Post by T/5. Joseph Shelton on Dec 4, 2013 2:18:00 GMT
Name: Donald Clarke
Nationality: American
Rank: Lieutenant (O-2)
History:
Donald Clarke, Jr was born on July 29, 1920 in Providence, Rhode Island. His parents were both second generation Irish. Donald's father, Donald Clarke, Sr, was a state politician in the Rhode Island Senate. A moderate conservative, the senior Clarke was often heard over talking politics, current affairs, and other matters pertaining to his job. Donald's mother was a homemaker and home schooled Donald and his two younger siblings. Growing up in New England, Donald was raised in a very affluent life style, where he was often paraded around by his parents as an intellectual prodigy. Donald acknowledged his keen brain, but often had much distaste for being exploited because of it. He would have much rather gone outside and played baseball with his friends when he was thirteen instead of sitting indoors reading 17th-century literature. None the less, he kept his head up and did what his parents had expected of him.
When he turned 16, Donald was accepted into the Horace Mann preparatory school to prepare him for his eventual fate of an Ivy League school. He made several close friends while in prep school, but for the most part stuck to his studies instead of participating in off campus activities, most of which found his friends in trouble and other regrets. It was during this time that Donald had found an interest in the military. Reading about the Roman Legions and American Revolution inspired Donald to start his own path into the history books.
Donald graduated from Horace Mann in 1938. Against his father's wishes, he opted for the United States Military Academy at West Point, rather than attend Harvard as his father and his father's father had done in the past. The dispute was not a clean and swift one, and ended with Donald cutting connections with his father, leaving the only line of communication through Donald's mother.
During his stay at West Point, Donald accelerated in both his studies and practical skills training. He was an exceptional student, and an exceptional leader as noted by his instructors. He was always willing to volunteer for activities, duties, and other tasks. When his class mates struggled, he was there to assist them and make sure they made it through.
Unfortunately, not all of his time at West Point was fun and exciting. It was during Winter Break of his senior year, when Donald returned home that he learned his father had passed just two weeks prior. His father, who by then had grown feeble and weak, fell to a bad case of pneumonia. It was very unexpected even for his condition, and the family grieved extremely hard. Donald more than others, who never had the chance to mend the relationship, and would never forgive himself for this.
Donald returned to West Point at the start of the new year, the last half of his senior class was underway. He would be graduating soon, and was instructed to begin considering other technical courses and qualifications before he was commissioned
and given a billet. Looking through the open duties, Donald came across information on the parachute infantry, and how it was a new all-experimental style of combat being conducted at Fort Benning, Georgia. Despite his lavish upbringing, Donald had never actually flown on an airplane, or even be within a hundred feet of one. He felt this was the perfect opportunity to be introduced to the sky.
Graduation came and went, and now that the war had been officially on for the United States, no man could be spared for the fighting forces. Donald, now a newly commissioned second lieutenant, jumped at the opportunity for the paratroopers, and volunteered immediately. He was accepted and sent to Fort Benning, Georgia. Here he was assigned to the 502nd Parachute Infantry Regiment (formerly the experimental 502nd Parachute Battalion). He was billeted as a platoon leader of 2nd Platoon, Baker Company, 1st Battalion. His company commanding officer was a gentle and fair first lieutenant from the swamps of Louisiana.
Jump school was uneventful. Donald learned the basics of vertical envelopment, air assault, manipulating the risers, and how not to land on his ass. When it came time for jump week however, he was no less nervous than any other man in his jump stick. When the green light lit, his mind froze and his body raced. He didn't recall much after exiting the door. His next memories came only after he hit the ground. He became hooked on jumping from that point forward. His next four jumps were better than the next, and he grew a hunger for air assault and dropping into combat.
Due to his continuance in leadership and outstanding work ethic, Donald was promoted to lieutenant at graduation of paratrooper school. He earned both his jump wings and silver bar at the same time. It was here that his newly minted unit received their first set of orders for deployment, Fortress Europe...
Writing Sample:
"Oh Christ! They shot the Captain!" A frantic private shrieked as the company commander went down under a river of his own blood. Gulping for blood soaked air, the orders in his head failed to exit his mouth any further. Donald, nearest the captain, ran to his CO's foxhole. Medic! Medic!" Donald yelled with all of his might as he watched the mortally wounded captain gasp for oxygen and looked Donald blankly into his eyes. The Germans had sprung a surprise counter-attack on their position. Coming out from the distant woods and hills, German infantry and armor began to push towards the lines.
Donald watched as the enemy approached, men around him screaming, shouting commands and returning fire. He then looked back down at his captain to see that he had ceased. No movement, no sounds of a choking man. Silence. The medic arrived and simply shook his head. Within a fraction of a second later, Donald was already continuing on for his beloved captain. "Davidson, get over hear with the radio!" The radio operator came to Donald's side. Grabbing the receiver firmly, he pressed it up against his head and held it tight. "Linebacker 6 this is Linebacker 2, enemy in the open advancing on our line! I'm pulling the OP in, 2 out!"
