Post by APPER on Nov 16, 2010 19:44:32 GMT
Account E-Mail BE GONE, E-MAIL
[Military Rank:]
SERGEANT
[Writing Sample]
*Can you guys delete this bit after?
[Name]
ALFONS ECKHART
[Nationality]
GERMAN
[What Army will Your Character Serve Beneath?]
NAZI
[Character History]Alfonse's history isn't actually one of those old sob stories. Alfons has actually lived a pretty decent life. With a mother who cared for most of your needs but strict enough to allow growth by ones self, and a father who's job kept Alfons in line and taught him to be a strong man, an independent person. So his father wasn't around to much, but that didn't matter all that much. Alfonses' history began with childhood like anyone else. He reached his age step-stones earlier than usual, yet nothing unusual there. He was neither bad looking nor good looking, and as a child he was naturally smart. Maths, he was good at. Alfons from a young age though however had trouble making some friends, so sure he lived his life with fewer friends than others. But the friends he had were always the amount he needed, and he needed no more.
As a teenager, Alfons was no more than anyone else. The reason he mainly stood out was his skinny yet lean build. He was particularly feisty with fighting, inventive. His strong, yet skinny build was inherited from his father, a lumberjack. Alfons spent weekends doing nothing but chopping wood and chopping more wood. Sure, he wasn't the strongest but by far was he not the weakest. Sure, he wasn't very good in things like science or even history for that matter, all he seemed to be good was with maths. Angles, distance and everything else for that matter. All things sniper like. But yet even when Hitler came into power, Alfons was undecided about it, as a teenager he particularly wouldn't care. So when the war finally ignited, Alfons was a man for real.
As a man, he would be expected to join. Alfons couldn't exactly say "No." so he joined the Nazis. Suprisingly he wasn't bad at killing either. Not for the fact he had the best shot, or the fact he could kill the most...just the fact it just didn't register nor careto him that he was killing people. It, to other people would seem like Alfons mildly enjoyed it. He didn't, but the job was still done nonetheless.
So. In about 1941, when Alfons joined the African campaign, sure he done his time there and that was it. It was the first major war he had been in, on the front-line shooting people. While he wasn't anyone special he was awarded the SERGEANT position for outstanding bravery against saving team-mates from incoming enemy tanks. So even when this had been achieved, Alfons worked his ass off. Now it was time to make his country proud, seeing as he was able to leave the African campaign scathed, yet alive. Even after that he still goes to the front line, completing skirmishes (and winning, nonetheless)
[Military Rank:]
SERGEANT
[Writing Sample]
[/blockquote]Pffff.
How hard could it be? Behind enemy lines. Alone. With the feeling someone's watching you. Oh the satisfaction they'd get as one of those veneer hunters, staring you down to get their best trophy yet; just where to shoot you? Well Alfons was getting that feeling. His task was to free a British Rogue, nothing affiliated with the Nazi, yet was attempted with setting off bombs. Like that so called Guy Fawkes incident time ago in the British empire they called the United Kingdom. Nonetheless, armed with simply the Mauser Karbine Bolt Action Rifle- oh it's slender form with wood and metal fed in with five rounds and a muzzle velocity of seven hundred and sixty meters per second. It was the one thing in Alfons' mind that made him alive. He knew, it's weight in his roughed, cracked hands let him understand and supported his idea, that he was still alive.
Anyway, on a less important note, Alfons had begun moving again. The house he had been inhabiting for the past couple of days had begun to reek of death. Alfons had killed a soldier who had came into the house once upon a time, and simply received a knife to his jugular for his efforts. Not much of a fight put up. But Alfons couldn't move, troops were passing left right and center. He didn't really know how they didn't try to find him. But that was before Alfons took another look at the body. It was a young teenager, you slap some gear onto the kid and he's a soldier. Alfons shook his headb before stepping over the body. You didn't put a kid, so green behind the ears they were pratically illuminous, onto the front line where he hadn't even been registered yet.
After making his way out, he froze slightly. The chilled, frosty air was something he was used to. Even if from cold parts of Germany, he couldn't get used to these areas. They were different, somehow. It was silent too, that was something he really wasn't used to. Even for about five o'clock in the morning, it was still silent. Very, very silent. With the weight of his gear and his gun in his hands he became prone, gun in his right hand as he quickly began covering himself, slowly but surely with some of the nearby rural elements, his helmet now matched some of the rocks shades, but alas..he got into a kneeling position and would begin to move along, keeping his breath steady and his gun raised to that he could aim down it's iron sights in a moments notice. His walk was slow, yet it would eventually show the fruits of his labour.
After about an hour of sneaking, that was when it begun to get populated. Alfons cursed in english, with the dreaded accent of german. Alfons learned to speak english time back, just in case he'd need it. Of course, he didn't realize it wouldn't make a difference because of his accent. Alfons took cover under a collapsed building, it having plenty of shadows for him to hide, besides his current whereabouts made his helmet look like a rock and his eyes hidden by other rocks, having to gaze through little cracks. But that eerie feeling was still there. His gaze was mainly attached to the buildings opposite. He was completely sure that someone could see him. Glinting lights, moving figures. Maybe it was his head playing with him. Maybe it wasn't. Besides, it was night time before he started moving again. Alfons was cursing more than just mentally, taking each moment to curse whenever possible. Alfons had fell asleep, forgetting that he snored sometimes. How they hadn't found him was a mystery. But he had gathered upon and was at the holding area where he'd more than likely find the man tied up. So sliding down into his back pocket he fumbled around trying to pull out the metal suppressor in his pocket, he picked it up and pulled out the larger than usual suppressor and sliding it onto the rifle, twisting it and securing it into place. But then Alfons found him, stuck to a wooden post, strung up to be left for dead. Alfons then took to his position, going prone and laying the gun in front of him, dragging him into a suitable direction to make sure he got a good shot. The man was awake too, and nobody seemed to be watching. At least, nobody in Alfons' site.
It was about another ten minutes of waiting before Alfons began to peer down his site, looking down it's grips and wrapping his finger around both the butt and trigger, wrapping it both around the wooden and metal counterparts respectively.
One breath...
Two breaths...
Alfons took the final breath, he had steadied himself appropriately. ping! the shot fired and Alfons found himself staring to the floor, the man had been released and awakened. It took him a couple of moments to stirr around, before noticing his being on the actual ground, the metal on his wrists, rubbing at them before staring around and then finally, fleeing. This man would not become a stature of what would happen to rogues. Oh no sir, he wouldn't.Mission accomplished?
