Post by Robert Crawford on Jun 26, 2010 17:19:02 GMT
Overall good, but a few too many grammatical errors to make Captain (Captain app's should be more or less perfect). Accepted at 1st Lieutenant. - Nathan
Thanks Nathan. I guess I should have taken my time writing this app', but churned it out in roughly an hour or two tops. I guess it showed my brain becoming numb after the history part of the app'.
Note for JT/Dan; I enabled Nathan or Heiko to accept my application, due to the fact you were away until Monday JT and I was unsure whether Dan would be around
~Danny
((( Accidentally put ROBERT as my guest name, it's RUPERT!)))
Account E-Mail: This is Danny/PuNk!
Name: Rupert Crawford
Nationality: British
What Army will Your Character Serve Beneath? British Military
Character History:
Born during nineteen-eleven in Maidstone Kent, father Harry Crawford and mother Virginia Crawford were the blossoming parents of newly born Rupert Crawford. Their first born child and to be their only child for a few years to come. Rupert was raised lovingly with the praise and love from both of his parents and close family; to whom stemmed back with a long military history. Rupert’s grandfather, Jack Crawford fought within the first Boer war at the age of nineteen, proudly carrying an efficient rank of Lieutenant, serving the entire year of the short battled conflict with the ‘rifles’ he was assigned too. During the first Boer war, Jack Crawford left behind his newly born son, Harry Crawford (Rupert’s father) with his newly married spouse Helga Crawford. However significantly short the conflict was, a mere year, Jack Crawford parried on eighteen years later to serve within the second Anglo-Boer war at the healthy constituent rank of Major at the age of thirty-seven, with his son Harry Crawford joining the constabulary officer ranks as second-lieutenant at the age of eighteen.
Both survived the fray after a full three year term on duty in Africa, but not without their battle scars and injuries. Jack Crawford returned with a decaying mental stability, having been wounded during the battle of Spion Kop, where he was assigned to hold a hill fortification with several other companies. Poor communication and with failure ensuing quickly, thousands were wounded and hundreds killed; Jack Crawford himself being hit by a ricocheted bullet to the face, permanently losing his eyesight from his left eye and causing a lot of anxieties to set in within the later years - having received his discharge from the military with his wounds. Harry Crawford however, sustained numerous problems throughout the entire three years, having fallen victim to numerous sun strokes and even famine at one stage, Harry was immensely roughened up by the time he returned home and veiled two promotions for his active and constant service during the war, distinguishing him as a Captain at the mere age of twenty-one.
Thirteen years passed slowly, by the time Harry and Jack Crawford had returned home from the Second Anglo-Boer war and a lot had occurred. Jack Crawford died six years after returning home, at the mere age of forty-six, having had a few bad year spells of illness and post combat stress from the Boer war. He was given a state funeral in respect to his services and his worldly possessions distributed between his wife Helga and his only son, Harry. Another five years passed since his father’s death and Harry Crawford now resided within his father’s shoes, having a son of his own - Rupert Crawford. At the age of three, Rupert’s father - Harry Crawford - was requested for his majesty’s duty, as the first world war erupted and willingly, Harry Crawford was drafted back into the mix of the military once again, now aged thirty-four. Regaining his constituted healthy rank of Captain from the second-Boer-War, Harry was amongst the first companies to have dug in within France to face the German might, that also made Harry Crawford amongst the first casualties of the German might.
The first world war couldn’t have ended soon enough, as widow Virginia Crawford could now lay rest to her belated husband Harry Crawford completely and having witnessed the barbaric actions of war, vowed for her son to never get caught between the irrational conflict of war. By now, Rupert Crawford was bumbling at the age of seven by the end of the war in nineteen-eighteen and barely remembered his father, only having pictures, souvenirs from his tours of duty during the Boer-War (along with is grandfather’s commemorative belongings) and couldn’t help but feel a large sense of pride for what his father and grandfather had achieved during their conflicts, having survived a volley of battles to tell the tale, before their inevitable demises. It was heroic in Rupert’s eyes and he never stopped thinking about them, despite his little memory of his father and the fact he hadn’t even met his grandfather.
Schooling was fantastic for Rupert, as his mother made sure he got the best educational benefits she could give him; money was never a problem. From a young age, Rupert went through a few catholic schools at the younger variant ages, to more demeaning and classier public schooling and private tutoring. By the age of ten in nineteen twenty-one, Rupert was a dab-hand at playing the piano and excelled in a majority of his subjects at school; English being his most preferred and strongest backbone however. He also began to take a shine to the motion pictures frequently upcoming at showcase theatres, every once in a while, his mother Virginia would reward his excelling progress with a theatrical day out to London or a casual entertaining trip into Canterbury for the day, where she’d pack a lovely picnic for two, that felt more like the food could have fed more and enjoyed their time together. Rupert became close to his mother in these dwindling years.
