisky and lead a solo forlorn hope towards the machine gun's barrel, then Bartowski could round up his men like frightened sheep and send them to his front. Now they had firm cover and could keep the German's heads down.
“A fine job you've done here Sergeant, quick one too.” His platoon officer congratulated. Lieutenant Demidenko seemed a frail young man. Far too young to be put in charge, in Bartowski's opinion. The boy was shaking visibly even now. He had heard a number of the men place bets on when he would regress into shell shock.
If you were scared of dying then you were liable to make mistakes, miss things. Especially when he had positioned himself further back than even Travnov had been. The only advantage was that such an officer had not the nerve nor the right to reprimand Bart for not getting stuck in.
“Work the boys like 'orses cep. Make thems more 'fraids of you then they are ofs the Sours cep.” Despite his distaste of the officer he would be as formal as was required when speaking to one in charge.
“Then you have nothing more to do for now. I wonder if you could take this message over to 13th Guards headquarters?” The crumpled note looked like something that had been passed down to, rather than come from, the Lieutenant. Bartowski was the next rung.
“It woulds be an honour, cep. I shall be taking a few mens along for the journey, if yous don't minds cep. Important message shoulds be guarded after all.” It would also help to have a handful of grateful men to back up his claims of duty when they would later ask him where he had been. Bartowski wasn't going to let an opportunity to escape the front lines like this go to waste.
Demidenko used his small face to frown, “Only a couple then Sergeant.”
“Three it will bes then cep. The men and I won'ts fail in our duty to gets the note backs safe and sound.” The Lieutenant appeared to border on irritation but had reluctantly backed down and granted Bartowski permission.
With a weak officer like that watching Travnov's back he was confident he could desert the doomed city at any time. The men feared him, and the Germans feared his men. Bartowski felt just by surviving this battle now he would make a name for himself.
That would show that smug Sergeant Pavlov! If the bezdel'nik was even still alive.
Re: Dead Letters - The White Wolf « Reply #15 on Nov 13, 2009, 5:45pm »
The Germans passed through, seemingly too arrogant to really look for any hiding snipers, or simply in a hurry. Ania believed it to be both things. Germans were filthy, arrogant and evil creatures. If it hadn’t been because of her bad location, then she wouldn’t have hesitated to shoot every single one of them. She felt a tickling in her throat, or rather it could be described as an itching, it made her cough. damn… Ania thought as she tried to keep herself as silent and invisible as possible. “ Was war es?” An angry and very masculine German voice yelled, as the group of German soldiers stopped. “ Was willst du noch? Geh hin und sieh And with that, two or three of the German soldiers began walking towards Ania’s hiding spot.
What should I do, what should I do? She asked herself in her brain. She knew what she had to do, she had to go down with a bang. She had two choices right now, she could try and run towards the stair caser not too far away, or she could stay and fight back. If she fought back, she could maybe get one, or two German’s were as if she ran, she could live to fight another day. She decided to run and live. She grabbed whatever she had tightly and sprang towards the staircase.
Her steps could clearly be heard when she ran on the stairs. But the Germans seemed obvious to that, or where they? They said something weird on German and one of them followed her upstairs. She had one of the sharper bullets for her rifles in her hand, while she stood hiding behind the wall only waiting for the German to come. She was breathing as calmly as she could. The German stepped up beside her and turned his head towards her. For a short while they were actually looking into each other’s eyes, and then he smirked. She knew what he was going to do, and she was not going to happen. She held the sharp bullet tight, and plunged it with a fast jab into the soldier’s neck. She pulled the sharp bullet out of the Now Seemingly dead German soldier’s dead body. It instantly fell down to the ground, this of course alarmed the other soldier.
Ania was ready, as soon as the soldier had gotten close enough, she grabbed him, and pulled him to the ground. Even though she was a girl, and much weaker than these guys (muscle-wise) She had the advantage of surprise attack. Ania forced the soldier on the back, and killed him in cold blood by breaking his neck. She could hear and feel it happening, and it didn’t bother her one bit, German’s was less than dogs to her. Now all she had to do, was to prepare for the rest to come, if their leader ordered them to.
