Town Mouse

[Mac Bargett]

Mac vs Jonas with Nathan as mod. First post is neutral.
Notes: Dark blue are doors, light blue are windows, brown are steps, dark gray is the second floor.


IC:

Sgt. Mac Bargett of the Special Air Service was alone. Or at least it seemed to his gut that he was the only man within a square mile of the hotel he was advancing on, but gut feelings from new sergeants did not satisfy Command. They needed on-the-ground verification that the Germans had or had not left the area, and Mac was the man on the ground. Personally, Mac thought that the best way to find out where the Germans were was to level the buildings to the ground and see if bodies with gray uniforms showed up in the rubble. If there wasn‘t, shade in that part of the map and move on to the next town. That’s the way to fight a war.

Fighting the war the wrong way, Sgt. Mac Bargett arrived at the backend of the hotel an hour after he had been issued the orders for the recon. The trip over had been a completely uneventful hike through fields and down dirt roads where he could jog at a leisurely pace, almost as if he was in his own backyard, but now that he was nearing buildings and possible other hideout places for Nazis, the training took over. Once he got within 10 yards of the 2 story brick walled hotel that overshadowed the landscape, Mac took the safety off his Lee-Enfield rifle and attached the bayonet. He crept up to the plain wooden door at the rear of the building and peered through the nearest window. Inside was a small coatroom, sans coats. The dust that covered the wooden and wire hangers proved that this room had not had human company for a long time. Hopefully the rest of the hotel, and the other buildings, were the same.

[Jonas Merhoff]

OOC: The red dot is obviously me and the blue is my line of vision on the front door.


To say the least, it was unusual for a Captain to be roaming through a French village by himself. Although to those who didn't know Merhoff, he actually didn't loathe the company of human beings. And he usually had his men around him at every moment. He was their leader after all and he kept close. For inspiration, motivation, and morale reasons he stuck close like he was their father. A ruthless father who would often push them to their limits just so he would be sure they would operate well in combat and under pressure. For that very soul reason, they performed well in North Africa. He pushed them to their limits so when serving under the intense African sun in a foreign land with barely any supplies... they could succeed.

However, this was a different story as the Hauptmann climbed the steep staircase to the top floor of the French hotel. His unit, his men were holding the ground against the Allied force that was trying to push through France and arrive at Germany's doorstep. This wasn't a key town in particular... but it had it's fair share of importance. Normally, under such conditions, Jonas would have sent a runner off to scout for the squad of men he had been so desperately searching for. But these men, they had no leader...and their morale was broken. They needed him if they were to hold this town. They were the center of everything and they needed Jonas Merhoff the most this fateful day.

The journey itself hadn't been the difficult part, the search for his men had been. He had intended to leave his Lieutenant to hold the ground to the South and had set off to reinforced this particular section of town. As Jonas climbed higher up those stairs, he could almost smell the putrid stench of death. The rotting flesh hanging overhead in a stuffy hotel suite. It was hard to prepare one's self for a moment like this. A moment where you turn the corner, hoping to see a squad of hardened soldiers ready to push the damn Yanks back...but instead to find the body littered with blood and corpses.

After a good couple of minutes, Jonas Merhoff made his descent down the stairs. A cold, bitter look instilled in his eyes. It wasn't easy for a man to stand in the center of a hotel room, tallying up the number of men who had died under his command. Just as that final creak of the last step ended, another noise caught his attention. At first, he assumed it was a wounded man upstairs that he hadn't noticed, but before he could start back up the stairs he realized it was coming from the street. Creaking open a nearby door, he slid his rifle through the crack. The door to the main hall was wide open, giving an excellent few of the front door. Jonas inspected his Kar Rifle very quickly before focusing his attention back on the door. Perhaps he would avenge his men today.

[Mac Bargett]

Although cloaked in dark shadows which didn’t give Mac Bargett a clear picture of what was inside, he saw no reason to be alarmed and decided to proceed into the hotel. Mac grabbed a hold of the brass doorknob and twisted it hard with his right hand while his left pointed the Lee-Enfield into the air. The door was stiff to open, the wood warped with the humidity and inactivity, but a good shove popped it open. With his back pressed to the left side of the door frame, Mac held the door open just enough to stick his rifle barrel in through the crack and slowly nudged it open. Inch by inch, the door creaked open, and Mac could eventually see a hat rack, then the doorway into the next room, and in there, another door, closed, with a rifle sticking out the crack and pointed towards Mac.