A few years later, during nineteen twenty twenty-four when Rupert had just turned thirteen, his mother Virginia Crawford decided they deserved a change of scenery. Moving from Maidstone in Kent to Canterbury, Rupert said his goodbyes to the years he’d spent shaping his memories and his life for the earlier term of his growth and looked forwards to the prospering years of his becoming of adulthood. Having always been fascinated by what his father and grandfather had done for King and Country, Rupert didn’t take long after moving to Canterbury, to begin seeking a military education of sorts; of course, he was far too young at the age of thirteen, but nonetheless prepared himself and behind his mother’s back, skipping the odd private tutoring in the evenings, he threw himself into a young military cadet training course, where he began to learn the natural skills of survival, combat and intelligence over braun; however, it didn’t take too long until his mother Virginia Crawford had found out that he was missing his private tutoring lessons and life suddenly took a turn for the worse for dear ol’ Rupert, who didn’t understand his mother’s wishes for her son to not join the military or have anything prospering to say about the military.
By nineteen-twenty-seven when Rupert was fifteen, he’d obeyed his mother’s wishes for three years, continuing his constant well educated life as a young man and continued to broaden his skills with extraverted talents; playing the piano, developing his charm and charisma during banquet speaks - which was immensely surprising for a young man and in general, developing his knowledgeable pattern of talents. His heart meanwhile, differed from his current path in becoming a musician - pianist. A wish his mother burned into him, whereas he prospered to follow his father’s footsteps and his grandfather’s footsteps by having a flourishing military career. The excitement of travelling foreign turfs, battling hardened battles only the brave would dare venture and having his name written within the history books, that hundreds of years from now, young children would sing rhymes about his heroism. That was his dream and Rupert was developing a thin patience with his mother who ruled his world entirely.
Another year passed and Rupert was by now, sixteen and with that single year, Rupert had conveyed what he would tell his mother a thousand times within his mind, on how he wished to live his life and eventually, that day came. Having heard from a fellow friend who was going to join the young-cadets properly now he was sixteen, Rupert couldn’t bare the drudge of living a life that just simply wasn’t his anymore. Confronting his mother, Rupert soon beckoned for her to understand and with the love of any mother, she only wanted to see him being happy and deep down desired for him to change his mind. With little said, Rupert abandoned his musical career set for himself and any extra curricular activities he felt he didn’t need; although he did keep his lavish educated lifestyle in tact, as he attended his well paid public school daily, but spent his weekends and most evenings as a young cadet in training, picking up the learning curve of survival skills and intellectual attributes to warfare through his governing instructors within the young military cadets. Who did inevitably teach well.
Two years passed, it was now nineteen-thirty and Rupert was finally eighteen. Having studied at university for the past year, due to his marvellous and exuberant grades, Rupert now conveyed his attention between a firm stiff upper-education and the cadets, in which he loved and admired with a deep felt fascination that was instilled within himself, deep down. Although he was craving to join the military properly as a fully fledged officer in training, he knew his educational path had to be finished first and his cadet training was still exuberating lessons for the pre-officer quality cadets to continue their path forwards.
By nineteen-thirty-five, when Rupert was twenty-three and had finally finished his educational life and finalized his degrees, making his mother immensely proud in doing so, he turned his full attention to the military and finally stepped forwards for his country in joining the well constituent line of prospering young men aspiring to become officers within the British military, foreknown as one of the strongest armies in Europe. It was more than a privilege to Rupert to aspire too, but a heroic deed in which he paid tribute to his forefathers who had served their country and monarchy well, a path in which Rupert stepped forwards in a bid to do his part and hopefully make his children proud one day himself. A day in which he could tell them stories about their heroic father and their heroic grandparents.