[OOC German translation: “ Was war es?” = “What was that?” “ Was willst du noch? Geh hin und sieh = What are you waiting for? Go look !” ]
Joined: Oct 2009 Gender: Male Posts: 63 Location: Reno, NV Karma: 0
Re: Dead Letters - The White Wolf « Reply #16 on Nov 20, 2009, 11:26am »
11:08 AM
Ben wanted to smack himself in the forehead; here he was tryin' to be some kinda hero, and the little girl didn't even speak his language. It sounded familiar, but he had no idea what the hell it was supposed to be. F-cking language gap. After a bit of work he figured out that it was Swedish, but past that he had no freakin' clue what she'd said. He sighed and scratched his head, then went through each language he knew. "Uhh... Sprichst du Deutsch...? Ty govoriš' po-russki? ...English, do you speak it?" With a sigh he was about to try something else when he heard a yell outside and the clatter of a grenade nearby. Without thinking he ran for the sound, grabbed the f-cker and hurled it as far as he could, until it exploded in midair a ways above them. As it flew he saw the shape. German grenade. Fuck, they're coming closer. Can't be wasting time here, dammit.
He picked up the weapons and holstered them in turn, then drew the ornate bow and strung an arrow. Since German and Russian seemed to have shown the most recognition to the girl, he decided to use one, in this case German since it was the first one that came to his mind. "Come with me, I'll take you somewhere safe. The Nazis are coming." There was a significant amount of disgust in his voice when he said Nazis that he just couldn't hide, and hell, he didn't even want to hide it. Those bastards murdered his grandparents. Damn right he was disgusted.
After a quick look around the two bolted, but Ben quickly realized that a twelve year old doesn't exactly run like a guy in his twenties. "Hup." He quickly picked the girl up and plopped her on his shoulders, then took off again, albeit with a little bit more care since he had pretty much made himself much more obvious and couldn't exactly snipe well with her sitting on his shoulders.
Which only ticked him off more when he ran into a pair of Nazis searching the surrounding buildings for snipers. Thank god for his reflexes; the arrow he had strung was pulled back and fired as soon as he saw them, and one went down before either had noticed him, but all the same the second one would bring his gun to bear before Ben could pull another arrow or grab a knife. He dove aside to dodge the spray of bullets and then stumbled a bit trying to keep his footing; if the girl fell and busted her head open or something, it would make this easier but he'd feel like an asshole for the rest of his life, too. Fortunately he was able to bring an arrow to bear before the man could let loose more bullets; the idiot had emptied his entire clip in that burst. He toppled, and when he was sure they were dead, Ben pulled out the arrows and wiped them on their clothes to clean off the blood.
Looking around, he saw a nearby abandoned grocery store with blown-out windows and quickly ran in, putting a chair by the door on its side like it had been knocked over (since he'd have the only windows covered already and opening the door would move the chair and make noise) and then let the girl down. Putting away the bow, he went to one of the shelves and kicked it over. The crash was loud, but masked the sound of gunfire from the muzzle of his Gewehr, which nailed a Nazi a few hundred yards out and took care of the only witness to their entry.
Ben sighed and went to get a chair, using the collapsed shelves as a sort of cover through which he could snipe, but all the same the running in the cold had worn out his legs faster than he'd thought. "You alright, kid?" he asked, once again in German. "Don't worry, you're safe with me."
