Post by Erhard Sturmfelder on Jul 12, 2008 9:15:08 GMT
ACCEPTED!
Very well written, you've been granted the rank of "Combat Medical Technician Class 3"; Make sure you read the rules and ask for help when needed.
* YOU NEED TO REGISTER AN ACCOUNT!*
~Danny
Account Email: MG34@hotmail.com
Name: Erhard Sturmfelder
Nationality: Austrian
Unit: Waffen SS Medical Corps
Bio: Erhard was brought up in the small village of Hafnerbach, in northern Austria, being born in 1908. He was the last of seven, all but one boys, and was always considered immature by his other brethren. The Strumfelder family was middle class, through Julius, the father, had powerful connections all over central Europe. Erhard was tow years younger than his older sister, but seven years younger than his youngest brother.
In December 1918, Erhard was sent to Milan to be educated, it being postponed three years by the War. He was to stay with his now eldest brother, Paul, who was studying African culture. The boys who had been the eldest, second eldest, and fourth eldest had been killed during the war. Erhard’s education was being funded by a Heinrich Müller, a close friend of his father. After his boys’ death, the father insisted that Erhard become a soldier, to avenge his brother’s death.
In 1926, Erhard left Milan, and travelled to Cambridge, to study medicine. It was his ambition to be a doctor, and as much as he hated disappointing his father, he wanted to follow his dream. In 1933, Erhard left England as a Doctor, but to attend his father’s funeral. He had died unexpectedly from a heart attack. Müller, who had remained close to his father, offered Erhard a place in the Waffen SS Medical Corps.
Erhard took the offer, knowing he would still be able to practise medicine, and make his father proud. He joined not for the propaganda, or to kill, but for a high place in a fast advancing world. As he slowly aged, he was offered promotions, but rarely took them. The higher rank he was, Erhard thought, the high chance they’ll send him somewhere where he won’t return.
Rank: Combat Medical Technician Class 3
Scenario:
Erhard trudged across the forest floor, and almost every step someone along the line of six men would trip over a protruding root. There was little moonlight, and even less was able to penetrate the tall canopy of trees. Right now, Erhard was tired. Very tired. He’d been at the front for near a week, and only been able to scrounge twenty five hours sleep the whole time. At this moment, he had been awake constantly for twenty two hours straight. This was hell.
The medic was second from the rear, and the point man seemed a good fifty metres away. Erhard hated woodland and night combined. Maybe it was the fairy tales his sister used to tell him when he was small, of children getting lost, and being eaten by witches. Of course there were no witches here, but they were replaced by the fear of the enemy, who would really kill you. He was moving from one triage centre to the next. Why the high command couldn’t have moved him by truck, or in the daylight was a mystery to him, but that was the nature of high command; keep all the nice stuff for themselves, and toss anything they didn’t want further down the heap.
Erhard might have been in the armed forces for several years now, and many would say that is more than enough time to settle in, but Erhard hadn’t. The military had procedures for everything. Some were good, some not so good, and some down right stupid. If there were ten ways of doing something, the military would choose the eleventh, which would also be the slowest, most expensive, and cause the most disruptions to other fields. It was madness.
On his next step, it was Erhard’s turn to trip. His boot caught a lump of protruding rock, and he stumbled over it, but luckily he didn’t fall over. When your carrying a bag of glass bottles, you certainly don’t want to fall on it. As he straightened himself up, he looked behind for the last soldier to come out of the darkness. Talking to someone would get this pain walk over faster.
But after a good twenty seconds, nobody appeared. Erhard waited a little longer, but still nobody came. What was going on? Erhard turned to look for the man in front, but he had marched off. He was alone in a dark wood when he shouldn’t have been. He took a few steps back, and breathed in deeply. There nothing to be scared of. The last bloke probably just became lost. Nothing big.
He walked back a long the path, keeping a look out for his comrade. Where was he? Two minutes went, then three. Should he turn back? Was he going to find anything? Should he really be taking a risk like this?