Rupert Crawford spent three years gaining his commission as a officer and nineteen-thirty-eight was a year to remember, simply because of that, but ironic enough, a year to remember in which Europe began to dismantle once again. Rupert had the sixth sense that something was approaching fast, something terrible and catastrophic, but also something that would be exciting and life-changing. Rupert had barely spent a year as a newly qualified and commissioned officer at the age of twenty-seven and bore witness to perhaps the largest war to be; the second world war had landed at Britain’s footsteps, after the tabloids and newspapers spread the wide felt fear of the Nazi occupation finally invading throughout Europe. The brown shirts had been overthrown overnight once Hitler had gained his strength in power and a new Axis might was born, a might so fierce, that their plans in having full control over Europe was already in full-swing, with Poland falling victim almost immediately and Britain being drawn into the fray to protect France urgently. Rupert’s story had only just began…
Military Rank:
- Captain, otherwise (1st) Lieutenant.
*Copied from the Accepting Members Guide*
Rank issue... There's been a few issues in regards to rank standard and application standard in the past. As of now, non-commissioned officer ranks will span between "Private to Sergeant" and commissioned officer ranks "Second lieutenant to first lieutenant" with the occasional Captain rank handout allowed.
Writing Sample:
Scenario: You’re alone behind enemy lines and you get the eerie feeling someone’s watching you. You’re trying to remain quiet, stay low, work your way back to the frontlines - but you can’t help but feel you’re being followed… (How does your character React? What’s running through their mind?)
Rupert Crawford had prepared fully during nineteen-thirty-nine, as a majority of the European nations declared war on one another simultaneously overnight and Poland was inevitably invaded thereafter. The entire year, Rupert was vigorously trained to the hilt with his detail of company throughout England and prepared for the forthcoming valour of war Britain would soon submerge it’s self into, for a bitter bid of freedom, King and country and the lives of those beckoned beneath his inevitable command during the heat of battle, but the Phoney-War was quite mistaken for it’s quietness and lack of vigilante fighting, as the “Sitzkrieg” renounced in German as the “Sitting War” would soon become an apparent turmoil of conflict the entire world would soon succumb too.
Deployed along the Maginot line shortly after his excessive final preparations of training, Rupert Crawford found himself mingling with the French and Canadian military, deployed across the defensive strategic frontline spanning across the main border of France and Belgium; several months of sheer pointless duty on the frontline, had Rupert and his subordinates - a part of the British Expeditionary Forces - aimlessly awaiting an attack from the Germans and it wasn’t just Rupert that underestimated the German might, but everyone did. The French were renowned for their skilled veteran military numbers, that accordingly was reported the strongest army in Europe. No-one feared greatly. Rupert merely considered the onslaught a brawl at most, with the hefty French might and British Expeditionary Force holding the lines, it was an undoubted victory sealed already, the Germans were reported to be outgunned, outmanned and statistically, unable to invade France or it’s neighbouring counterparties.
How wrong they were… The onslaught of a fully fledged attack blew open the lines almost instantly, Belgium had fallen intravenously before hand and the Germans were thundering across France like a machine fuelled by a thirst for blood. Rupert and his fellow comrades sought a hardened battle, one he’d never expected to bare witness too, only to receive immediate reports that the Germans had broken the line completely and were now outflanking their position. The line was lost. An immediate retreat was ordered and the battle to scavenge what was left was soon tattered as their last resort; the second-world-war had only just begun and Rupert Crawford was a statistic amongst the retreating thousands within France, desperately fighting their way back to some sort of Allied advancement or frontline.
Rupert had broken free from his company, after a unanimous decision to split up into numerous groups during their retreat, that now placed them well behind enemy lines due to the Germans thunderous advance through France. Rupert had been accompanied with several other subordinates, none ranking higher than Sergeant and most of them stripping from their uniforms in a bid to save being shot at. Rupert Crawford ditched his officer’s uniform into a knapsack just big enough for his tunic, trousers and officer’s cap. He wasn’t about to abandon his uniform completely, but safeguarded the fact wearing it whilst retreating from behind enemy lines was not essential - none of the men even were ready to surrender, a quality he took pride in sharing with them.
Shouldering his knapsack, Rupert Crawford looked to the remaining four men still alive within his retreating group. Fellow lieutenants and senior sergeants had taken command of the other disbanded retreating groups, finding it wiser to disband and break-up into smaller columns during their retreat, to save being completely obliterated in one big chunk should they aimlessly fall into the Nazis’ path.
Walking along an overgrown embankment, Rupert Crawford kept his detail moving as quick as he could. They’d encountered a small resistance in a previous town with already occupying Germans, but managed to slip free quite easily, due to their lack of fortifications and grip over the town completely. Nevertheless, they were quite preoccupied with securing their main objective, than attend to a wild goose hunt on a few retreating soldiers, who looked more like deserters now dressed within their white dirty vest tops and tattered trousers; Rupert had grabbed a pair of navy blue trousers from a washing line previously when in the town, which saved him the aggravation of wearing his karki coloured trousers and sticking out like a sore thumb with his fellow subordinates who wore little else uniform wise.
