Case-File 001/Z: "FUBAR!" [RYAN]

[PuNk! ™]

Moderation-Post & Storyline Post:

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Squad Statistics:[/b]

• Sergeant Buckley:

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- Health: Fine/Nervous - Disapproving of the decision.
- Morale: Low

- Equipment:
Thompson SMG W/ 97% Ammunition

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[/li][li] Corporal Balboa:[/b][/color]
- Health: Fine/Nervous & Worried - Disapproving of the decision
- Morale: Low

- Equipment:
M1 Garand W/ 99% Ammunition.

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[/li][li] Corporal Samson:[/b][/color]
- Health: Fine/Nervous - Disapproving of the decision
- Morale: Low

- Equipment:
M1 Garand W/ Full ammunition.

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(MIA)[/U][/B]
[/li][li] (Heavy Gunner) Private Heffron:[/b][/color]
- Health: Fine/Terrified - Disapproving of the decision
- Morale: Low

- Equipment:
30. Cal W/ Full ammunition (200+ Rounds)

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(MIA)[/U][/B]
[/li][li] (Assistant Gunner) Private Julian:[/b][/color]
- Health: Fine/Terrified & Confused - Disapproving of the decision
- Morale: Low

- Equipment:
M1 Carbine W/ Full ammunition.

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[/li][li] (Engineer) Private Griffin:[/b][/color]
- Health: Fine/Nervous.
- Morale: Mild

- Equipment:
Flamethrower W/ Full tank of fuel.

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[/li][li] (Medic) Private Elliot:[/b][/color]
- Health: Fine/Very Nervous.
- Morale: Mild

- Equipment:
Grease-gun W/Full ammunition.
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The Mod-Mark/Story:

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Clicky![/center]

The Troop in general:
Upon hearing the orders to come inside and don’t shoot, the entire troop’s faces drained from blood and their once hardened postures, ready for combat, softened into an anxious tone, not quite wanting to follow the Sergeant Major’s orders. Un-briefed or even considered for their opinions on the matter, the majority of the troop’s morale hit rock-bottom, including Sergeant Buckley who strongly disagreed with the Sergeant Major’s ‘final opinion’ on the matter.

The men were highly hesitating on entering the manor looking building, feeling it was a trap, knowing deep down inside their morals were being tested. Everything they worked for, everything they trained for, everything fought for was now for nothing? It may have been easier for one man, opposed to the next, but the majority of the troop didn’t agree with such a truce to be concluded, let alone have their opinions heard from the Sergeant Major.

“Well I’m getting cold…”[/I] said Engineer Griffin, who didn’t seem that reluctant to go inside, but equipped with a flamethrower and stepping into a concrete building - with no fear of the roof collapsing on his head for using his barbaric piece of weaponry - he slipped his lighter out of his pocket, ready to light up the beast if need be and walked in slowly, his eyes callous and mean as they glanced to the Nazi soldiers littering the corridor.

Sergeant Buckly soon followed, dragging Corporal Samson with him in the process, but Corporal Balboa took a few seconds longer before making up his mind and slowly stepping into the building himself, but something was missing? None of the men had been watching the two machine-gunners (at the end of the queue outside) and by the time Sergeant Buckley noticed the lack of the presence, they had gone!? Stepping out of the building slowly, as to not cause alarm to the enemy soldiers staring them in the face, Sergeant Buckley looked on in awe as the two men had vanished and even taken the MG with them…

“Shit… Shit… Shit…” Mumbled Sergeant Buckley, stepping back into the building, quickly pushing his way past everyone to grab Sergeant Major Ryan by his arm and drag sideways away from the NCO German he was about to speak too. “Look Sergeant Major, I don’t like what you’re doing here and neither do the men, but now we’ve got two runaways on our hands. Private Heffron and Julian have gone done a runner”[/I] he reported in a very insubordinate and firm tone, his voice quiet however, not wanting anyone else to hear what he had to say to Sergeant Major Ryan.

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Meanwhile, the SS-Scharführer grinned at the announcement of a truce and waited patiently as the superior ranked American was dragged aside by one of his subordinates. Taking the moment to fulfil a couple of orders of his own, whilst he waited, the SS-Scharführer turned to look down the corridor to his soldiers aiming their rifles and waved his hand downwards for them to lower their rifles. Obediently the men done as they were told, but still reframed at a slight distance, not really wanting to approach the heated situation they were observing from afar.

“Sagen Sie Ihrem grösseren Sergeanten, dass ich diese Türen sofort, ihn schließen muss entweder innen oder bleibe, kann ich nicht die Leben meiner Männer über die Unfähigkeit von Problemen riskieren, die aufgelöst werden können, sobald wir sicher sind!” the SS-Scharführer said to the combat medic, a slight irritation in his voice, eagerly wanting to close the doors they’d fought so hard to keep closed for the past few days. It was noise that primarily attracted the undead things he’d witnessed and they were making far too much of it with the doors wide open, he didn’t want to risk another thirty odd wave of them surrounding the building. It took hours for them to disband and leave. With cutting edge nerves from the men on staying quiet and holding their posture in silence… The Americans had no idea what they were up against… They were like bulls in a china shop!