Sending his radioman for cover, Donald collected the attention of the men immediately arround him. "Concentrate machinegun and mortar fire on the center and rear! Force them to split and have our flanks hit the stragglers!" His men went into immediate action. There was no time to be in fear, no time to even mourn a loss. Any time spent wasted would only cost more lives. Donald continued to command his troops as they held an aggressive stance against the encroaching German Army. From a hedgerow to Donald's left about one hundred yards out, a Panzer IV rolled onto the field. He knew that in no time a tank like that could force the entire company to retreat, action had to be taken.
Moving behind the line, Donald found his mortar teams. "I want HE sustained fire twenty-five yards behind that tank! You got me?" The mortarmen nodded in confusion to the order, but prepared to disburse rounds as instructed. Returning to the line, Donald found two of his machine gunners. "Concentrate fire on either flank of that Panzer, provide maximum suppressing fire!" The machine gunners switched their fire as told. Donald looked down to find a young private releoading his M1, he grabbed him by the shoulder collar and pulled him out of his hole. It was Private Allen Thomas, a company favorite and practical joker. "Thomas, on my ass, we're knocking out that tank!" Thomas nodded. "Oh right, Lieutenant, I forgot I'm the company fodder!"
The two troopers set out under cover of machine gun and mortar fire. But the snaps of passing German rounds didn't cease, or even reduce. The Panzer driver must not have seen the two approaching paratroopers, as the tank continued to trek towards the line, and no sign of the gunner turning towards the advancing Americans. At about 50 yards from the tank, Donald was about to deploy a smake grenade when the Panzer suddenly burst into flames. The precussion knocked both men down and the helmet off Donald's head. His ears began to ring as he sat up and put his helmet back on to the sight of a Panzer IV engulfed in flames. Turning his head, Donald saw the cause. A column of Sherman tanks had arrived and began opening up on the attacking Germans, who were know retreating all around Donald and Private Thomas.
Relieved that the line was held and the Germans falling back, Donald sat himself up on the back of one of the Shermans. He pulled a small flask from out of his jacket. Taking a pause to survey the battlefield, he uncapped his flask and took a quick swig. Nothing finer than the taste of bourbon after a hard days fight. At least that's how Donald saw it.
Nationality: American
Rank: Lieutenant (O-2)
History:
Donald Clarke, Jr was born on July 29, 1920 in Providence, Rhode Island. His parents were both second generation Irish. Donald's father, Donald Clarke, Sr, was a state politician in the Rhode Island Senate. A moderate conservative, the senior Clarke was often heard over talking politics, current affairs, and other matters pertaining to his job. Donald's mother was a homemaker and home schooled Donald and his two younger siblings. Growing up in New England, Donald was raised in a very affluent life style, where he was often paraded around by his parents as an intellectual prodigy. Donald acknowledged his keen brain, but often had much distaste for being exploited because of it. He would have much rather gone outside and played baseball with his friends when he was thirteen instead of sitting indoors reading 17th-century literature. None the less, he kept his head up and did what his parents had expected of him.
When he turned 16, Donald was accepted into the Horace Mann preparatory school to prepare him for his eventual fate of an Ivy League school. He made several close friends while in prep school, but for the most part stuck to his studies instead of participating in off campus activities, most of which found his friends in trouble and other regrets. It was during this time that Donald had found an interest in the military. Reading about the Roman Legions and American Revolution inspired Donald to start his own path into the history books.
Donald graduated from Horace Mann in 1938. Against his father's wishes, he opted for the United States Military Academy at West Point, rather than attend Harvard as his father and his father's father had done in the past. The dispute was not a clean and swift one, and ended with Donald cutting connections with his father, leaving the only line of communication through Donald's mother.
During his stay at West Point, Donald accelerated in both his studies and practical skills training. He was an exceptional student, and an exceptional leader as noted by his instructors. He was always willing to volunteer for activities, duties, and other tasks. When his class mates struggled, he was there to assist them and make sure they made it through.
Unfortunately, not all of his time at West Point was fun and exciting. It was during Winter Break of his senior year, when Donald returned home that he learned his father had passed just two weeks prior. His father, who by then had grown feeble and weak, fell to a bad case of pneumonia. It was very unexpected even for his condition, and the family grieved extremely hard. Donald more than others, who never had the chance to mend the relationship, and would never forgive himself for this.