Joined: Oct 2009 Gender: Female Posts: 332 Location: Stockholm, Sweden Karma: 8
Re: Dead Letters - The White Wolf « Reply #17 on Nov 21, 2009, 11:00pm »
Eli
It seemed that only a matter of seconds had really ticked by since she had been introduced to the man speaking his variety of foreign languages, and yet Eli now found herself in a totally different environment. A blown out grocery store, standing inside it along with the man who had apparently just 'rescued' her from the Germans. He was speaking in a language she could at least vaguely understand now, although she had little idea what she could really say to the man. Indeed, she was actually feeling rather reprehensive about being carried on his shoulders like some sort of toddler, when she could have easily taken care of the Germans herself in the house. If it wasn't for the man distracting her with his multi-lingual attempts to converse with her, she'd have been able to hear them sneaking up on the destroyed old apartment she'd been staying in.
For the moment, it seemed she'd have to make do with the temporary relocation she'd forcibly suffered at the man's hands. His rather fast hands, she had been able to note during their frantic escape from the apartment building. Why was he using a bow and arrow? It was a questionable choice of weaponry considering he was in the middle of a war where the battles were fought with machine guns and artillery cannons.
A rifle would have been a better choice, even though she personally didn't have any real knowledge of weaponry. She simply knew that being shot by one could be an irritance and was best avoided. Thankfully she was quick enough for the most part to sidestep such misfortune, but there was always the chance that luck could turn against her. Picking bullets out of a bloody wound was something she'd had to do in the past, and had no great desire to do again.
Crouching down next to the man as he leant against the shelf that he'd clumsily knocked over, Eli stared at him, not entirely sure what she should make of him. The way he'd taken out the Germans suggested he was very skilled, unusually so. He certainly didn't look like a veteran soldier, and so Eli found herself confused by him. Currently he probably thought he'd saved her life and was some sort of hero, and Eli wasn't entirely sure if she should play the role of the saved child or not.
Her knowledge of German was rudimentary at best but it would have to do. She knew enough of it from following the Nazi from one side of Europe to the next, after all. "I'm fine." She said, her accentuation of the words not being particularly good but it was at least understandable. "This is a dangerous place." She continued, making use of knowledge that the man would be unlikely to have access to. She could hear several footsteps from a distance, perhaps a city block away, German reinforcements heading for the factory to strengthen it against the Russian assault. Soon they'd be walking right past the grocery store.
:::::::::
Nastya
Having taken up position inside the sniper's tower, Nastya kept her profile concealed away to one side of the main window, out of the field of view of any enemy marksmen that might have happened to train their sights upon her. They should not have been expecting the presence of an enemy up there, however, as she had been relatively subtle in her take down of the two sharpshooters and had given little indication of her retaking of the tower for herself. From her vantage point, she could see the factory clearly. Vulnerable heads poking out from windows, soldiers rushing here and there.
It would have been too easy to just start shooting every German she saw. There was no point in that. Sooner or later a sniper would pick out where her shots were coming from, and would attempt to fire back. She had no doubts that she could avoid any enemy fire, but revealing her position would not be beneficial in any shape or form. There was a reason she was there, after all. She needed to find her target. In the mean time, killing priority Germans instead of average foot soldiers seemed like the best thing to do.
A man came sprinting across from her sights. He wore the uniform of a Nazi, and yet did not appear to be carrying a weapon. She noticed he was carrying something silver in his hands. What could it be? Keys of some sort? Was the man a messenger, sent to report back to the German High Command about the Russian assault on the factory? Either way, Nastya wasn't about to just let him live. Her rifle swivelled as she followed his movements, the man fleeing at high speed, running for cover behind a building. Within less than a second he would be out of her field of view. Her wrist twitched, her crosshairs swinging past the man's head by a quarter of an inch, compensating for the distance. She pulled the trigger, and fired off a shot.
The fleeing soldier would have felt nothing other than a sharp pain followed by darkness as Nastya's bullet caught him right in the side of the head. His movements were instantly stopped, and he fell away to one side, just inches away from the corner of the building that would have guaranteed his safety from any further sniper fire. Just a few inches. But then, war was decided by such slight little fractions. Nastya's scope remained on the corpse for a few seconds to ensure that she had hit her mark and that he was, indeed, dead. Satisfied, she then pulled away, hiding behind the window in case her shot had drawn any unwanted German attentions.