Translations:[/b]

Sagen Sie Ihrem grösseren Sergeanten, dass ich diese Türen sofort, ihn schließen muss entweder innen oder bleibe, kann ich nicht die Leben meiner Männer über die Unfähigkeit von Problemen riskieren, die aufgelöst werden können, sobald wir sicher sind!
~ Tell your sergeant major that I must close these doors immediately, he either remains inside or out, I can not risk the lives of my men over incompetence of issues that may be resolved once we are secure!

[Andrew J. Ryan]

Possible Movement
Possible Clean Map

Snapping his fist back as something tugged on his sleeve, he controlled himself when he recognized the face of Buckley midswing. The Sergeant really shouldn't have been sneaking up on men in such conditions. The man pulled him aside urgently, urgent enough that he wished for none of the other men to overhear the conversation. "Look Sergeant Major, I don’t like what you’re doing here and neither do the men, but now we’ve got two runaways on our hands. Private Heffron and Julian have gone done a runner." If a flame could ignite within an eye, Ryan's eyes would be enveloped in flames as he checked over the men. There were indeed only five when there should be seven. Gritting his teeth, he nodded to Buckley to signal he would do something about it. What specifically or even if anything could be done, he did not state. Instead, he found himself being dragged away once more by his combat medic, Elliot.

"Uh, he, wants to close the doors immediately. Either we are in or we are out sir." Elliot informed his superior, emphasizing on "he" as he found his finger hovering over to the German NCO who seemed irritated with the mess of American soldiers standing halfway in yet halfway out. Surveying over the crowd, he at least realized that closing themselves in would mean no one running away. Incompetent bastards, pissing themselves and running away into the trees. Logic would foretell the fate of the two cowardly men. Grim remains scattered in the woods, devoured by the very creatures they feared. In the end it was a matter of opinion. Which did you fear more? The zombies or the Germans? At least, the Germans would attempt to form a truce... the ungodly creatures out in the woodlands would only follow one impulse. Hunger.

"Have the doors closed then, Q." The Sergeant Major simply stated. There was no way to resist the order. The man's words were simply and straightforward. They would spend the night with the Germans. Away from the demonic beasts. There was doubt amongst the men, that they had misplaced their trust in their leader. That he had doomed them all to death. He would address it. And he would crush it. Standing before the gathered solders, he turned his back on the Krauts and coldly stared at the five men who still followed him. "I'd like to have your attention men, because some concerning issues have come up. In case you haven't noticed, Julian and Heffron have gone missing." He paused, looking about the room for reactions of each individual. "I know you are all afraid. I know you may not agree with my decisions. But what would you rather do? Run away? Abandon a call for help? Deny an offer of aid?"

Was there inspiration within his words? That was a personal opinion for each soldier. Would it motivate? One could only hope. He paced across the room, his hands clasped behind his back as he shifted his gaze from man to man. "The dead raised from the grave tonight, lads. It sounds like a god damn page out of a comic book, but you tell me what those demons back there were? Wounded soldiers? No. We have walked into a death trap, I will not lie to you. Stuck between a rock and a hard place. Germans and their creations. Would you rather see how far of a distance we could cover, before we were killed? Go back home without our objective and tell every man and his dog we were chased by the undead? Damn no you don't. Why? Because it's your job. It's your job to fight. And so we will fight." He stopped and swiveled on his boots, eying up a casual Balboa who was resting his Garand on his soldier and watching the Sergeant Major. "I did not make my decision to declare a truce tonight out of fear or love. I made it for one reason. So every man who walked into this room will walk out. And they will go home. To their families. Their friends. And so we can live to say we stood and not be ashamed it was beside Germans. For when we say we fought the undead back into hell, no one will give a damn when he mention we did it alongside Germans. So we will fight. And in the morning we will leave. So will the Germans. Live up to that, boys. Do not let me down. "

All he could do was hope his men would agree with him and no one else would try to leg it like the gunners. The doors started to close behind them now, the last opportunity to leave silently fading away. Elliot looked to be discussing something with the German NCO when Ryan approached the scene. He glanced at Elliot, before looking at the other man to signal a translation. "I suppose we should spread out into defensive positions, to hold out for the night. There are nine of us, unless you are hiding others within the building. You and one of your men should guard the doorway, the other two in the north-easternmost room. I can spread my men out in the other three rooms accordingly. Of course, if that is okay with you. I would rather not have all nine of us crowd into the same hall." He spoke with authority, but negotiating tone as well. He held the higher rank, but this man knew more and his word should be trusted.