Post by Jonas Merhoff on Nov 8, 2009 8:18:55 GMT
Country: France
Area/Setting: The Vosges Mountains in Eastern France, near the border of Germany is covered in the rough terrain of heavily forrested areas and mountains. Add snow to the mix and you get a shithole of a warzone to fight in.
Current Time: January 4th, 1700 (Jonas) 1800 (Heiko/Dieter)
Weather Conditions: Rough, clouded, and dark. Snow up to the knees throughout the forest, but mostly just above the ankle. The mountain roads are in rough condition due to the snow, causing a slow down in any road movements.
Haguenau, France. The bitch of a city. The German occupants had been thrown out of the town nearly a year ago, despite heavy resistance. That was during the aftermath of Germany. A failure that Merhoff largely blamed on the decisions of the German High Command. Why he had only been able to counterattack the invasion of Normandy by the noon of June 6th baffled and astounded him when he could have led his tanks to crush the petty invasion force. Now he hung his head in shame, trudging through the snow packed above the cobblestone. The Ardennes Offensive wasn't fairing as well as it should, at least to Merhoff who viewed it from the eyes of the Americans. Held at gunpoint by the M1 Garand toting Yankees, Merhoff was fed with information of German failure after failure during their great push through the Ardennes.
He spat at the thought of the 101st Airborne stubbornly holding the vital city of Bastogne within their grasp. If Merhoff hadn't been captured nearly a month beforehand, in early December, perhaps he could have made a difference. Instead, he was crammed together with nearly a platoon of officers who had fallen into American hands in Belgium. Originally, Merhoff and his comrades were moved to Haguenau during brief negotiations between the Germans and the Yanks. The negotiations had fallen through and the Hauptmann found himself heading back to Metz to prepare for the great journey to America. Hands stuffed in the pockets of his greatcoat for warmth, he coldly glanced at his guards who were escorting the ten German officers. There had been a total of three prisoner convoys, the first filled with the highest ranking officers, the second with anyone above the rank of Hauptmann, and finally the third with any who fell below Hauptmann.
Merhoff fell in the third category of officers. Enough of a rank to be respected and lead a good chunk of men, but not high enough to be of extreme value. The Hauptmann had barely been informed of the operation, which was part of the reason the offensive had failed. A psychopathic mad man was coordinating Germany's moves, but wasn't sharing the orders. Merhoff had been captured in the confusion of the first days of the offensive, shot in the ass during a botched raid on a battery. The mission had been below the Hauptmann, but he volunteered to lead an elite men of Waffen SS and even panzergrenadiers against the battery. The American units had put up too much of a fight, hitting Merhoff's men with all they had while the Germans were disabling the guns. Fucking Yankees.
A man before Merhoff in the line of humiliated officers slid in some wet snow and clumsily collided with a nearby American soldier. The clumsy man was a young Untersturmfuhrer, a Waffen SS man by the name of Muller. Throughout his entire captivity, he constantly spoke of a Schneider character that he needed to get back to. His superior officer or something. A trigger happy American with a Garand was on the scene as fast as can be, bashing the German in the back with the butt of his gun. Merhoff could understand a limited amount of man's insulting rant, his knowledge of English. He had once studied books of English during his spare time in the trenches of the Great War. Enough to speak and understand some English, but not enough to understand this man's slang and cuss words.
Merhoff bent down beside the man and gently guided the enraged American from the young SS officer, before helping him up. "I... a polo gize for my friend. " The Hauptmann spoke in somewhat broken English with a strong German accent. It was enough to be understood though and that was good enough. The conflict was settled by Merhoff's peaceful words and the two German officers continued on side by side. "Erhielten Sie es?" Merhoff inquired, casually drawing his greatcoat around his torso to protect against the wind. "Ja." The Untersturmfuhrer replied, slipping the Hauptmann the Colt 1911 he had snatched off the Yankee he "tripped" on. "Guter Mann." Merhoff muttered under his breath as he slipped the pistol into the insides of his coast. Underneath, he wore the same uniform he had on the day of his capture, stubbornly supporting his comrades.
The prisoners finally reached a small convoy awaiting on the outskirts of Haguenau. A jeep fronted the convoy, followed by a truck, then a M3 Halftrack, a second truck, another M3 Halftrack, and lastly a second Jeep. Merhoff was loaded into the back of the second truck along with four other Germans, including Muller. The Hauptmann nodded at Muller as he lifted him into the back of the truck, helping the other officers in. The five men sat furthest from the opening of the truck, with four Americans blocking their only way out. A Sergeant wielding a Thompson, who the Colt 1911 had been stolen from, as well as 3 Privates or Corporals with Garands. Merhoff rested his eyes as the truck started forward, heading for Metz through the Vosges Mountains. Surely, the Germans would not attack the Vosges. And they definitely wouldn't have taken Wigen-sur-Moder five hours earlier...