The moment Mac’s eyes caught the black metal tube contrasted with the light brown wood behind it, instincts kicked in and his legs pushed him backwards and he swung to the outside wall, The fear of the rifle pointed at him pushed the breath out of him like a punch to the stomach, and he took a deep breath while he tried to think about what to do. All the training he got, from both the American army, the Brits, and including every thing he learned from his father, did not tell him what to do if he was stuck on the out skirts of some French town, with no support or reinforcements, and an undetermined number of Germans nearby had just probably been informed of his position. Although, he was jumping to conclusions, it might not even be a German at all. It could be just some stranded American or other Allied soldier, or maybe even a beatiful female operative of the French Resistance, whose come in contact with the first American she finds.

[Jonas Merhoff]

OOC: Red lines are the shots.

The brass knob of the French hotel turned ever so slowly as Jonas' closed his left eye to focus his shot with his dominant right eye. He licked his lips in anticipation of blood shed. Serving his Fuhrer always came first to the Hauptmann, and he was now presented the opportunity to do so. An entire squad of Americans could barge though that door that moment and they would probably be felled by Jonas and a trusty rifle. The outcomes raced through his head as he cycled out unnecessary solutions to whatever problems and entire squad of men could cause him. He needed to be prepared. As the light French breeze barged into the hotel, Jonas Merhoff realized this was the moment.

One single American soldier stepped through that door on that fateful day. One stinking soldier. An easy target and one that needed to be cut down quickly. Reconnaissance. Those were always the pesky annoying soldiers... the ones that showed up on your door step...rang your doorbell... and ran. Not literally, however, but something very much similar. You could be holding a town against all odds and a recon squad could show up and find out just what resistance was in the town. Then your whole damned battle plan was changed because of the pesky bastard. Hell, but sometimes it was like the enemy was delivering a gift to your doorstep. A prisoner for the taking which would work to the advantage of any unit. With the proper interrogation methods... anything and everything could be learned. This was one of those situations.

The American Sergeant quickly retreated back before Merhoff could get a proper shot off. The German cussed under his breath, but realized the American didn't really spot him... only the greeting barrel of his Kar 98 Rifle. Repositioning himself towards the center of the dual doors, he caught a glimpse of the figure out in the cobble-stone street. The American hadn't charged off yet, and Jonas had a particular decent shot at his arm. Crippling the man and disabling his shooting ability was almost a necessity at the moment. Steadying the rifle and lining his shot, he once more shut his left eye to help adjust the shot. His right index finger pushed the trigger of the weapon back, and the first bullet was let loose. Shattering through the window in hopes of making contact with an American Sergeant.

The gritty fingers of the Aryan grasped the bolt and the shell of the last shot was flung into the air. Jamming the bolt forward to prepare his rifle for the next shot, Merhoff efficiently readied the rifle and brought it back up to fire a follow up shot. Once again the bullet spiraled out of the barrel of the rifle and towards the American. Repeating the process of releasing the bullet shell, Jonas brought the Karabiner Rifle up once more and steadied his aim on the window. Hopefully he had hit the man, or at least would if he could get another shot on him. The massive Imperial Bayonet was attached to the end of Jonas' rifle, in case this fight turned into a close combat brawl. Most of the recon Jonas ever ran into were running home for mommy as if they had seen Death beckoning to them. Soon, this one would do the same. Or die.

[Nathan Whyte]

Moderation Post[/u][/size]

Merhoff: Merhoff's first shot hit the mass of muscle on Bargett's upper right arm, and passed through, carving a large wound on the side of the arm in the process. It is not a serious wound, but is going to effect Bargett's accuracy and effectiveness in combat.

The first shot caused Bargett to drop to the ground, and Merhoff's second shot missed completly.

Next post:[/u]Bargett[/color]

[Mac Bargett]

The moment the hot lead pierced Sgt. Mac’s arm, he stopped thinking with his pants and started thinking with another instinct, staying alive. He slid down onto his knees before the pain even registered with his nerves, then it did and he gave a shout cry of agony. Suppressing the pain, Mac slung the rifle onto his left arm before he reached over and cleared the blood and guck from the wound. It was a clean wound, the bullet didn’t break any bones or rupture an artery. If Mac fled back to the camp now a medic could probably patch him up with no long term effects. But, Command still needed to know how many men were in the town. The army would use different tactics in taking the town if Mac was shot by a crazy Frenchman drunk with cognac, or if this hotel was the new German CP. Mac still had to find that out.

With adrenaline pumping through his veins and softening the pain, Mac crawled under the windows as quickly as he could without putting too much pressure on his wounded arm or sticking his body above the window still. At the same moment he turned the corner, he stood up and glanced into the window. The German had fired from the doorway, so the next window should shine light in on that room, and the German. While he ran between the two windows, Mac grabbed his rifle.

