Grudge Match (Wolfram only)

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

OOC: Not my best one and I apologize, but I've had a long day and I felt bad for being gone for a few days. Sorry

McMillan was starting to worry a bit that his act might not have worked, then he realized that he might have made a mistake as he heard the man just outside the room reload with haste. SHIT!! Rushed through his mind. He had yet to freeze on the battlefield but this was as close as he had come, possibly almost forgetting to act wounded as the man kicked the door open. He looked extremely mad, but he couldn't be blamed.

The officer rushed over and seemed to vent on the coffee table a little as he kicked from the floor and began to speak in German. Hope he doesn't expect an answer like that. McMillan felt worried, he didn't know what the man wanted and he didn't know if the rest of an entire company might be trying to make it's way into the building right then. He noticed the knife just as McMillan wanted trying to keep his pistol. There is no need for it now, had I needed it he would have shot me but I believe he wants to enjoy this, too bad I'm not hurt.

McMillan wriggled a bit, the officer was not too far away, and then he surprised McMillan. He spoke english, well the German version of it anyway. This could work to his advantage. "Name's McMillan...(cough)...what's yours?" As he said it he looked down from the man's face and to the hall he had just entered from. It might not have been much but he might not think about punishing McMillan for a split second if he thought about answering, what might be in the hall, and he is badly wounded.

With a sweeping motion McMillan attempted to knock the blue eyed man from his feet to bring him down to the same level. If he succeeded in his task, he would thrust his pistol into the man's face, not to make sure he didn't miss, just to get him to throw away his weapon away and not call for help. If it was a fight he wanted, McMillan was as ready as they come to give him one. But he was still going to demand the man's name, even though he already knew it.

"First name's Edward, v-hat is yours." Mocking the blonde officer.

[PuNk! ™]

Moderation Post:[/b]

That’s fine McMillan, there’s no time limits to how fast you should post and I’m sure everyone else, alike yourself, understands that life does go on and other things need ‘tending too.

Following Actions have been made;

CSM; McMillan:

• Sweeping Rafael from his feet (guessing you tripped/used your legs?) McMillan successfully knocked the man onto the floor.
  
  
• This part I’m confused about - Did you hit Rafael with your pistol or not? I’m guessing you did, from the presumption of “If you swept the man off his feet, you’d then hit him”, so I’ll count this action as valid.
  - Hitting Wolfram with the butt-of his Colt .45, McMillan’s arm slipped in the process a little and landed the hilt of his pistol against Rafael’s shoulder.
  

Next Post, Rafael.
~Danny[/color]

[∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram]

OOC: Oh this is getting good, you’re going down Big Man! Done just as I wanted/predicted…


“Arghh!”[/b]
Spat out the Hauptsturmführer as he felt his body toppled backwards, his feet swept from beneath him within the brash of the moment; quickly and instinctively however, Rafael’s hands grappled for his MP40, priding it up between their two bodies with a narrow glare in his eyes, trying to hold the man from off him, slightly confused to why he wasn’t wincing or crying in pain as Rafael struggled to push the back of his knuckles and framework to his SMG against the man’s torso, where the bullets had hit!? He was faking it! But before he could even make another move, the Allied Soldier throttled his pistol’s handgrip towards his face, but closely missed as it thumped against his shoulder, causing the Hauptsturmführer to wince out a small grunt from the pain.

Then - The rodent mocked him! Growling beneath his breath, Rafael’s blue eyes suddenly deepened with a stern glare and his jaw tightened to control his boiling anger that threatening to topple over. Using his initiative and strength, with the MP40 prided up between them, Rafael growled loudly with aggression as he began to pull up the tight hard weaponry, suppressing it against McMillan’s throat, inclining a little more pressure inch by inch as he kept pushing, in hope the man would gaspingly pull back to draw breath, even just for a moment! Chirping a small laugh from his position on the floor, Rafael’s lips coiled devilishly as he felt the hard metal framework to his SMG close in against McMillan’s throat, his arms outstretching as he felt his biceps flex to the strength he was putting into choking the man - but also hoping to pride him off!