Translations:
- "Did you get it?"
- "Good man."
Area/Setting: The Vosges Mountains in Eastern France, near the border of Germany is covered in the rough terrain of heavily forrested areas and mountains. Add snow to the mix and you get a shithole of a warzone to fight in.
Current Time: January 4th, 1700 (Jonas) 1800 (Heiko/Dieter)
Weather Conditions: Rough, clouded, and dark. Snow up to the knees throughout the forest, but mostly just above the ankle. The mountain roads are in rough condition due to the snow, causing a slow down in any road movements.
Haguenau, France. The bitch of a city. The German occupants had been thrown out of the town nearly a year ago, despite heavy resistance. That was during the aftermath of Germany. A failure that Merhoff largely blamed on the decisions of the German High Command. Why he had only been able to counterattack the invasion of Normandy by the noon of June 6th baffled and astounded him when he could have led his tanks to crush the petty invasion force. Now he hung his head in shame, trudging through the snow packed above the cobblestone. The Ardennes Offensive wasn't fairing as well as it should, at least to Merhoff who viewed it from the eyes of the Americans. Held at gunpoint by the M1 Garand toting Yankees, Merhoff was fed with information of German failure after failure during their great push through the Ardennes.
He spat at the thought of the 101st Airborne stubbornly holding the vital city of Bastogne within their grasp. If Merhoff hadn't been captured nearly a month beforehand, in early December, perhaps he could have made a difference. Instead, he was crammed together with nearly a platoon of officers who had fallen into American hands in Belgium. Originally, Merhoff and his comrades were moved to Haguenau during brief negotiations between the Germans and the Yanks. The negotiations had fallen through and the Hauptmann found himself heading back to Metz to prepare for the great journey to America. Hands stuffed in the pockets of his greatcoat for warmth, he coldly glanced at his guards who were escorting the ten German officers. There had been a total of three prisoner convoys, the first filled with the highest ranking officers, the second with anyone above the rank of Hauptmann, and finally the third with any who fell below Hauptmann.
Merhoff fell in the third category of officers. Enough of a rank to be respected and lead a good chunk of men, but not high enough to be of extreme value. The Hauptmann had barely been informed of the operation, which was part of the reason the offensive had failed. A psychopathic mad man was coordinating Germany's moves, but wasn't sharing the orders. Merhoff had been captured in the confusion of the first days of the offensive, shot in the ass during a botched raid on a battery. The mission had been below the Hauptmann, but he volunteered to lead an elite men of Waffen SS and even panzergrenadiers against the battery. The American units had put up too much of a fight, hitting Merhoff's men with all they had while the Germans were disabling the guns. Fucking Yankees.
A man before Merhoff in the line of humiliated officers slid in some wet snow and clumsily collided with a nearby American soldier. The clumsy man was a young Untersturmfuhrer, a Waffen SS man by the name of Muller. Throughout his entire captivity, he constantly spoke of a Schneider character that he needed to get back to. His superior officer or something. A trigger happy American with a Garand was on the scene as fast as can be, bashing the German in the back with the butt of his gun. Merhoff could understand a limited amount of man's insulting rant, his knowledge of English. He had once studied books of English during his spare time in the trenches of the Great War. Enough to speak and understand some English, but not enough to understand this man's slang and cuss words.
Merhoff bent down beside the man and gently guided the enraged American from the young SS officer, before helping him up. "I... a polo gize for my friend. " The Hauptmann spoke in somewhat broken English with a strong German accent. It was enough to be understood though and that was good enough. The conflict was settled by Merhoff's peaceful words and the two German officers continued on side by side. "Erhielten Sie es?" Merhoff inquired, casually drawing his greatcoat around his torso to protect against the wind. "Ja." The Untersturmfuhrer replied, slipping the Hauptmann the Colt 1911 he had snatched off the Yankee he "tripped" on. "Guter Mann." Merhoff muttered under his breath as he slipped the pistol into the insides of his coast. Underneath, he wore the same uniform he had on the day of his capture, stubbornly supporting his comrades.
The prisoners finally reached a small convoy awaiting on the outskirts of Haguenau. A jeep fronted the convoy, followed by a truck, then a M3 Halftrack, a second truck, another M3 Halftrack, and lastly a second Jeep. Merhoff was loaded into the back of the second truck along with four other Germans, including Muller. The Hauptmann nodded at Muller as he lifted him into the back of the truck, helping the other officers in. The five men sat furthest from the opening of the truck, with four Americans blocking their only way out. A Sergeant wielding a Thompson, who the Colt 1911 had been stolen from, as well as 3 Privates or Corporals with Garands. Merhoff rested his eyes as the truck started forward, heading for Metz through the Vosges Mountains. Surely, the Germans would not attack the Vosges. And they definitely wouldn't have taken Wigen-sur-Moder five hours earlier...
Translations:
- "Did you get it?"
- "Good man."
