Post by GUEST on Oct 19, 2008 4:18:14 GMT
I will give you the rank you asked for, but there is a serious problem with your writing sample. On this site we write in past tense such as 'John saw a German' and 'Robert fell over a log' rather than 'John sees a German' and 'Robert falls over a log'. Other than this, it was a good application and I hope you have a pleasant time in Issuing Orders
~Dan
Account E-Mail: Everyonelikesth@hotmail.com
Name: Mac Bargett Jr.
Nationality: American
What Army will Your Character Serve Beneath?
UK or US: United States of America
Character History:
Mac G. Bargett Jr. was born on September 25, 1924 in Gettysburg, Pa. His father, Mac M. Bargett Sr. was a Sergeant Major back during World War I in the First Infantry Division, and was named after his grandfather, James "Mac" McHassey, who also an army man, protecting his hometown in the Gettysburg's 26th Pennsylvania Emergency Militia Regiment during the Battle of Gettysburg during the Civil War.
With the army in his blood, Mac was taught the basics at a young age. By the time he entered high school he; memorized the strategy of the great battles and most of the small ones in the Civil War and World War I, used his family’s Pennsylvania Dutch roots to learn a bit of German, and was a deadeye with his .22 and shotgun and would spend weeks with his father out in the wooded mountains, hunting white tail deer and ruffed grouse, among other animals. But, unlike Father Bargett, he could never kill them, his stead fast aim on the practice range became wobbly when he watched an innocent animal through the sights. His father never found out though, Junior always had an excuse, the wind was too sharp, a tree was in the way, he was out of ammo, he just saw Bambi at the theater, and so on.
Having never spilt blood, Mac was relieved that although his father had already signed all the papers to allow his underage son to join up when war broke out, his mother urged him to finish high school and then go, when he was of age. Ironically, Mac was drafted a few months after his birthday and a few months before graduation, and his dad told him that with his upbringing he was certain for a promotion as soon as possible, and if his son got in the Big Red One, he would contact some of the generals he knew from WWI to help him along with that..
This military heritage
Military Rank: Sergeant, Perhaps? (I have this thing for thompsons)
Writing Sample:
Mac Bargett Jr. was normally home in the forest, but here in this dark and dreary one, where his line of sight cut completely off in a few yards, Mac felt less welcomed then a fox in a hen house. He could be running around circles and not even know it. Slinging his M1A1 Thompson submachine over his shoulder, he pulls a small compass and a zippo lighter out of his khaki jacket and crouches down against at large tree trying his best to cover the lighter with his body as he strikes a light to read from the compass. West.
Mac‘s head begins to fill with sad, bleak thoughts. “But I have been going west since I left my unit. Command’s west, and I should have reached it by now. Sigh. The squad’s counting on me and I blew it. Well, I guess that’s it then, I’m the worst runner there has ever been in this man‘s army. What would Pa said if he saw me now? That’s obvious, he would call me a coward. Coward.
Mac puts the compass and lighter away, and with them, the depressing thoughts. He stands up and grabs his Thompson, but before he could move again he heard a small crack of a noise coming from behind him, he wasn’t sure what it was but it reminded him of hunting back in the Appalachian Mountains. It might have been leaves or perhaps tall grass rustling, or a twig snapping , or maybe still some stones being trampled. All he knew was that it meant he was not alone, so he quickly hid behind the tree to think about what to do.
“It could be an American patrol, that could me take to the CP and I could then deliver the message. If that’s the case I should show myself, But… it could be a German,
And since Mac didn’t want to be killed, and he wasn’t sure if he could kill, he didn‘t know what to do. Then that word sprung into his mind again. Coward. Mac didn’t want to be known as a coward, and with the smooth constant rustling proving that it was certainly something on the prow, Mac did the first thing that came to his head, try and talk his way out of it.
“Wer dort ist?” Coward.
A quiet German voice replied.
“Hallo?” Coward. “Es ist H…” Coward.
Mac swings the safety lever of his Thompson to off, as he also swings his body from behind the tree and fires 10 blind automatic rounds into the bush when the voice came from. Opening his eyes, Mac runs into the mangled bush and out the outer side where a seriously wounded body lies. Checking the body, Mac feels confident until he looks into the eyes of his victim. He begins to cry as he sees that the dead man before him was his father, smiling up at him. Through his teary eyes, Mac notices the uniform his father is wearing, the gray colors of….. the Confederate Army?
“What the he…
Mac wakes up, sweating heavily. Fumbling around the pitch dark room, he finds a curtain by his bed and draws it back, letting some moonlight in. Now seeing the rifle mounted on the wall and the targets next to it, and the bookshelf full of war diaries, he knows that he is still in his room. Then he notices the small suitcase by the door and remembers that it’s the night before he is to report to the base. Hopefully he’s ready.
