Post by Kolya on Jun 10, 2009 17:19:19 GMT
Accepted, but as Praporshchik; one rank less than what you asked for.
Account E-Mail: Seseme_Chicken_Guy@yahoo.com
Name: Nikolai Alexandrovich Vlasov [Nickname: Kolya]
Nationality: Soviet Russian
What Army will Your Character Serve Beneath?
Soviet
Character History:
Nikolai was born in 1914, in the glorious city of Piter, later Leningrad to Lev and Jaketerina Vlasov. The Vlasovs where an aristocratic family, who where very fond of literature and politics and always the Prospekt’s gossip center. Lev was a tall, skinny man, with oily blonde hair and eyes the color of a dirty tide pool. Jaketerina was a shapely woman, with wide hips, big breasts, and luscious lips that where always coated in bright red lipstick. The two where neutral about politics, but when the Czar called up arms against the Axis powers rising to the west and the east, Lev was called up and thrown into the service. This couldn’t have come at a worse time, for Jaketeriva was pregnant for her first time and depended on her husband for all of their income. Lev assured her that he would be back as he walked out the door, about to board a cattle train that would bring him against the swelling ranks of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
In September of 1914, when Lev was stuck in the festering trenches, Jaketrina went into labor. A doctor and three midwives came to help deliver the child, but ran into a nasty surprise: triplets. It was a hard birth, two baby boys, and one girl. One of baby boys, later named Boris, unknowingly suffered a broken collar bone and some internal bleeding. The three children where Boris, Nikolai, and Vera Vlasov. Jaketerina loved the three babies immensely, and when Boris passed away three days after birth, she wept for days, wrote to her husband constantly, but never ignored the two other healthy babies. Vera and Nikolai were total opposites. The boy had a full head of blond hair and baby blue eyes, and the girl had dark hair with dark blue eyes and her face was scribbled with freckles. Lev was sent pictures of them, and he stared at them all the time when on guard duty, even though he was supposed to be watching no-man’s land.
As the war raged on, Lev was wounded several times, but nothing really serious. Nikolai and Vera grew stronger everyday, and began to teeter and totter as they advanced into their toddler years. Vera was a tiny, skinny child, and it was obvious that Nikolai would become a human tank in his older years. Nikolai was extremely bright and curious, while Vera would lurk in the shadows and sleep for most of the day. As the war came to a close Lev came home and greeted his children for the first time, and Nikolai instantly loved him. Vera, however, became withdrawn, not only from her family, but also from life. Lev’s time home was short though, for the Russian revolution began just months later. Lev joined the fight for Communism, destroying the Tsar’s rule with the rest of the Russian working class.
The Soviet Union was born.
Lev came home for good, his body beaten by years of war. At this time, Nikolai and Vera where just about starting school and where just beginning to develop their young minds. Nikolai and Vera where in the same class, Mr. Tokya was there teacher. Nikolai was immediately a hit with his peers, but Vera didn’t say a word all day. Except for the walk home. A few boys started to make fun of Vera on the street leading to their house, and the Russian girl attacked one of the boys. She leapt on top of him, clawing his face to ribbons with her long fingernails. When finally restrained, she was deemed a mental case and sent to Leningrad mental institution where she remains to this day.
Nikolai, called Kolya by his peers, shot through school, a brilliant student and a social butterfly. Both his teachers and his friends loved him, making him one of the most popular kids in all of Leningrad. His parents focused greatly on academics, making him stay in school constantly, and making it all the way till his ninth year of school to take off for being sick. He joined several Communist youth groups, serving with pride in white shirts and red ties. After mandatory school, he went to Leningrad State College and majored in Literature. During college, he became quite a womanizer, never staying with one lady too long. He was unable to find a job, and flew into financial downfall.
So he joined the Red Army.
Kolya was assigned to a special district of the Red Star, the army’s newspaper. He loved his new job, reporting and editing articles on Communist titles and classic Russian literature. His most noteworthy work was an article on the Soviet pact with Nazi Germany, and the invasion of Finland. When Germany blindsided Russia and invaded in 1941, Kolya was assigned to active duty with the 28th Motor Rifle Regiment.
Military Rank: Starshii Praporschik or up.