Staring at the Allied brute as he tactically used the weak point and chokepoint to get the male to gaspingly pull away, Rafael patiently gritted his teeth and leaned up to face the man closely, but also inch another suffocating pressure against the weapon, by using his back. “Z-ou already know my name, I can see it in Z-our eyes. Ed-Vard!” he muttered out sternly and sarcastically, before whelming up a mouthful of flem by regurgitating his throat to spit into the man’s face, hoping to temporarily blind him with his dirty tactics - McMillan not the only one fighting dirty - Before suddenly Rafael couldn’t wait for the man to choke, he twisted his body to lever the weapon one-way momentarily, acting like a pendulum, before he shoved it the opposite way, against McMillan’s head and neck, hoping to topple the man onto his back. By now, McMillan should’ve already been weak by the lack of oxygen to his small brain and the spit alluding within his eyes should’ve blinding him, just to give Rafael that edge in pushing him over.

(If I managed to push him over)
Quickly, the Hauptsturmführer rolled his weight onto the Allied brute, straddling his legs over the man’s abdomen, his Officer’s hat falling off within the quick process as his devious blonde hair glistened in the sunlight. Gritting his teeth hard, he pushed the framework back of his MP40 back into McMillan’s neck, using a better deal of strength and force by being on top to choke the man beneath him, his eyes narrow the whole while as he focused on cutting the man’s blood flow of oxygen, whilst he momentarily released the MP40 with ‘ONE’ hand to grab at McMillan’s wrist holding the Pistol, in hope the man would be weak enough by now to be held down by one suppressing hand against the SMG, whilst he tried to dislodge the firearm from his grasp!

[PuNk! ™]

Moderation Post:[/b]

Okay - I can see how you’ve stepped carefully Wolfie and I appreciate you writing the way in which you have, it isn’t god-moding either, McMillan used the same technique you have within his post, it’s just following up an action IF the predicted outcome arises. So don’t worry. It’s a little more tricky to write when dealing with a hand to hand situation; Just don’t go dragging these techniques into shooting/battle threads too much, otherwise it would be slightly considered god-moding, deeming someone on the ground and shooting them even more. If you see where I’m coming from.

Anyhow, the following actions have been made;

CPT. Wolfram:

• SUCCESSFULLY managing to swindle McMillan over and onto the ground, using different unorthodox techniques and ‘thumping’ your MP40 into McMillan’s Jaw/Neck in the process, you have also caused McMillan’s jaw to snap against the inside of his mouth - hence opening a small wound by biting at the inside of his cheek, causing a split second agonising pain to serge throughout his mouth and jaw.
  
  
• Also, managing to gain prime position (on-top) and now using the MP40 as a choke-hold (weight) against McMillan’s neck; McMillan will pass unconscious during the next mod-mark if he is unable to get free. However, CPT. Wolfram’s struggle to render his firearm (colt .45) from his hand, failed miserably as he lost reach for it.
  

Next Post, McMillan!
~Danny[/color]

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

OOC: Trying to end this one quickly are we Raf, LOL!!

McMillan's swing failed to hit it's mark or do any damage to the Officer, but the man was trying to choke McMillan to death with his submachine gun. That won't work from the bottom he thought, the Kraut must have heard it, and then McMillan caught a nice one in the side of his face that ended up putting him on his back. Not the best position, and now things were starting to get blurry as the oxygen to his brain has been halted. Guys good... He thought as he was some how able to keep the German from grabbing his pistol.

Well if I wrestle longer in this position, I don't have a good chance of getting out of here He squirmed a little back and forth as he tried to get a better position on the man but he was unable to move much. He could see the hatred fuming from the man's face and his eyes looked as if they would soon pop out of his skull if he didn't calm down a bit.