They’d lost two men during their last bout of conflict and the morale was extremely low. They were aimlessly running south-west towards Allied fortifications, but didn’t know whether they were still there even. Perhaps the Allies weren’t even in France anymore? Rupert scrunched his nose at the thought and glanced to his solemnly silent subordinates who were also deep in thought, their tired dreary eyes cautiously watching the surrounding terrain for any sign of movement or noise. None of them had spoken for at least an hour or more, not even a grumble about their aching feet or lack of food and water. They just walked and continued walking until Rupert said otherwise, that was until one of the men hissed in pain, coming to a hopping halt as he slumped down against the ditched embankment, using his Lee-Enfield rifle to support his body in the process. A few eyes wandered nervously, not really liking the fact that they were stopping, but seized to walk any further without their friend and comrade.
“Private… You feeling alright?” Rupert questioned, wincing as he felt the sores on his feet, attempting to step up the rigid ditch towards the sitting private, who began to remove the boot from off his foot. “Aye sir, just terrible cramp” he responded with his teeth gritted, attempting to stretch his foot straight and dull the aching cramp pains shooting up his ankle. Nodding, Rupert looked to the rest of the men from the corner of his eye. “Alright, let’s take five” he said, in mid motion to sitting down next to the private who was by now, rubbing his foot and murmuring something under his breath at the pain. The fellow soldiers all took a seat or a knee, huffing to clear their sore dry throats, attempting to reframe from thinking demoralizing thoughts that they wouldn’t get through this, that they’d die in the middle of nowhere and have no chance of survival; they were thoughts to each and every man, but thoughts that affected them all severely nonetheless.
Laying his Lee-Enfield rifle across his stomach, Rupert ran a mild check over the magazine attached and the barrel, as if he were checking for pitting that he knew wasn’t there. The rifle was working perfectly fine around an hour ago, but still, he checked cautiously. “Sir, do you think we’ll make it… You know, make it back to the others?” one of the soldiers piped up with a worried tone to his voice, he must have been no older than eighteen, but looked sixteen. A few eyes shared a glance to one another, knowing the boy was asking a question that just simply couldn’t be answered, but Rupert bore a grin confidently and looked to the boy with a custom trait of courage to his demeanour. “Of course we will dear ol’ boy” he responded, watching as the boy smiled and looked to his feet, leaving Rupert with a guilt for lying. He wasn’t sure they would.
After several minutes Rupert looked to the men sobering up the sun and relaxing their feet, to break their backs once again. “Chin up boys, not much further” he said in his luxurious posh voice, attempting to get up from the embankment, when a single gunshot cut through the thick warm air and sliced straight through one of the soldier’s throat’s - the boy’s throat - sending him reeling backwards in astonishment and shock, gurgling as he attempted to scream in pain, his hands fumbling against his gorged throat frantically as blood spewed with every hardened heartbeat. Everyone simply took a split second to realise what was happening, until everyone scrambled towards the boy choking on his own fluids to drag out of the line of danger. “Sniper to the east!” one of the men shouted, whilst Rupert moved into cover behind a dense patch of foliage and felt his breath quicken, watching as the men dragged the young boy behind a tree atop of the embankment and the rest of them aiming their sights down towards the hostile tree-line in which the shot came from.
Rupert’s heart felt like it was in his throat, as he kept looking back and forth from his men to the sniper’s general direction of fire. “Does anyone bloody see him!?” Rupert frustrated questioned, none of his subordinates responding with an answer, as yet another round zipped through the air and narrowly missed one of the soldier’s peering his head out from behind cover to try and see any significant sign of movement or reflections from the shooter’s scope or weaponry. “I think I see him!”[/b] one of the men hollered, as he shouldered his rifle and stepped up from behind cover to take aim, but within a split second of the time it took for the soldier to break cover and perhaps take a shot, he was already falling back down against his buttocks lifelessly, as a round ripped straight through his skull, sending a splatter of blood, skull and brain across the greenery.
Feeling bile hit the back of his throat, Rupert gagged to himself and looked to the remaining men; two of them falling down the embankment to rejoin the somewhat of a fray, having been accompanying the wounded boy - who had now died horrifically from his wounds. “Sod this for a game of soldiers…” Rupert mumbled to himself, before looking to his subordinates and yelling “Let’s the ruddy-hell out of here chaps!” and leading the way, he sprung to his feet and darted up and over the embankment, pulling out of the fray quickly… Leaving behind another two dead
Thanks Nathan. I guess I should have taken my time writing this app', but churned it out in roughly an hour or two tops. I guess it showed my brain becoming numb after the history part of the app'.