Writing Sample:
Hiding. It seemed as much as part of a Soviet soldier’s life as Mother Russia herself. Hiding like rats. Stinking vermin, running throughout cities sacked by ravenous barbarians that hunted them day and night, killing them mercilessly and without remorse. But the rats bit back.
Kolya sat in the dampness of the alleyway, cold piercing every layer of his clothing and biting at his extremities. His body was cramped between two tin trash cans, shielding him from the view of the German sentries that routinely patrolled burned out Stalingrad. Not to mention the Panzers. Just the very tip of his dull leather boots and the barrel of his Mosin Nagant were viewable from the street, and it was not uncommon to see a discarded pair of boots or a broken Russian rifle laying in the rubble. The stink of the tin rubbish cans concealing Kolya was almost unbearable though, making him wrinkle his nose every few seconds at the repulsive odor. A small cloud of mist gathered in the air every time the Russian exhaled, and he made an effort to get some circulation going by smacking his leather-gloved hands together silently. Kolya’s fingers were nearly frozen solid, and he could hardly feel his nose or his toes, which he wriggled in the toes of his boots in an effort to warm them even the tiniest bit. His face and neck were kept relatively warm by a threadbare scarf and a weeks worth of a blond beard, which graced his angular chin rather heroically. Kolya’s scalp and mass of golden hair was protected by both a fur hat sporting a communist emblem and his helmet, the flaps of his hat hanging down to protect his bright red ears.
As Nikolai shifted his weight as slightly as he could, the echo of hobnails on pavement alerted him of the presence of someone, either Russian or German. Kolya was betting on the latter. The Russian made sure the bolt of his Nagant was closed tight and held it close to his chest, cradling it as if it where a small child clinging to his filthy greatcoat. As the footsteps grew nearer, Kolya’s breath grew more rapid and he struggled to keep it silent. Finally, from the corner of his blue eye, he saw the lazy figure of a fascist trotting along, a real tobacco cigarette stuck between his lips. Damn Germans, get the good stuff. Not just leaves rolled up in spare scraps of paper and light. Kolya thought as the German passed by, obviously oblivious of the Russian lurking in the shadows. As soon as the Nazi’s back was turned Kolya rose to his feet, cringing as the rubbish bins made a rather loud metallic sound as he stood up. But the German still had no idea, probably because all of the damned scarves he had wrapped around his ears under the off-white helmet.
It was an easy shot. More like an execution than an actual skirmish firing. Kolya raised his rifle to his eye, staring down the barrel and centering in on the German’s spinal column. He jerked the trigger rather quickly and awkwardly, sending a bullet into the fascist bastard’s body. He didn’t even have time to scream the shot was so spot on, ripping through the base of his neck and destroying both his nervous system and windpipe. The Nazi fell to the ground, twitching gruesomely as his lungs filled with his own blood. Kolya wasted no time, and quickly darted down the alleyway, for surly the fascist’s comrades had heard the gunshot. His boots snagged on a burst pipe, making him stumble and regain his balance on the banister of a small staircase. A staircase! He trotted up the creaky steps, and a small back door was slightly adjacent due to its hinges being knocked loose during the Luftwaffe’s bombing of Stalingrad. Kolya threw it open, then quietly shut it behind him to make him harder to trace by the Nazi pigs.
What he saw before him was eerily silent. The war-torn room looked as if it had been owned by a wealthy family during peacetime. The walls had been painted baby blue, but the coat was peeling badly and the oak rafters were showing. Broken furniture and battered windows where pasted around the one room, for all the walls had been blasted away. There was no roof whatsoever, all the shingles had been blasted away by German artillery and bomber planes. Dust and scraps of wood littered the floor, tossed around by the breeze blowing through the blasted out windows. A tiny layer of clean, white snow blanketed the flooring, crunching slightly under Kolya’s boots. The Russian still had his rifle raised to his eye, but he had not worked the bolt yet, and it was there more for comfort than protection.