With his left hand McMillan grabbed the barrel/butt stock (not sure which end would be on my left side) and thrust it upward, with only one hand on the weapon, the German officer would have a tough time keeping it from tilting one way or the other. If he managed to get the other side to touch the floor, he would also have a better chance at relieving the pressure to his throat. If he managed to thrust to hard, he might just hit the man with his own weapon, as glorious as that might be he knew it to be impossible.

He pulled his pistol in close and did his best to place it under Wolfram's jaw, had he been a little off he believed it still would have gotten the message across. He opened his eyes as much he could only to stair the German in the face and wink. Well he can let go and try to be diplomatic...HA...or I'll pull the trigger and hope he doesn't fall down on me so that if I pass out the weight will not be still upon my throat. Not matter what, if things were almost completely black, he was pulling the trigger. He knew he might regret not doing so in the first place, but this was personal, and it seemed they both wanted to settle it like men, stubborn men.

[PuNk! ™]

Moderation Post:[/b]

Ah, big struggle going on here!
The following actions have been made;

CSM, McMillan:

• Thrusting the COLT .45 upwards against CPT. Wolfram, it did indeed thump against his neck somewhat, shifting the weight from off McMillan's neck, just enough to allow him to regain composure and breath!
  
  
• (This part I'm unsure about? Did you fire or not? - I'm assuming you didn't)
  - Threatening to pull the trigger, McMillan's forearm is weakening from holding the strain of the heavy pistol; But obviously, a clear message has been put across.
  

Next Post, Wolfram.
~Danny[/color]

[∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram]

Hauptsturmführer Wolfram’s fingers coiled deviously around the MP40 being suppressed against the grunt’s throat beneath him, his weight pushing downwards as the Hauptsturmführer began uttering out “Shhh… Shhh!” towards the man beneath him, in a sick twisted way that begged the Allied Grunt to die quietly; Rafael’s eyes widened as he continued to press hard against the MP40, his left temple throbbing within his skull somewhat as he pushed against the struggling man’s incompliant arms, that shifted up beneath him, almost like it were pushing or fumbling about for something!?

Then - THUMP!, the Hauptsturmführer’s head jerked towards the side, his hands loosening the grip upon the MP40 uncontrollably, as his instinct kicked in, wanting his hands to draw up towards his face to protect himself, but almost as quick as the Grunt hit him with the hilt of his side-arm, Rafael let out an aggressive roar and shoved his hands back down against the MP40, muttering out within a fit of temper “Sie fickend Mischling!”, a stream of spit spewing from his lips as he angrily pushed and pushed with all the strength he had against the male’s throat - Almost hoping he’d hear a snap or crunch from the male’s neck breaking, the hatred from the man shining through!

As Hauptsturmführer Wolfram’s hands tightened and pushed, something else caught his attention and Rafael froze, his throat moistening as he gulped hard, slowly slithering his baby blue eyes downwards as he stared upon the brandished Colt .45 beneath his jaw. Chirping a small laugh to himself, that happened to make him look a little more ‘out-there’ mentally, he slowly began to loosen his stronghold upon the machinery suppressed against McMillan’s throat and gradually began to lean his body backwards, ever so slowly. “Shoot me then, Shoot ME TH-VEN!?!” he spat out aggressively, hoping to scare-monger the Grunt with his loud, harsh German broken tone of voice from the close proximity, before he suddenly and irrationally shoved his MP40 off towards the side - in hope to knock McMillan’s arm in the process, hoping his aim would jerk off away from his face, before quickly the Hauptsturmführer let go off the weapon!