Note for JT/Dan; I enabled Nathan or Heiko to accept my application, due to the fact you were away until Monday JT and I was unsure whether Dan would be around
~Danny
((( Accidentally put ROBERT as my guest name, it's RUPERT!)))
Account E-Mail: This is Danny/PuNk!
Name: Rupert Crawford
Nationality: British
What Army will Your Character Serve Beneath? British Military
Character History:
Born during nineteen-eleven in Maidstone Kent, father Harry Crawford and mother Virginia Crawford were the blossoming parents of newly born Rupert Crawford. Their first born child and to be their only child for a few years to come. Rupert was raised lovingly with the praise and love from both of his parents and close family; to whom stemmed back with a long military history. Rupert’s grandfather, Jack Crawford fought within the first Boer war at the age of nineteen, proudly carrying an efficient rank of Lieutenant, serving the entire year of the short battled conflict with the ‘rifles’ he was assigned too. During the first Boer war, Jack Crawford left behind his newly born son, Harry Crawford (Rupert’s father) with his newly married spouse Helga Crawford. However significantly short the conflict was, a mere year, Jack Crawford parried on eighteen years later to serve within the second Anglo-Boer war at the healthy constituent rank of Major at the age of thirty-seven, with his son Harry Crawford joining the constabulary officer ranks as second-lieutenant at the age of eighteen.
Both survived the fray after a full three year term on duty in Africa, but not without their battle scars and injuries. Jack Crawford returned with a decaying mental stability, having been wounded during the battle of Spion Kop, where he was assigned to hold a hill fortification with several other companies. Poor communication and with failure ensuing quickly, thousands were wounded and hundreds killed; Jack Crawford himself being hit by a ricocheted bullet to the face, permanently losing his eyesight from his left eye and causing a lot of anxieties to set in within the later years - having received his discharge from the military with his wounds. Harry Crawford however, sustained numerous problems throughout the entire three years, having fallen victim to numerous sun strokes and even famine at one stage, Harry was immensely roughened up by the time he returned home and veiled two promotions for his active and constant service during the war, distinguishing him as a Captain at the mere age of twenty-one.
Thirteen years passed slowly, by the time Harry and Jack Crawford had returned home from the Second Anglo-Boer war and a lot had occurred. Jack Crawford died six years after returning home, at the mere age of forty-six, having had a few bad year spells of illness and post combat stress from the Boer war. He was given a state funeral in respect to his services and his worldly possessions distributed between his wife Helga and his only son, Harry. Another five years passed since his father’s death and Harry Crawford now resided within his father’s shoes, having a son of his own - Rupert Crawford. At the age of three, Rupert’s father - Harry Crawford - was requested for his majesty’s duty, as the first world war erupted and willingly, Harry Crawford was drafted back into the mix of the military once again, now aged thirty-four. Regaining his constituted healthy rank of Captain from the second-Boer-War, Harry was amongst the first companies to have dug in within France to face the German might, that also made Harry Crawford amongst the first casualties of the German might.
The first world war couldn’t have ended soon enough, as widow Virginia Crawford could now lay rest to her belated husband Harry Crawford completely and having witnessed the barbaric actions of war, vowed for her son to never get caught between the irrational conflict of war. By now, Rupert Crawford was bumbling at the age of seven by the end of the war in nineteen-eighteen and barely remembered his father, only having pictures, souvenirs from his tours of duty during the Boer-War (along with is grandfather’s commemorative belongings) and couldn’t help but feel a large sense of pride for what his father and grandfather had achieved during their conflicts, having survived a volley of battles to tell the tale, before their inevitable demises. It was heroic in Rupert’s eyes and he never stopped thinking about them, despite his little memory of his father and the fact he hadn’t even met his grandfather.
Schooling was fantastic for Rupert, as his mother made sure he got the best educational benefits she could give him; money was never a problem. From a young age, Rupert went through a few catholic schools at the younger variant ages, to more demeaning and classier public schooling and private tutoring. By the age of ten in nineteen twenty-one, Rupert was a dab-hand at playing the piano and excelled in a majority of his subjects at school; English being his most preferred and strongest backbone however. He also began to take a shine to the motion pictures frequently upcoming at showcase theatres, every once in a while, his mother Virginia would reward his excelling progress with a theatrical day out to London or a casual entertaining trip into Canterbury for the day, where she’d pack a lovely picnic for two, that felt more like the food could have fed more and enjoyed their time together. Rupert became close to his mother in these dwindling years.