Donald returned to West Point at the start of the new year, the last half of his senior class was underway. He would be graduating soon, and was instructed to begin considering other technical courses and qualifications before he was commissioned
and given a billet. Looking through the open duties, Donald came across information on the parachute infantry, and how it was a new all-experimental style of combat being conducted at Fort Benning, Georgia. Despite his lavish upbringing, Donald had never actually flown on an airplane, or even be within a hundred feet of one. He felt this was the perfect opportunity to be introduced to the sky.
Graduation came and went, and now that the war had been officially on for the United States, no man could be spared for the fighting forces. Donald, now a newly commissioned second lieutenant, jumped at the opportunity for the paratroopers, and volunteered immediately. He was accepted and sent to Fort Benning, Georgia. Here he was assigned to the 502nd Parachute Infantry Regiment (formerly the experimental 502nd Parachute Battalion). He was billeted as a platoon leader of 2nd Platoon, Baker Company, 1st Battalion. His company commanding officer was a gentle and fair first lieutenant from the swamps of Louisiana.
Jump school was uneventful. Donald learned the basics of vertical envelopment, air assault, manipulating the risers, and how not to land on his ass. When it came time for jump week however, he was no less nervous than any other man in his jump stick. When the green light lit, his mind froze and his body raced. He didn't recall much after exiting the door. His next memories came only after he hit the ground. He became hooked on jumping from that point forward. His next four jumps were better than the next, and he grew a hunger for air assault and dropping into combat.
Due to his continuance in leadership and outstanding work ethic, Donald was promoted to lieutenant at graduation of paratrooper school. He earned both his jump wings and silver bar at the same time. It was here that his newly minted unit received their first set of orders for deployment, Fortress Europe...
Writing Sample:
"Oh Christ! They shot the Captain!" A frantic private shrieked as the company commander went down under a river of his own blood. Gulping for blood soaked air, the orders in his head failed to exit his mouth any further. Donald, nearest the captain, ran to his CO's foxhole. Medic! Medic!" Donald yelled with all of his might as he watched the mortally wounded captain gasp for oxygen and looked Donald blankly into his eyes. The Germans had sprung a surprise counter-attack on their position. Coming out from the distant woods and hills, German infantry and armor began to push towards the lines.
Donald watched as the enemy approached, men around him screaming, shouting commands and returning fire. He then looked back down at his captain to see that he had ceased. No movement, no sounds of a choking man. Silence. The medic arrived and simply shook his head. Within a fraction of a second later, Donald was already continuing on for his beloved captain. "Davidson, get over hear with the radio!" The radio operator came to Donald's side. Grabbing the receiver firmly, he pressed it up against his head and held it tight. "Linebacker 6 this is Linebacker 2, enemy in the open advancing on our line! I'm pulling the OP in, 2 out!"
Sending his radioman for cover, Donald collected the attention of the men immediately arround him. "Concentrate machinegun and mortar fire on the center and rear! Force them to split and have our flanks hit the stragglers!" His men went into immediate action. There was no time to be in fear, no time to even mourn a loss. Any time spent wasted would only cost more lives. Donald continued to command his troops as they held an aggressive stance against the encroaching German Army. From a hedgerow to Donald's left about one hundred yards out, a Panzer IV rolled onto the field. He knew that in no time a tank like that could force the entire company to retreat, action had to be taken.
Moving behind the line, Donald found his mortar teams. "I want HE sustained fire twenty-five yards behind that tank! You got me?" The mortarmen nodded in confusion to the order, but prepared to disburse rounds as instructed. Returning to the line, Donald found two of his machine gunners. "Concentrate fire on either flank of that Panzer, provide maximum suppressing fire!" The machine gunners switched their fire as told. Donald looked down to find a young private releoading his M1, he grabbed him by the shoulder collar and pulled him out of his hole. It was Private Allen Thomas, a company favorite and practical joker. "Thomas, on my ass, we're knocking out that tank!" Thomas nodded. "Oh right, Lieutenant, I forgot I'm the company fodder!"
The two troopers set out under cover of machine gun and mortar fire. But the snaps of passing German rounds didn't cease, or even reduce. The Panzer driver must not have seen the two approaching paratroopers, as the tank continued to trek towards the line, and no sign of the gunner turning towards the advancing Americans. At about 50 yards from the tank, Donald was about to deploy a smake grenade when the Panzer suddenly burst into flames. The precussion knocked both men down and the helmet off Donald's head. His ears began to ring as he sat up and put his helmet back on to the sight of a Panzer IV engulfed in flames. Turning his head, Donald saw the cause. A column of Sherman tanks had arrived and began opening up on the attacking Germans, who were know retreating all around Donald and Private Thomas.
Relieved that the line was held and the Germans falling back, Donald sat himself up on the back of one of the Shermans. He pulled a small flask from out of his jacket. Taking a pause to survey the battlefield, he uncapped his flask and took a quick swig. Nothing finer than the taste of bourbon after a hard days fight. At least that's how Donald saw it.