Clinching both of his hands onto McMillan’s wrist, wielding the weapon, Rafael began to try and shove it onto the ground with a hard push, before yanking it back up again and shoving it down again! Trying his hardest to shatter the male’s nerves throughout his arm, knowing if he hit hard and quick enough, the man straddled beneath him would uncontrollably let go and loose grip of the side-arm! After three or so heavy slamming of McMillan’s arm against the ground, he didn’t even bother to check if he was disarmed, before hastily, his body twisted and his elbow retracted, his forearm folding up behind his head and his bicep tensing against his jaw - Then, heavily, he throttled his elbow off down towards McMillan’s face, fighting real dirty in hope he’d knock the brute’s lights out! “Z-hat is for Z-ee Pain you have caused me!”, pulling back his arm again, almost like a baseball player lining up for a throw, he throttled his hard elbow down again, a hard pant of breath leaving his lips uncontrollably in the process from the heavy pelt he made again…

OOC: Sorry, bit aggressive and crazy my post, but I’ve kept you waiting long enough and think you deserve a good beating for it. hehe, well, hopefully it was a good post and now you’ll be thinking of ways to get this brawl off the ground. I’m sure.


Translations:[/b]

Sie fickend Mischling!
~ You fucking mongrel!

[PuNk! ™]

Moderation Post:[/b]

Oh wow, I just sat here with my mouth open in awe' at the post Rafael just made. He really is a tyrant, aren't ya' Raf!? Love your character, anyway, enough love sharing, here's the conclusion you've awaited;

CPT. Wolfram:

• DISARMING Himself (throwing the MP40 aside) in a bid-effort to lodge McMillan's aim off, Rafael Successfully pulled this off - Hence giving him a better benificial grab on McMillan's arm, as it wasn't lodged up between their bodies with the barrel end in toe beneath Rafael's Jaw.
  
  
• Grabbing at McMillan's wrist and shoving it against the ground, the Colt .45 suddenly fired a bullet from the hard thumping against the ground (perhaps McMillan's trigger finger accidentally pulled against the trigger in the process), sending a bullet into the nearby wall, but even worse, the close proximity of the pistol has deafened both men momentarily through one of their ears.
  
  
• However, Rafael has successfully dislodged the Colt .45 from McMillan's grip, causing the Pistol to clatter off against the ground (around 3 to 4ft away)
  
  
• Throwing an offensive elbow down against McMillan's "Face/Head", the impact did indeed thump against his jaw, breaking a cut open upon McMillan's lip in the process. Sending another elbow movement down against McMillan's Head, the impact caught his nose - although the impact didn't break his nose, it has momentarily stunned him and caused numerous blood vessles within McMillan's left nostril to break, causing a nose bleed to emerge.
  

In conclusion to Rafael's post, I have not seen any God-Moding emerge (you're aloud to shove/push another character without it being seen as God-Moding, so long as the outcome isn't modded) so Rafael's move with the MP40 in shifting McMillan's Aim is legit - Same with all the other moves made, as their outcome hasn't been modified and due to the 'FIGHTING' circumstances turning MELEE, the rule on God-Modding has been slackened to allow you guys a better fight, without too many strings or rules getting in the way.

So this enables you to throw more punches per' thread let's say, as long as you don't Mod the Outcome (E.G: Say they're bleeding from a punch you made or hence forth!)

Side Note:
At this point in the thread, I'm giving McMillan a fair warning - If you do not gain a prime position or show you are able to defend yourself by the next post made by you, I may need to ask your retreat, otherwise you will be endangered to succumbing to death or brain damage; Such as being rendered unconsious or begin suffering from concusion. IF Rafael continues his hard thrown punches.

NEXT POST, MCMILLAN!
~Danny[/color]

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

OOC: In this post, would it have been possible to throw a blow to Raf's mid section while he had both hands on my other arm? It was just a beautiful opportunity and it doesn't look like I had any choice but to miss it. If so please let me know so I can change this one, please. No offense Raf, but it is a wide open opportunity I know you would take it too.