A few years later, during nineteen twenty twenty-four when Rupert had just turned thirteen, his mother Virginia Crawford decided they deserved a change of scenery. Moving from Maidstone in Kent to Canterbury, Rupert said his goodbyes to the years he’d spent shaping his memories and his life for the earlier term of his growth and looked forwards to the prospering years of his becoming of adulthood. Having always been fascinated by what his father and grandfather had done for King and Country, Rupert didn’t take long after moving to Canterbury, to begin seeking a military education of sorts; of course, he was far too young at the age of thirteen, but nonetheless prepared himself and behind his mother’s back, skipping the odd private tutoring in the evenings, he threw himself into a young military cadet training course, where he began to learn the natural skills of survival, combat and intelligence over braun; however, it didn’t take too long until his mother Virginia Crawford had found out that he was missing his private tutoring lessons and life suddenly took a turn for the worse for dear ol’ Rupert, who didn’t understand his mother’s wishes for her son to not join the military or have anything prospering to say about the military.
By nineteen-twenty-seven when Rupert was fifteen, he’d obeyed his mother’s wishes for three years, continuing his constant well educated life as a young man and continued to broaden his skills with extraverted talents; playing the piano, developing his charm and charisma during banquet speaks - which was immensely surprising for a young man and in general, developing his knowledgeable pattern of talents. His heart meanwhile, differed from his current path in becoming a musician - pianist. A wish his mother burned into him, whereas he prospered to follow his father’s footsteps and his grandfather’s footsteps by having a flourishing military career. The excitement of travelling foreign turfs, battling hardened battles only the brave would dare venture and having his name written within the history books, that hundreds of years from now, young children would sing rhymes about his heroism. That was his dream and Rupert was developing a thin patience with his mother who ruled his world entirely.
Another year passed and Rupert was by now, sixteen and with that single year, Rupert had conveyed what he would tell his mother a thousand times within his mind, on how he wished to live his life and eventually, that day came. Having heard from a fellow friend who was going to join the young-cadets properly now he was sixteen, Rupert couldn’t bare the drudge of living a life that just simply wasn’t his anymore. Confronting his mother, Rupert soon beckoned for her to understand and with the love of any mother, she only wanted to see him being happy and deep down desired for him to change his mind. With little said, Rupert abandoned his musical career set for himself and any extra curricular activities he felt he didn’t need; although he did keep his lavish educated lifestyle in tact, as he attended his well paid public school daily, but spent his weekends and most evenings as a young cadet in training, picking up the learning curve of survival skills and intellectual attributes to warfare through his governing instructors within the young military cadets. Who did inevitably teach well.
Two years passed, it was now nineteen-thirty and Rupert was finally eighteen. Having studied at university for the past year, due to his marvellous and exuberant grades, Rupert now conveyed his attention between a firm stiff upper-education and the cadets, in which he loved and admired with a deep felt fascination that was instilled within himself, deep down. Although he was craving to join the military properly as a fully fledged officer in training, he knew his educational path had to be finished first and his cadet training was still exuberating lessons for the pre-officer quality cadets to continue their path forwards.
By nineteen-thirty-five, when Rupert was twenty-three and had finally finished his educational life and finalized his degrees, making his mother immensely proud in doing so, he turned his full attention to the military and finally stepped forwards for his country in joining the well constituent line of prospering young men aspiring to become officers within the British military, foreknown as one of the strongest armies in Europe. It was more than a privilege to Rupert to aspire too, but a heroic deed in which he paid tribute to his forefathers who had served their country and monarchy well, a path in which Rupert stepped forwards in a bid to do his part and hopefully make his children proud one day himself. A day in which he could tell them stories about their heroic father and their heroic grandparents.
Rupert Crawford spent three years gaining his commission as a officer and nineteen-thirty-eight was a year to remember, simply because of that, but ironic enough, a year to remember in which Europe began to dismantle once again. Rupert had the sixth sense that something was approaching fast, something terrible and catastrophic, but also something that would be exciting and life-changing. Rupert had barely spent a year as a newly qualified and commissioned officer at the age of twenty-seven and bore witness to perhaps the largest war to be; the second world war had landed at Britain’s footsteps, after the tabloids and newspapers spread the wide felt fear of the Nazi occupation finally invading throughout Europe. The brown shirts had been overthrown overnight once Hitler had gained his strength in power and a new Axis might was born, a might so fierce, that their plans in having full control over Europe was already in full-swing, with Poland falling victim almost immediately and Britain being drawn into the fray to protect France urgently. Rupert’s story had only just began…
Military Rank:
- Captain, otherwise (1st) Lieutenant.