Suddenly, Kolya stopped dead in his tracks. He stood as still as a statue, the pupils in the center of his blue iris dilating fearfully. The faint rasp of tank treads on pavement filled the Russian’s ears, growing every passing second until he could tell it was coming fast. Kolya franticly looked around to take cover, and saw a small portion of the outer wall blown away and piled up with sandbags, and it was obviously used for a machinegun position a while ago. But the defenders where long gone, and only the mount of the machinegun remained, standing like ruins of the Acropolis. Kolya hopped into the old defensive point, well disguised and protected by the sandbags. He lowered his Mosin Nagant down first, and then swung his legs and upper body down. His helmet caught on a jagged piece of wood, and he was about to peep out and get it when he saw something adorning the building opposite him. It was a small group of sandbags in one of the windows, the flag on Nazi Germany draped on it. Kolya could see the tip of the MG42 peeping out between the bags, and the gleam of the Machine gunner’s helmet. The Russian soldier froze with fear, not a muscle moving in his broad body. But he let a relieved sigh as he realized the Nazi idiot had not seen him clumsily move into his hiding spot.
But Kolya’s relief was short lived, for the three tanks rolled up just seconds later. They stopped at the corner of the street, the massive, ominous roar of their engines ceasing. He could see that the German tanks felt rather safe parked at the corner, almost making a barricade. The MG swept the street constantly for any sign of movement, but the idiot had ignored Kolya’s clumsy entrance to the old sandbag fortification. The Russian soldier crouched, holding his Mosin Nagant ready, incase he had to pull it on the Machine gunner. Two of the three tanks where classic Panzers, their ugly white camouflage paint dully reflecting the evening light. But the third was a “Germanized” T-34 tank, Nazi insignia slapped on haphazardly over the paint that disguised its Russian origin. Such bastards, taking their enemies tanks because theirs are so bad, even though they insist they are the master race. Fools.
Kolya shifted his vision as his eyes perceived something, a faint sound. An animal sound? But the zoo had been bombed completely a month ago! But he realized grimly that the sound was the bark of dogs, and the clack of paws on pavement grew steadily until he saw about twenty dogs start to dart at the tanks parked in the street. The Panzer crews, who had began to pour out of the hatches and converse or get in a smoke, burst into panic and tried to scurry back into their precious tanks. Each of the dogs had a small pack of explosives on their back, a long pole sticking out that served as a detonator. The dogs where taught to find food under the Panzers, and when they ran under their massive steel bellies, the pole flicked and detonated the explosives, killing the dog and knocking out the tank. The tank crews knew this, and apparently so did the Machine Gunner. As the dogs joyfully leaped to get their imaginary food under the tanks, the Nazi opened up fire, and the street was transformed into a slaughter house. Dog guts and blood splattered everywhere, and limp carcasses flailed under the bullets of a ruthless German. But quite a few dogs were still on there way, almost under the panzers. “ Ïîéäèòå, íåáîëüøîé ðåçåðâóàð ãðåáàíûå ñóêè, ïîéäèòå!” Kolya whispered under his breath, as four sheepdogs ran for it. He decided he would give them a bit of help, and raised his Mosin Nagant to his eye, aiming for the head of the German machine gunner. He held his breath and fired, the round hitting the German in the chest, and he could see it had obviously splintered a few of his ribs. One of the dogs darted under the German T-34, blowing it into a worthless metal husk and obliterating the dog. The three others also soon found there targets, and suddenly the street was eerily silent.
Kolya hoisted himself from the sandbag fortification and walked out the way he had come in, making sure no more Nazis where strolling down the streets. He rounded a corner and knew he had hit the slaughter street, for the sole of his boot landed in the mushy remains of a dog’s spleen and intestine. He almost vomited seeing all the dog bodies all together, right in front of him, but choked it down, held his nose, and trotted down to the shells of three once great tanks. Only one of the German crew member’s bodies where intact, and Kolya ran over to the carcass and knelt down. Pink froth oozed from his lips, and Kolya grabbed the dead man’s hand and tried to pull a golden wedding band from it. When it would not come off the swollen flesh, the Russian popped the finger in his mouth and sucked. When he removed it and tugged the ring again, it slid right off and Kolya flipped it up in the air as if he would a coin, and then caught it in the palm of his hand. He rummaged through his greatcoat’s inner pocket, producing a small wooden box, covered in fine stretched leather. He flicked open the latch and opened the lid, showing the sparkling interior. The box was packed full with rings, bracelets, earrings, golden dental fillings, cigarette cases, small silver spoons, and hunks of gold and silver from when the jewelry shop was hit by an incendiary bomb. What all this would be worth when he got out of the god damned war. Or would he keep them, a memento of fighting for Stalin? He pondered it as his stuffed the box back into his pocket, another treasure earned.