McMillan watched in slight horror as Wolfram released his hold on his weapon and grabbed McMillan's arm. It seemed as if the German Officer was in a fit of rage and it was all focused on McMillan. He winced as his wrist was thrust into the ground and his fist tightened to release a shot that deafened him Son of a...well maybe it messed him up too. As soon as he finished his thought his face erupted in pain, and as Wolfram lifted his arm once more, McMillan saw that his elbow had been the cause, and it was the cause of more anguish once more as it landed a little higher. Crashing down on his nose and watering his eyes, McMillan knew he was in a horrible position. Can't hear, can't see, but I can feel, and I know he is right on top of me.

McMillan squinted his eyes as the tears began to well up and clinched his fist tightly. He planted his feet and thrust his hips into the air with all of his might, attempting to dethrone his enemy seated above. He let out a horrendous scream from the depths of his esophagus that could have woken the dead. AAAARRGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!As he did so he opened his hand that had been on the recently discarded German sub machine gun and shoved it toward the direction he last saw Wolfram's face, he might not land it on his face but maybe under his jaw, if nothing hit his palm, he would simply push it toward his own knee, to have a better chance of throwing the German off of him.

The image of Wolfram's golden blond hair slamming into the floor ran through his mind. It was like blood in the water, and McMillan was a tiger shark. He could smell the fear that filled the room, or someone needed a shower and Wolfram had been known for his impeccable uniform, he probably kept just as good care of himself as well.

[PuNk! ™]

Moderation Post:[/b]

Errmm… I would allow the punch; however, it doesn’t make much of a difference as it’s now in the past tenths, so it’s pretty pointless to now say you achieved this when things have already moved on Rafael’s behalf and yourself within the thread. :/

Following actions have been made;

CSM, McMillan:

• Launching the MP40 off towards the general direction of CPT. Wolfram’s face, the hard canvas weaponry did indeed collide (roughly) with his face; thumping against CPT. Wolfram’s jaw and then his left eyebrow (within the commotion and from the size of the weaponry), a minor cut has emerged from the corner of his ‘left’ eyebrow and due to the notorious sensitive nature of the area, around the eyes, the small cut has begun to bleed heavily down the side of his face.
  
  
• Also, successfully, CPT. Wolfram has been dislodged from off McMillan, falling onto the ground beside him - but not heavy or vigorous enough to cause anymore damage.
  

NEXT POST, MR WOLFRAM!
~Danny[/color]

[∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram]

“Arggh!”[/b] sputtered out the Hauptsturmführer, as through the mild struggle the Allied brute slyly grappled onto his weaponry discarded off towards their side and thrashed it up towards his face with an impeccable comeback of force, that had Hauptsturmführer Wolfram’s head lashing back from the collision. The tepid warm metal had thumped his jaw shut - thank god he wasn’t one for licking his lips and then he felt the brunt of the weapon catch against the side of his brow, his left eyebrow to be precise, as a cut soon emerged afterwards and the apparent feel of hot warm liquid began to slowly immerse down the half of his face…

Collapsing backwards from the impact uncontrollably, the stunned Hauptsturmführer just about managed to twist his body in the process, as to not land upon his back - his body falling off towards the side of the Allied grunt, as his forearms took the brunt of his upper body’s weight from the landing. Coughing against the floor, the blonde haired male slowly began to pull himself together again, coming over the initial shock from the blow to the head… His head dipped low against the ground momentarily, as he began to feel his senses comeback quickly, this was no situation to be lying down on the job!

Ever so slowly raising his head towards the Allied Grunt an arm’s length away, he angrily gritted his teeth at the mere sight of him, before quickly he began glancing around for some sort of weapon -- Rafael was no gentleman when it came to fighting, he fought dirty and used anything around him to wield the battle into his favour. Some could say he was a coward because of this, because he didn’t fight honourably, fist to fist and other’s would say he was using his wit, his experience to know fair fighting won you nothing! This was war and nothing was fair in war, thinking as an Officer twenty-four-seven earned him the natural ability to observe and use natural resources around himself, for the good of his men, whether it was a simple washing line to hang a Jew in the name of the “Das Reich” or melting utensils down to provide the men with extra jagged weaponry for when things got personal - Yeah, Rafael had a lot of wit and he used it to gain the upper hand in any battle.