Very well written, you've been granted the rank of "Combat Medical Technician Class 3"; Make sure you read the rules and ask for help when needed.
* YOU NEED TO REGISTER AN ACCOUNT!*
~Danny
Account Email: MG34@hotmail.com
Name: Erhard Sturmfelder
Nationality: Austrian
Unit: Waffen SS Medical Corps
Bio: Erhard was brought up in the small village of Hafnerbach, in northern Austria, being born in 1908. He was the last of seven, all but one boys, and was always considered immature by his other brethren. The Strumfelder family was middle class, through Julius, the father, had powerful connections all over central Europe. Erhard was tow years younger than his older sister, but seven years younger than his youngest brother.
In December 1918, Erhard was sent to Milan to be educated, it being postponed three years by the War. He was to stay with his now eldest brother, Paul, who was studying African culture. The boys who had been the eldest, second eldest, and fourth eldest had been killed during the war. Erhard’s education was being funded by a Heinrich Müller, a close friend of his father. After his boys’ death, the father insisted that Erhard become a soldier, to avenge his brother’s death.
In 1926, Erhard left Milan, and travelled to Cambridge, to study medicine. It was his ambition to be a doctor, and as much as he hated disappointing his father, he wanted to follow his dream. In 1933, Erhard left England as a Doctor, but to attend his father’s funeral. He had died unexpectedly from a heart attack. Müller, who had remained close to his father, offered Erhard a place in the Waffen SS Medical Corps.
Erhard took the offer, knowing he would still be able to practise medicine, and make his father proud. He joined not for the propaganda, or to kill, but for a high place in a fast advancing world. As he slowly aged, he was offered promotions, but rarely took them. The higher rank he was, Erhard thought, the high chance they’ll send him somewhere where he won’t return.
Rank: Combat Medical Technician Class 3
Scenario:
Erhard trudged across the forest floor, and almost every step someone along the line of six men would trip over a protruding root. There was little moonlight, and even less was able to penetrate the tall canopy of trees. Right now, Erhard was tired. Very tired. He’d been at the front for near a week, and only been able to scrounge twenty five hours sleep the whole time. At this moment, he had been awake constantly for twenty two hours straight. This was hell.
The medic was second from the rear, and the point man seemed a good fifty metres away. Erhard hated woodland and night combined. Maybe it was the fairy tales his sister used to tell him when he was small, of children getting lost, and being eaten by witches. Of course there were no witches here, but they were replaced by the fear of the enemy, who would really kill you. He was moving from one triage centre to the next. Why the high command couldn’t have moved him by truck, or in the daylight was a mystery to him, but that was the nature of high command; keep all the nice stuff for themselves, and toss anything they didn’t want further down the heap.
Erhard might have been in the armed forces for several years now, and many would say that is more than enough time to settle in, but Erhard hadn’t. The military had procedures for everything. Some were good, some not so good, and some down right stupid. If there were ten ways of doing something, the military would choose the eleventh, which would also be the slowest, most expensive, and cause the most disruptions to other fields. It was madness.
On his next step, it was Erhard’s turn to trip. His boot caught a lump of protruding rock, and he stumbled over it, but luckily he didn’t fall over. When your carrying a bag of glass bottles, you certainly don’t want to fall on it. As he straightened himself up, he looked behind for the last soldier to come out of the darkness. Talking to someone would get this pain walk over faster.
But after a good twenty seconds, nobody appeared. Erhard waited a little longer, but still nobody came. What was going on? Erhard turned to look for the man in front, but he had marched off. He was alone in a dark wood when he shouldn’t have been. He took a few steps back, and breathed in deeply. There nothing to be scared of. The last bloke probably just became lost. Nothing big.
He walked back a long the path, keeping a look out for his comrade. Where was he? Two minutes went, then three. Should he turn back? Was he going to find anything? Should he really be taking a risk like this?