*Copied from the Accepting Members Guide*
Rank issue... There's been a few issues in regards to rank standard and application standard in the past. As of now, non-commissioned officer ranks will span between "Private to Sergeant" and commissioned officer ranks "Second lieutenant to first lieutenant" with the occasional Captain rank handout allowed.
Writing Sample:
Scenario: You’re alone behind enemy lines and you get the eerie feeling someone’s watching you. You’re trying to remain quiet, stay low, work your way back to the frontlines - but you can’t help but feel you’re being followed… (How does your character React? What’s running through their mind?)
Rupert Crawford had prepared fully during nineteen-thirty-nine, as a majority of the European nations declared war on one another simultaneously overnight and Poland was inevitably invaded thereafter. The entire year, Rupert was vigorously trained to the hilt with his detail of company throughout England and prepared for the forthcoming valour of war Britain would soon submerge it’s self into, for a bitter bid of freedom, King and country and the lives of those beckoned beneath his inevitable command during the heat of battle, but the Phoney-War was quite mistaken for it’s quietness and lack of vigilante fighting, as the “Sitzkrieg” renounced in German as the “Sitting War” would soon become an apparent turmoil of conflict the entire world would soon succumb too.
Deployed along the Maginot line shortly after his excessive final preparations of training, Rupert Crawford found himself mingling with the French and Canadian military, deployed across the defensive strategic frontline spanning across the main border of France and Belgium; several months of sheer pointless duty on the frontline, had Rupert and his subordinates - a part of the British Expeditionary Forces - aimlessly awaiting an attack from the Germans and it wasn’t just Rupert that underestimated the German might, but everyone did. The French were renowned for their skilled veteran military numbers, that accordingly was reported the strongest army in Europe. No-one feared greatly. Rupert merely considered the onslaught a brawl at most, with the hefty French might and British Expeditionary Force holding the lines, it was an undoubted victory sealed already, the Germans were reported to be outgunned, outmanned and statistically, unable to invade France or it’s neighbouring counterparties.
How wrong they were… The onslaught of a fully fledged attack blew open the lines almost instantly, Belgium had fallen intravenously before hand and the Germans were thundering across France like a machine fuelled by a thirst for blood. Rupert and his fellow comrades sought a hardened battle, one he’d never expected to bare witness too, only to receive immediate reports that the Germans had broken the line completely and were now outflanking their position. The line was lost. An immediate retreat was ordered and the battle to scavenge what was left was soon tattered as their last resort; the second-world-war had only just begun and Rupert Crawford was a statistic amongst the retreating thousands within France, desperately fighting their way back to some sort of Allied advancement or frontline.
Rupert had broken free from his company, after a unanimous decision to split up into numerous groups during their retreat, that now placed them well behind enemy lines due to the Germans thunderous advance through France. Rupert had been accompanied with several other subordinates, none ranking higher than Sergeant and most of them stripping from their uniforms in a bid to save being shot at. Rupert Crawford ditched his officer’s uniform into a knapsack just big enough for his tunic, trousers and officer’s cap. He wasn’t about to abandon his uniform completely, but safeguarded the fact wearing it whilst retreating from behind enemy lines was not essential - none of the men even were ready to surrender, a quality he took pride in sharing with them.
Shouldering his knapsack, Rupert Crawford looked to the remaining four men still alive within his retreating group. Fellow lieutenants and senior sergeants had taken command of the other disbanded retreating groups, finding it wiser to disband and break-up into smaller columns during their retreat, to save being completely obliterated in one big chunk should they aimlessly fall into the Nazis’ path.
Walking along an overgrown embankment, Rupert Crawford kept his detail moving as quick as he could. They’d encountered a small resistance in a previous town with already occupying Germans, but managed to slip free quite easily, due to their lack of fortifications and grip over the town completely. Nevertheless, they were quite preoccupied with securing their main objective, than attend to a wild goose hunt on a few retreating soldiers, who looked more like deserters now dressed within their white dirty vest tops and tattered trousers; Rupert had grabbed a pair of navy blue trousers from a washing line previously when in the town, which saved him the aggravation of wearing his karki coloured trousers and sticking out like a sore thumb with his fellow subordinates who wore little else uniform wise.