Laying on his front, he caught a glimpse of something right by him and taking the initiative, he hastily turned onto his back and suddenly trusted a kick off towards McMillan with his big heavy leather boot, in hope to knock the Grunt back onto his face if he even thought about getting up. Muttering beneath his breath incoherently, he ever so quickly shuffled along the floor a brief moment and reached out for McMillan’s helmet that was on the floor, his fingers entwining around the webbing inside the helmet, before getting a firm grip of the heavy headgear and with a long built up twist, he swung his arm with a long hard grunt, throwing the equipment off towards McMillan. With the small distance between them and the object being hurled at him, he hoped it were enough to keep the man distracted as he began to undo the leather strap to his SS-Knife’s scarab - yanking out the long brandished tool, he suddenly pushed himself off the ground and yelled loudly as he threw himself down against McMillan, his knife in hand…

[PuNk! ™]

Moderation Post![/b]

The following actions have been made;

CPT. Wolfram:

• Kicking at McMillan (in a bid effort to knock him back down, if he began to surface), CPT. Wolfram’s boot thumped against his arm/shoulder, causing a painful ‘thump’ but nothing more.
  
  
• Wielding the heavy Helmet (with webbing) and throwing it at McMillan, the heavy equipment toppled against his head, successfully distracting McMillan momentarily, but the equipment failed to endure any damage towards McMillan.
  
  
• <Confused about this part> Throwing himself onto McMillan (with the knife), there has been no further actions made to mark?
  

NEXT POST, MCMILLAN!
~Danny[/color]

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

McMillan watched as Wolfram took the hit from the end of his own weapon and the blood that soon followed. He had be ejected from atop his advantageous position and was now on the floor, but that didn't seem to last very long. As McMillan was trying to gain his feet a boot seemed to have come from no where and knock him on his rear end, but a second attempt was a little bit more successful. Catching a helmet with the side of his skull on the way up, the grazing hit made him turn his head as a reflex. As he turned once more to face his opponent he saw him already in mid flight as he had lunged toward McMillan. As he landed the force of such a move sent them backward into the wall. The shoddy job of engineering this building showed as the wall cracked under such tremendous force from the two warriors.

Whoa that's cold he thought as he felt something flat, hard and cold press up against his bicep. A BLADE!!! "BASTARD!" he spat out with the little bit of breath that had remained in his lungs. He reached over and took hold of the German's wrist, and with his ring finger and the only finger he would wave at this guy with he placed them in the middle of the man's forearm on the inner side about two inches below the bottom of his palm. With all the force he could put into his two fingers, he squeezed, the veins in his arms started to surface and become pressurized with the high velocity that his blood achieved moving oxygen back and forth. He was hoping that the pressure point was enough pain to get the man to release his grip on the blade.

He glanced out of the corner of his eye, only for a split second, and he saw something that might be useful in this ordeal. He used his free arm to push off the wall and as he did he turned to his right. "Like to fly?!?!" he asked as he planted his feet, square with the window, he knew that the roof tops were only a couple of feet down but Wolfram might not. He hugged the man as tightly as he could with his arm that was not trying to get the weapon free and leaned forward. Only just before the massive weight of the two men was about to send them straight down, McMillan pushed with his massive thighs and calves for the window. If they made it out, Wolfram was sure to lose his breath on the impact with McMillan atop him. No matter what the outcome might be, McMillan was not letting go of the officer's wrist that wielded the weapon, even if Wolfram did drop it.

[PuNk! ™]

Moderation Post![/b]

Very Thrilling...