Re: Dead Letters - The White Wolf « Reply #18 on Nov 22, 2009, 2:08am »
It had been almost an hour since Sara had encountered the German troop movement and their number had been reduced by seven in that time. Sara was on her back in a pile of crates, having just eliminated one of the higher ranking members of the troop column. If the rank insignia were in any way similar to their Russian or UK counterparts, the person she just shot through the heart held the rank of Colonel.
In order to eliminate her victim three or so kills ago, Sara had snuck onto a rooftop and it was from there that she saw the likely target of the reinforcing troop movement. A factory that seemed to stand unmolested by the bombs and mortars that had rained down on the city. Sara was hoping that there weren't any poor overworked and underfed Russian soldiers inside, but had to be realistic about the fact that the reinforcements wouldn't be headed to a tea party.
She withdrew a small flask from her pocket and took a sip, taking pleasure in the searing sensation of the vodka sliding down the back of her throat. Once it was safely back in the reinforced pocket close to her heart, Sara chanced a look around her cover and almost had the top of her head blown off. Sick of losing troops one at a time, the commander of the troops had sent a fire-team back to look for the person who was responsible for killing so many of their number.
Sara pointed her gun in the rough direction of the fire team and held the trigger down while she scurried on three limbs towards the basement window of the nearest building. She wasn't fast enough and cried out in pain as the return fire hit her in the leg. It was fortunate that he cover was in such a close proximity to the building as she fired several rounds into the window and rolled into the basement.
The two metre fall took the focus off the pain in her leg as she landed almost completely on her left shoulder, dislocating it and driving a piece of glass into her hip. She lay on her back breathing heavily with the rifle resting on her knee and oriented towards the smashed window entrance. When no faces appeared after a few moments she dragged herself behind a cabinet and passed out in pain from her injuries.
Joined: Oct 2009 Gender: Male Posts: 329 Location: Chicago, IL Karma: 6
Re: Dead Letters - The White Wolf « Reply #19 on Nov 22, 2009, 9:18pm »
Nikolaus Jaeger 10:30 AM
Whether or not the boy would've sealed the other soldier's fate, the one he had let off and spared, it seemed as if the man was doomed to death anyways. Nikolaus watched the thankful soldier run off, ready to finally go home, and then boom. He was gone. He didn't even make it out of Stalingrad, much less Russia, and along with the message to his mother, the soldier's life was now gone, meaningless.
11:15 AM
The young and fearful soldier aimed out the factory now, firing off his gun randomly. He wasn't sure what the hell was doing, only hoping he'd hit the enemy, and hoping more that he wouldn't hit an ally or anybody at all. Nikolaus wasn't a solider - he was just a boy, a boy far out of his league in a place he didn't belong. He hoped that, as he went off, he would make his father proud, but where was the pride in a war like this? Lives were lost here and there, families and people torn apart not only by the war, but by the actions of his own country. There was no honor here - only bloodshed.
"Hit anything!?" Johann cried out over the sound of screaming and gunfire.
Nikolaus ducked down behind the window again and shook his head, replying, "No! Your turn again!"
Johann nodded and stood himself up, turning to face the outside. "God grant me glory!" he yelled then, aiming his gun, "and God grant me life!"
A bullet was fired then, blood splattering and another life exhausted. Nikolaus could only close his eyes then, opening them to a whole new sight to behold. It was horrible.
Laying there in his own blood was Nikolaus's friend, Johann, a bullet splitting his head right open. The boy only cried out, reaching for his friend and backing up in repulsion as the sight of bare and exposed brains seeped through the dead soldier's battered and shattered helmet. Nikolaus gagged then, turning and throwing up in his sickness and sorrow.
Then came a primal fear and rage.
« Last Edit: Nov 22, 2009, 9:18pm by Marc Truant »
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