Account E-Mail: Seseme_Chicken_Guy@yahoo.com
Name: Nikolai Alexandrovich Vlasov [Nickname: Kolya]
Nationality: Soviet Russian
What Army will Your Character Serve Beneath?
Soviet
Character History:
Nikolai was born in 1914, in the glorious city of Piter, later Leningrad to Lev and Jaketerina Vlasov. The Vlasovs where an aristocratic family, who where very fond of literature and politics and always the Prospekt’s gossip center. Lev was a tall, skinny man, with oily blonde hair and eyes the color of a dirty tide pool. Jaketerina was a shapely woman, with wide hips, big breasts, and luscious lips that where always coated in bright red lipstick. The two where neutral about politics, but when the Czar called up arms against the Axis powers rising to the west and the east, Lev was called up and thrown into the service. This couldn’t have come at a worse time, for Jaketeriva was pregnant for her first time and depended on her husband for all of their income. Lev assured her that he would be back as he walked out the door, about to board a cattle train that would bring him against the swelling ranks of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
In September of 1914, when Lev was stuck in the festering trenches, Jaketrina went into labor. A doctor and three midwives came to help deliver the child, but ran into a nasty surprise: triplets. It was a hard birth, two baby boys, and one girl. One of baby boys, later named Boris, unknowingly suffered a broken collar bone and some internal bleeding. The three children where Boris, Nikolai, and Vera Vlasov. Jaketerina loved the three babies immensely, and when Boris passed away three days after birth, she wept for days, wrote to her husband constantly, but never ignored the two other healthy babies. Vera and Nikolai were total opposites. The boy had a full head of blond hair and baby blue eyes, and the girl had dark hair with dark blue eyes and her face was scribbled with freckles. Lev was sent pictures of them, and he stared at them all the time when on guard duty, even though he was supposed to be watching no-man’s land.
As the war raged on, Lev was wounded several times, but nothing really serious. Nikolai and Vera grew stronger everyday, and began to teeter and totter as they advanced into their toddler years. Vera was a tiny, skinny child, and it was obvious that Nikolai would become a human tank in his older years. Nikolai was extremely bright and curious, while Vera would lurk in the shadows and sleep for most of the day. As the war came to a close Lev came home and greeted his children for the first time, and Nikolai instantly loved him. Vera, however, became withdrawn, not only from her family, but also from life. Lev’s time home was short though, for the Russian revolution began just months later. Lev joined the fight for Communism, destroying the Tsar’s rule with the rest of the Russian working class.
The Soviet Union was born.
Lev came home for good, his body beaten by years of war. At this time, Nikolai and Vera where just about starting school and where just beginning to develop their young minds. Nikolai and Vera where in the same class, Mr. Tokya was there teacher. Nikolai was immediately a hit with his peers, but Vera didn’t say a word all day. Except for the walk home. A few boys started to make fun of Vera on the street leading to their house, and the Russian girl attacked one of the boys. She leapt on top of him, clawing his face to ribbons with her long fingernails. When finally restrained, she was deemed a mental case and sent to Leningrad mental institution where she remains to this day.
Nikolai, called Kolya by his peers, shot through school, a brilliant student and a social butterfly. Both his teachers and his friends loved him, making him one of the most popular kids in all of Leningrad. His parents focused greatly on academics, making him stay in school constantly, and making it all the way till his ninth year of school to take off for being sick. He joined several Communist youth groups, serving with pride in white shirts and red ties. After mandatory school, he went to Leningrad State College and majored in Literature. During college, he became quite a womanizer, never staying with one lady too long. He was unable to find a job, and flew into financial downfall.
So he joined the Red Army.
Kolya was assigned to a special district of the Red Star, the army’s newspaper. He loved his new job, reporting and editing articles on Communist titles and classic Russian literature. His most noteworthy work was an article on the Soviet pact with Nazi Germany, and the invasion of Finland. When Germany blindsided Russia and invaded in 1941, Kolya was assigned to active duty with the 28th Motor Rifle Regiment.
Military Rank: Starshii Praporschik or up.
Writing Sample:
Hiding. It seemed as much as part of a Soviet soldier’s life as Mother Russia herself. Hiding like rats. Stinking vermin, running throughout cities sacked by ravenous barbarians that hunted them day and night, killing them mercilessly and without remorse. But the rats bit back.