CSM, McMillan:

• Grabbing at CPT. Wolfram's wrist and squeezing the veins (pressure point), the blood circulating to Rafael's hand is slowly harbouring to a lazy drift, as Rafael's hand wielding the knife is becoming more and more numb.
  
  - McMillan didn't however manage to make him drop it.
  
  
• Thrusting him against the window and eventually leveraging the bodyweight outwards; the two men toppled over the waist height window-ledge and BOTH hit hard against a lower 'slanted' rooftop, causing tiles to shatter beneath their bodyweight, before rolling off onto a lower level (but sturdy) rooftop.
  
  - McMillan has lost grip of Rafael and hurt his hip from the short, yet heavy fall.
  
  - Rafael has lost grip of his knife, causing the blade to scamper off along the tiles and Rafael has also endured a heavy landing to his upper back.
  
  

NEXT POST, MR WOLFRAM!
~Danny[/color]

[∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram]

“ER IST VERRÜCKT!” The Hauptsturmführer thought to himself, as he suddenly found his body being pushed against the small window ledge against his lower back, everything had moved so fast, he barely remembered having the Allied Grunt nailed against the wall, before bam! He’s feeling the strain rear-up down the back of his spine, the Allied brute leaning into him, leveraging his knife off towards the side, the crushing upon his pressure points numbing the whole sensation throughout his hand - the Hauptsturmführer could barely feel the grip of the blade within his palm anymore, he wasn’t even sure if he were still holding it!

Then, the Allied Brute leaned into him, asking if he liked to fly!? Rafael’s eyes widened and his free hand clutched at the Brute’s throat again, trying to push him away by the rigid feel of his neck. “NEIN! NEIN!” Rafael shouted out, trying his hardest to stop his body moving backwards out of the window, before suddenly, he felt his booted heels give way and his feet slip. Dropping his hand from the Brute’s throat, he grabbed at his uniform, fumbling a grip against his shirt as he gasped loudly, feeling the inevitable feeling of his body losing the sense of gravity. The type of dream where you wake yourself up, by surprisingly jumping from a fall or slip-up you dreamt -- only problem was, this was no dream and Rafael grappled as best he could into the Grunt’s clothing, knowing if he were to hit the hard concrete below, he scum of a soldier was coming with him!

As his body fell backwards out of the window, it hardly took mid-flight before his back hit the hard slanted surface of what seemed to be a tiled roof, his back shattering against the weak structure of the tiles beneath him, sending the Hauptsturmführer into a cry of pain as he felt his body continue to fall, dragging along with the remains of debris that cascaded onto another hard surface. His body rolled to a halt and the shattered tiles sprinkled over him a little, as he laid there, moaning beneath his breath in an effort to try and subsidise the pain… Slowly closing his fingers, he began to realise the knife was gone and further more, where had the Allied soldier gone!?

Raising his blooded face from the cut on his eyebrow, Rafael looked around himself and realised the situation quickly! They were on a lower roof of the building, the one they’d hit seemed to be a slanted piece of roofing going around the upper part of the building, perhaps to help the flow of rain come off the building? Like it ever rained in Africa though… Slowly, his eyes caught wind of the Grunt near him, not even an arm’s length away. Growling angrily to himself, he lifted his body up just enough to get a handful of shattered and clobbered tiles into his palm, wincing as he felt how sharp they were, before swing his hand off towards the Grunt, tossing the sharp prickly and jagged tile pieces at him. “Sie fickend Idioten!” he angrily spat out, before carefully gaining a leverage upon his feet, groaning as he felt his back strain from the pain of lifting himself up, before stepping over towards the grunt and grabbing at his uniform again with his left hand, yanking his torso up to throw a hard punch down towards his blooded face, snarling in sheer aggression as he lifted his hand back for another one…


Translations:[/b]

ER IST VERRÜCKT!
~ HE’S CRAZY!

NEIN! NEIN!
~ NO! NO!

Sie fickend Idioten!
~ You fucking imbecile!