~Dan
Account E-Mail: Everyonelikesth@hotmail.com
Name: Mac Bargett Jr.
Nationality: American
What Army will Your Character Serve Beneath?
UK or US: United States of America
Character History:
Mac G. Bargett Jr. was born on September 25, 1924 in Gettysburg, Pa. His father, Mac M. Bargett Sr. was a Sergeant Major back during World War I in the First Infantry Division, and was named after his grandfather, James "Mac" McHassey, who also an army man, protecting his hometown in the Gettysburg's 26th Pennsylvania Emergency Militia Regiment during the Battle of Gettysburg during the Civil War.
With the army in his blood, Mac was taught the basics at a young age. By the time he entered high school he; memorized the strategy of the great battles and most of the small ones in the Civil War and World War I, used his family’s Pennsylvania Dutch roots to learn a bit of German, and was a deadeye with his .22 and shotgun and would spend weeks with his father out in the wooded mountains, hunting white tail deer and ruffed grouse, among other animals. But, unlike Father Bargett, he could never kill them, his stead fast aim on the practice range became wobbly when he watched an innocent animal through the sights. His father never found out though, Junior always had an excuse, the wind was too sharp, a tree was in the way, he was out of ammo, he just saw Bambi at the theater, and so on.
Having never spilt blood, Mac was relieved that although his father had already signed all the papers to allow his underage son to join up when war broke out, his mother urged him to finish high school and then go, when he was of age. Ironically, Mac was drafted a few months after his birthday and a few months before graduation, and his dad told him that with his upbringing he was certain for a promotion as soon as possible, and if his son got in the Big Red One, he would contact some of the generals he knew from WWI to help him along with that..
This military heritage
Military Rank: Sergeant, Perhaps? (I have this thing for thompsons)
Writing Sample:
Mac Bargett Jr. was normally home in the forest, but here in this dark and dreary one, where his line of sight cut completely off in a few yards, Mac felt less welcomed then a fox in a hen house. He could be running around circles and not even know it. Slinging his M1A1 Thompson submachine over his shoulder, he pulls a small compass and a zippo lighter out of his khaki jacket and crouches down against at large tree trying his best to cover the lighter with his body as he strikes a light to read from the compass. West.
Mac‘s head begins to fill with sad, bleak thoughts. “But I have been going west since I left my unit. Command’s west, and I should have reached it by now. Sigh. The squad’s counting on me and I blew it. Well, I guess that’s it then, I’m the worst runner there has ever been in this man‘s army. What would Pa said if he saw me now? That’s obvious, he would call me a coward. Coward.
Mac puts the compass and lighter away, and with them, the depressing thoughts. He stands up and grabs his Thompson, but before he could move again he heard a small crack of a noise coming from behind him, he wasn’t sure what it was but it reminded him of hunting back in the Appalachian Mountains. It might have been leaves or perhaps tall grass rustling, or a twig snapping , or maybe still some stones being trampled. All he knew was that it meant he was not alone, so he quickly hid behind the tree to think about what to do.
“It could be an American patrol, that could me take to the CP and I could then deliver the message. If that’s the case I should show myself, But… it could be a German,
And since Mac didn’t want to be killed, and he wasn’t sure if he could kill, he didn‘t know what to do. Then that word sprung into his mind again. Coward. Mac didn’t want to be known as a coward, and with the smooth constant rustling proving that it was certainly something on the prow, Mac did the first thing that came to his head, try and talk his way out of it.
“Wer dort ist?” Coward.
A quiet German voice replied.
“Hallo?” Coward. “Es ist H…” Coward.
Mac swings the safety lever of his Thompson to off, as he also swings his body from behind the tree and fires 10 blind automatic rounds into the bush when the voice came from. Opening his eyes, Mac runs into the mangled bush and out the outer side where a seriously wounded body lies. Checking the body, Mac feels confident until he looks into the eyes of his victim. He begins to cry as he sees that the dead man before him was his father, smiling up at him. Through his teary eyes, Mac notices the uniform his father is wearing, the gray colors of….. the Confederate Army?
“What the he…
Mac wakes up, sweating heavily. Fumbling around the pitch dark room, he finds a curtain by his bed and draws it back, letting some moonlight in. Now seeing the rifle mounted on the wall and the targets next to it, and the bookshelf full of war diaries, he knows that he is still in his room. Then he notices the small suitcase by the door and remembers that it’s the night before he is to report to the base. Hopefully he’s ready.