Post by ♔ Rupert Crawford on Oct 14, 2010 19:12:30 GMT
Terrain:[/b] The “West Country” (Devonshire Countryside)
Time:[/b] 0221hrs (2:21am)
Conditions:[/b] Clear-skies, but a little chilly.
Voices in the distance encouraged Lieutenant Crawford to push on, his feet aching with every step he made along the rising narrow roadway draped in darkness and blind sighted by the rise of uneven land. Devon was known for it’s large pastures and farmland, but also it’s diabolical legwork in retaining good health walking the uneven terrain, a particularly good training spot for soldiers soon to be shipped out towards the front. Plymouth wasn’t that far away and it was the last stop for many soldiers on England’s soil, before they embarked onwards to France to fight the Nazi might. Rupert couldn’t help but feel the quiet countryside resembled an uneasy calm before the storm, a lot of the men remarked about it and tested their nerve in keeping a clear mind; silence however, wasn’t always golden in these circumstances.
As Rupert reached the pinnacle of the small hill he climbed, his eyes fixated down the roadway towards a small building engulfed in darkness. It’s brickwork and flat roof signified some sort of establishment, rather than a local’s home or farmhouse littering the roadside. As Rupert felt the heels of his boots slide against the gravel of the roadway, he neared the building quickly and exhaled heavily as he noticed it was a train-station; with no occupants at this unearthly hour. The windows were boarded up and the doors were tightly locked by a heavy endurance padlock against the two large green entrance doors. His hope in finding his way home seemed rather daunting again, he was indeed utterly lost and not for the first time either. How embarrassing.
Slowly walking towards a cast-iron bench screwed into the ground just outside of the station, Rupert took a seat and clasped his face between his palms exhaustedly. He was taking part during a training exercise earlier in the day, perhaps a few clicks from where he was now, which explained his battle fatigue attire he was wearing, with a small brown haversack pouch hanging at his waist, packed with minor pieces of equipment. However, the training exercise had finished almost seven hours or more ago at first dark and his simple journey towards Torquay for his next billeting went horribly wrong. Perhaps he took a wrong turn somewhere or one of his handy shortcuts went wrong? Rupert didn’t know anymore, he’d been venturing across countryside for hours and everything looked the same.
Glancing around himself, he wasn’t sure how he’d heard voices when no-one was present, but figured it was either the wind carrying the sounds from nearby or his mind was playing tricks on him. Idly reaching for his cigarettes inside of his breast pocket, his eyes shifted in the dark blindly, whilst his hands soon fumbled for a lighter to use. Eventually grasping both a cigarette and a small case of matches between his hands, he lit his cigarette almost instantly and threw caution to the wind as he relaxed against the hard cold bench, inhaling from the cigarette heavily. “Blimey, what a mess…” he muttered to himself, staring into the darkness and feeling his lips warm from the burning filter as hazed smoke drew into his mouth for a drag on the cancer, pondering about his current options.
Suddenly his deep thought as to whether he should wait it out at the station until the station-clerks arrived a few hours from now or taking another random route towards civilization were mopped away as the heavy humming of engines vibrated overhead. Standing immediately his eyes darted upwards to the clear skies and watched in awe as spotlights from nearby towns cut through the sky towards faint black blobs moving towards inland, illuminated like smudges on a masterpiece. “Dear god…” he uttered to himself, feeling his fingers tighten against the cigarette as he brought it to his lips and hesitantly found himself moving backwards against the station’s exterior wall, watching as German bombers, spotted by the coastal defences lit up the clear sky. Thereafter flak began rummaging through the dense air, causing crackles and explosions hundreds of feet above like a petty firework display.
Unnerved by the scene he was watching, Rupert couldn’t help but feel he was alone more than ever now, in the middle of nowhere. The German bombers weren’t dropping their payloads and moving hastily inland, with the odd string of bullet-tracers emerging from the aircrafts every so often. Perhaps the flyboys had intercepted them by now? But Rupert doubted it, as he watched the flak blow large explosions into the sky in the distance, making Rupert feel as if he was watching a storm without rain, with the engine noise lingering dauntingly in the background, vibrating against his chest, before the sounds of air-raid-sirens were carried along the wind momentarily, heightening his senses. Did he dare find his way back to town now? He wasn’t so sure anymore…
OOC: Not the best of posts, sorry. I know this may be hard to fit into, so if you want me to change anything, just let me know.