They’d lost two men during their last bout of conflict and the morale was extremely low. They were aimlessly running south-west towards Allied fortifications, but didn’t know whether they were still there even. Perhaps the Allies weren’t even in France anymore? Rupert scrunched his nose at the thought and glanced to his solemnly silent subordinates who were also deep in thought, their tired dreary eyes cautiously watching the surrounding terrain for any sign of movement or noise. None of them had spoken for at least an hour or more, not even a grumble about their aching feet or lack of food and water. They just walked and continued walking until Rupert said otherwise, that was until one of the men hissed in pain, coming to a hopping halt as he slumped down against the ditched embankment, using his Lee-Enfield rifle to support his body in the process. A few eyes wandered nervously, not really liking the fact that they were stopping, but seized to walk any further without their friend and comrade.
“Private… You feeling alright?” Rupert questioned, wincing as he felt the sores on his feet, attempting to step up the rigid ditch towards the sitting private, who began to remove the boot from off his foot. “Aye sir, just terrible cramp” he responded with his teeth gritted, attempting to stretch his foot straight and dull the aching cramp pains shooting up his ankle. Nodding, Rupert looked to the rest of the men from the corner of his eye. “Alright, let’s take five” he said, in mid motion to sitting down next to the private who was by now, rubbing his foot and murmuring something under his breath at the pain. The fellow soldiers all took a seat or a knee, huffing to clear their sore dry throats, attempting to reframe from thinking demoralizing thoughts that they wouldn’t get through this, that they’d die in the middle of nowhere and have no chance of survival; they were thoughts to each and every man, but thoughts that affected them all severely nonetheless.
Laying his Lee-Enfield rifle across his stomach, Rupert ran a mild check over the magazine attached and the barrel, as if he were checking for pitting that he knew wasn’t there. The rifle was working perfectly fine around an hour ago, but still, he checked cautiously. “Sir, do you think we’ll make it… You know, make it back to the others?” one of the soldiers piped up with a worried tone to his voice, he must have been no older than eighteen, but looked sixteen. A few eyes shared a glance to one another, knowing the boy was asking a question that just simply couldn’t be answered, but Rupert bore a grin confidently and looked to the boy with a custom trait of courage to his demeanour. “Of course we will dear ol’ boy” he responded, watching as the boy smiled and looked to his feet, leaving Rupert with a guilt for lying. He wasn’t sure they would.
After several minutes Rupert looked to the men sobering up the sun and relaxing their feet, to break their backs once again. “Chin up boys, not much further” he said in his luxurious posh voice, attempting to get up from the embankment, when a single gunshot cut through the thick warm air and sliced straight through one of the soldier’s throat’s - the boy’s throat - sending him reeling backwards in astonishment and shock, gurgling as he attempted to scream in pain, his hands fumbling against his gorged throat frantically as blood spewed with every hardened heartbeat. Everyone simply took a split second to realise what was happening, until everyone scrambled towards the boy choking on his own fluids to drag out of the line of danger. “Sniper to the east!” one of the men shouted, whilst Rupert moved into cover behind a dense patch of foliage and felt his breath quicken, watching as the men dragged the young boy behind a tree atop of the embankment and the rest of them aiming their sights down towards the hostile tree-line in which the shot came from.
Rupert’s heart felt like it was in his throat, as he kept looking back and forth from his men to the sniper’s general direction of fire. “Does anyone bloody see him!?” Rupert frustrated questioned, none of his subordinates responding with an answer, as yet another round zipped through the air and narrowly missed one of the soldier’s peering his head out from behind cover to try and see any significant sign of movement or reflections from the shooter’s scope or weaponry. “I think I see him!”[/b] one of the men hollered, as he shouldered his rifle and stepped up from behind cover to take aim, but within a split second of the time it took for the soldier to break cover and perhaps take a shot, he was already falling back down against his buttocks lifelessly, as a round ripped straight through his skull, sending a splatter of blood, skull and brain across the greenery.
Feeling bile hit the back of his throat, Rupert gagged to himself and looked to the remaining men; two of them falling down the embankment to rejoin the somewhat of a fray, having been accompanying the wounded boy - who had now died horrifically from his wounds. “Sod this for a game of soldiers…” Rupert mumbled to himself, before looking to his subordinates and yelling “Let’s the ruddy-hell out of here chaps!” and leading the way, he sprung to his feet and darted up and over the embankment, pulling out of the fray quickly… Leaving behind another two dead