Kolya sat in the dampness of the alleyway, cold piercing every layer of his clothing and biting at his extremities. His body was cramped between two tin trash cans, shielding him from the view of the German sentries that routinely patrolled burned out Stalingrad. Not to mention the Panzers. Just the very tip of his dull leather boots and the barrel of his Mosin Nagant were viewable from the street, and it was not uncommon to see a discarded pair of boots or a broken Russian rifle laying in the rubble. The stink of the tin rubbish cans concealing Kolya was almost unbearable though, making him wrinkle his nose every few seconds at the repulsive odor. A small cloud of mist gathered in the air every time the Russian exhaled, and he made an effort to get some circulation going by smacking his leather-gloved hands together silently. Kolya’s fingers were nearly frozen solid, and he could hardly feel his nose or his toes, which he wriggled in the toes of his boots in an effort to warm them even the tiniest bit. His face and neck were kept relatively warm by a threadbare scarf and a weeks worth of a blond beard, which graced his angular chin rather heroically. Kolya’s scalp and mass of golden hair was protected by both a fur hat sporting a communist emblem and his helmet, the flaps of his hat hanging down to protect his bright red ears.
As Nikolai shifted his weight as slightly as he could, the echo of hobnails on pavement alerted him of the presence of someone, either Russian or German. Kolya was betting on the latter. The Russian made sure the bolt of his Nagant was closed tight and held it close to his chest, cradling it as if it where a small child clinging to his filthy greatcoat. As the footsteps grew nearer, Kolya’s breath grew more rapid and he struggled to keep it silent. Finally, from the corner of his blue eye, he saw the lazy figure of a fascist trotting along, a real tobacco cigarette stuck between his lips. Damn Germans, get the good stuff. Not just leaves rolled up in spare scraps of paper and light. Kolya thought as the German passed by, obviously oblivious of the Russian lurking in the shadows. As soon as the Nazi’s back was turned Kolya rose to his feet, cringing as the rubbish bins made a rather loud metallic sound as he stood up. But the German still had no idea, probably because all of the damned scarves he had wrapped around his ears under the off-white helmet.
It was an easy shot. More like an execution than an actual skirmish firing. Kolya raised his rifle to his eye, staring down the barrel and centering in on the German’s spinal column. He jerked the trigger rather quickly and awkwardly, sending a bullet into the fascist bastard’s body. He didn’t even have time to scream the shot was so spot on, ripping through the base of his neck and destroying both his nervous system and windpipe. The Nazi fell to the ground, twitching gruesomely as his lungs filled with his own blood. Kolya wasted no time, and quickly darted down the alleyway, for surly the fascist’s comrades had heard the gunshot. His boots snagged on a burst pipe, making him stumble and regain his balance on the banister of a small staircase. A staircase! He trotted up the creaky steps, and a small back door was slightly adjacent due to its hinges being knocked loose during the Luftwaffe’s bombing of Stalingrad. Kolya threw it open, then quietly shut it behind him to make him harder to trace by the Nazi pigs.
What he saw before him was eerily silent. The war-torn room looked as if it had been owned by a wealthy family during peacetime. The walls had been painted baby blue, but the coat was peeling badly and the oak rafters were showing. Broken furniture and battered windows where pasted around the one room, for all the walls had been blasted away. There was no roof whatsoever, all the shingles had been blasted away by German artillery and bomber planes. Dust and scraps of wood littered the floor, tossed around by the breeze blowing through the blasted out windows. A tiny layer of clean, white snow blanketed the flooring, crunching slightly under Kolya’s boots. The Russian still had his rifle raised to his eye, but he had not worked the bolt yet, and it was there more for comfort than protection.