Time:[/b] 0221hrs (2:21am)
Conditions:[/b] Clear-skies, but a little chilly.
Voices in the distance encouraged Lieutenant Crawford to push on, his feet aching with every step he made along the rising narrow roadway draped in darkness and blind sighted by the rise of uneven land. Devon was known for it’s large pastures and farmland, but also it’s diabolical legwork in retaining good health walking the uneven terrain, a particularly good training spot for soldiers soon to be shipped out towards the front. Plymouth wasn’t that far away and it was the last stop for many soldiers on England’s soil, before they embarked onwards to France to fight the Nazi might. Rupert couldn’t help but feel the quiet countryside resembled an uneasy calm before the storm, a lot of the men remarked about it and tested their nerve in keeping a clear mind; silence however, wasn’t always golden in these circumstances.
As Rupert reached the pinnacle of the small hill he climbed, his eyes fixated down the roadway towards a small building engulfed in darkness. It’s brickwork and flat roof signified some sort of establishment, rather than a local’s home or farmhouse littering the roadside. As Rupert felt the heels of his boots slide against the gravel of the roadway, he neared the building quickly and exhaled heavily as he noticed it was a train-station; with no occupants at this unearthly hour. The windows were boarded up and the doors were tightly locked by a heavy endurance padlock against the two large green entrance doors. His hope in finding his way home seemed rather daunting again, he was indeed utterly lost and not for the first time either. How embarrassing.
Slowly walking towards a cast-iron bench screwed into the ground just outside of the station, Rupert took a seat and clasped his face between his palms exhaustedly. He was taking part during a training exercise earlier in the day, perhaps a few clicks from where he was now, which explained his battle fatigue attire he was wearing, with a small brown haversack pouch hanging at his waist, packed with minor pieces of equipment. However, the training exercise had finished almost seven hours or more ago at first dark and his simple journey towards Torquay for his next billeting went horribly wrong. Perhaps he took a wrong turn somewhere or one of his handy shortcuts went wrong? Rupert didn’t know anymore, he’d been venturing across countryside for hours and everything looked the same.
Glancing around himself, he wasn’t sure how he’d heard voices when no-one was present, but figured it was either the wind carrying the sounds from nearby or his mind was playing tricks on him. Idly reaching for his cigarettes inside of his breast pocket, his eyes shifted in the dark blindly, whilst his hands soon fumbled for a lighter to use. Eventually grasping both a cigarette and a small case of matches between his hands, he lit his cigarette almost instantly and threw caution to the wind as he relaxed against the hard cold bench, inhaling from the cigarette heavily. “Blimey, what a mess…” he muttered to himself, staring into the darkness and feeling his lips warm from the burning filter as hazed smoke drew into his mouth for a drag on the cancer, pondering about his current options.
Suddenly his deep thought as to whether he should wait it out at the station until the station-clerks arrived a few hours from now or taking another random route towards civilization were mopped away as the heavy humming of engines vibrated overhead. Standing immediately his eyes darted upwards to the clear skies and watched in awe as spotlights from nearby towns cut through the sky towards faint black blobs moving towards inland, illuminated like smudges on a masterpiece. “Dear god…” he uttered to himself, feeling his fingers tighten against the cigarette as he brought it to his lips and hesitantly found himself moving backwards against the station’s exterior wall, watching as German bombers, spotted by the coastal defences lit up the clear sky. Thereafter flak began rummaging through the dense air, causing crackles and explosions hundreds of feet above like a petty firework display.
Unnerved by the scene he was watching, Rupert couldn’t help but feel he was alone more than ever now, in the middle of nowhere. The German bombers weren’t dropping their payloads and moving hastily inland, with the odd string of bullet-tracers emerging from the aircrafts every so often. Perhaps the flyboys had intercepted them by now? But Rupert doubted it, as he watched the flak blow large explosions into the sky in the distance, making Rupert feel as if he was watching a storm without rain, with the engine noise lingering dauntingly in the background, vibrating against his chest, before the sounds of air-raid-sirens were carried along the wind momentarily, heightening his senses. Did he dare find his way back to town now? He wasn’t so sure anymore…
OOC: Not the best of posts, sorry. I know this may be hard to fit into, so if you want me to change anything, just let me know.