Suddenly, Kolya stopped dead in his tracks. He stood as still as a statue, the pupils in the center of his blue iris dilating fearfully. The faint rasp of tank treads on pavement filled the Russian’s ears, growing every passing second until he could tell it was coming fast. Kolya franticly looked around to take cover, and saw a small portion of the outer wall blown away and piled up with sandbags, and it was obviously used for a machinegun position a while ago. But the defenders where long gone, and only the mount of the machinegun remained, standing like ruins of the Acropolis. Kolya hopped into the old defensive point, well disguised and protected by the sandbags. He lowered his Mosin Nagant down first, and then swung his legs and upper body down. His helmet caught on a jagged piece of wood, and he was about to peep out and get it when he saw something adorning the building opposite him. It was a small group of sandbags in one of the windows, the flag on Nazi Germany draped on it. Kolya could see the tip of the MG42 peeping out between the bags, and the gleam of the Machine gunner’s helmet. The Russian soldier froze with fear, not a muscle moving in his broad body. But he let a relieved sigh as he realized the Nazi idiot had not seen him clumsily move into his hiding spot.
But Kolya’s relief was short lived, for the three tanks rolled up just seconds later. They stopped at the corner of the street, the massive, ominous roar of their engines ceasing. He could see that the German tanks felt rather safe parked at the corner, almost making a barricade. The MG swept the street constantly for any sign of movement, but the idiot had ignored Kolya’s clumsy entrance to the old sandbag fortification. The Russian soldier crouched, holding his Mosin Nagant ready, incase he had to pull it on the Machine gunner. Two of the three tanks where classic Panzers, their ugly white camouflage paint dully reflecting the evening light. But the third was a “Germanized” T-34 tank, Nazi insignia slapped on haphazardly over the paint that disguised its Russian origin. Such bastards, taking their enemies tanks because theirs are so bad, even though they insist they are the master race. Fools.
Kolya shifted his vision as his eyes perceived something, a faint sound. An animal sound? But the zoo had been bombed completely a month ago! But he realized grimly that the sound was the bark of dogs, and the clack of paws on pavement grew steadily until he saw about twenty dogs start to dart at the tanks parked in the street. The Panzer crews, who had began to pour out of the hatches and converse or get in a smoke, burst into panic and tried to scurry back into their precious tanks. Each of the dogs had a small pack of explosives on their back, a long pole sticking out that served as a detonator. The dogs where taught to find food under the Panzers, and when they ran under their massive steel bellies, the pole flicked and detonated the explosives, killing the dog and knocking out the tank. The tank crews knew this, and apparently so did the Machine Gunner. As the dogs joyfully leaped to get their imaginary food under the tanks, the Nazi opened up fire, and the street was transformed into a slaughter house. Dog guts and blood splattered everywhere, and limp carcasses flailed under the bullets of a ruthless German. But quite a few dogs were still on there way, almost under the panzers. “ Ïîéäèòå, íåáîëüøîé ðåçåðâóàð ãðåáàíûå ñóêè, ïîéäèòå!” Kolya whispered under his breath, as four sheepdogs ran for it. He decided he would give them a bit of help, and raised his Mosin Nagant to his eye, aiming for the head of the German machine gunner. He held his breath and fired, the round hitting the German in the chest, and he could see it had obviously splintered a few of his ribs. One of the dogs darted under the German T-34, blowing it into a worthless metal husk and obliterating the dog. The three others also soon found there targets, and suddenly the street was eerily silent.
Kolya hoisted himself from the sandbag fortification and walked out the way he had come in, making sure no more Nazis where strolling down the streets. He rounded a corner and knew he had hit the slaughter street, for the sole of his boot landed in the mushy remains of a dog’s spleen and intestine. He almost vomited seeing all the dog bodies all together, right in front of him, but choked it down, held his nose, and trotted down to the shells of three once great tanks. Only one of the German crew member’s bodies where intact, and Kolya ran over to the carcass and knelt down. Pink froth oozed from his lips, and Kolya grabbed the dead man’s hand and tried to pull a golden wedding band from it. When it would not come off the swollen flesh, the Russian popped the finger in his mouth and sucked. When he removed it and tugged the ring again, it slid right off and Kolya flipped it up in the air as if he would a coin, and then caught it in the palm of his hand. He rummaged through his greatcoat’s inner pocket, producing a small wooden box, covered in fine stretched leather. He flicked open the latch and opened the lid, showing the sparkling interior. The box was packed full with rings, bracelets, earrings, golden dental fillings, cigarette cases, small silver spoons, and hunks of gold and silver from when the jewelry shop was hit by an incendiary bomb. What all this would be worth when he got out of the god damned war. Or would he keep them, a memento of fighting for Stalin? He pondered it as his stuffed the box back into his pocket, another treasure earned.