Before he even looked through the second window, Mac smashed the butt of his Lee Enfield into a corner of the divided glass. Quickly he stuck the barrel through the hole and peered into the dark room. Between him and the German was a staircase that had it's first few steps lead to the window and then the staircase twisted onto the inside wall to climb into the second floor. this gave Mac a perfect shot at the German.

When he stuck the rifle butt into his shoulder, put his right hand on the walnut grip, and stuck his pointer finger on the trigger, the wound burned, but Mac knew revenge would be sweet. He sat his left hand and the rifle stock on to the window pane and saw the German’s gray uniform behind the foresight, and the fore sight inside the rear sight, then fired. He didn’t waste time in checking to see if the shot hit, but just quickly pulled his rifle out of the window and ducked down. With his left hand, he pulled the bolt back and forward, expelling the round that should injured the German that injured Mac, and loaded another bullet into the chamber that might do the same thing very soon.

OCC: It's too early to write well, so I just did a small edited that the window was over the low part of the stairs. If that's not good enough I will do a complete reedit when I get home tonight.

[Nathan Whyte]

Moderation Post

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Sgt. Bargett: Smashing the window with his rifle butt gave Erik time to react. He has ducked behind a door (I'll leave it up to you to decide which one, left or right), and Mac's shot had a target of nothing, thudding into the door at the end of the corridor.

Next Post:[/u] Jonas[/color]

[Jonas Merhoff]

OOC: Red is the firing, blue is the movement, and green is the line of sight.

The Hauptmann's steady breathing and delicate rifle aim was rudely interrupted by the sound of glass breaking to his right. Without hesitation, Jonas dove through the doorway to his rear, rolling to come to a peaceful halt. Moments later, he was leaning around the corner and aiming for the area of the window that had been shattered. He took aim quickly, but accurately, steadying his breath and squeezing a bullet out. Hoping to keep his foe suppressed, he was moving back again into a wide room which seemed to be something of a library. Too busy to scan the room, Jonas was preparing his rifle once more and reminding himself he had only 2 bullets to shoot with before he would have to eventually reload.

Jonas was making his way into another lobby like area, and slamming the backdoor of the fancy French hotel open, bursting into the sunlight. Getting down on his knee, he positioned himself to look towards the Eastern side of the hotel, making sure he had a clear sprint across the street before fully exposing himself. The Captain eased the door shut behind him before turning to his right and bolting across the cobblestone street. He hurried into a nearby restaurant which seemed specially designed for the hotel's guests. After slamming the door behind him and locking it, he rushed across the restaurant to lock the second door as well. Merhoff couldn't deal with pesky intrusions at the moment.

Hastily flipping a table over to cover him in case he was flanked, Jonas began to smash the South-Eastern window of the restaurant open for a clear shot if it should present itself to him. Now, the man was sliding the barrel of his Kar rifle over the ledge of a shattered window with an over-flipped table covering him. He was on his knees, with his rifle aimed properly at the corner of the hotel, hoping to get his opponent when he attempted to "flank" the German Hauptmann. But, to make sure he was alert of whatever was coming his way, every few minutes he would glance over to the rear door of the hotel where he had burst through only moments ago. If this man had mind-reading powers or the ability to see the future... or had simply seen his movements, he could modify his strategy and use a new flank.

The German's dirt covered finger impatiently slid over the grimy, metal trigger of the standard issued bolt-action rifle, which was almost begging to prove itself over it's British adversary. Jonas Merhoff had proven the German race mightier than the Americans and the British race time and time again. His hardened combat skills and sense of confidence served him well over the years as well as his passion for the Reich and his Fuhrer. This American had been a nuisance for a far too long... a nuisance that was begging to be silenced.

[Nathan Whyte]

Moderation Post

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Merhoff: Firing a single shot, the bullet had to pass alongside the curving staircase. Unfortunately, it just clipped it, sending it flying off at an angle out of the window.

Bargett has heard the glass smashing, and knows approximately where Merhoff is.

Next post; Bargett[/color]

[Mac Bargett]

With the German on the run, Sgt. Bargett took chase and ran down the side of building. He would have kept running out to the front of the hotel, but the sound of breaking glass from the nearer of the small buildings caused him to realize what he was doing and quickly leaned against the window, out of sight from the other building. Catching both his breath and his senses, Mac thought about what he was doing. Chasing lone Germans through town was not Mac’s mission. He was supposed to find out how many Germans had taken positions in the hotel. And although it seemed that the German that shot him was a lone straggler, he could have been one in a hundred in the hotel and was luring Mac out into the open for an ambush. Had Mac followed him, any Germans on both floors of the hotel or in any other buildings would have a free shot to finish the job their comrade started.

Instead of rushing out into the open, Mac doubled back along the hotel, and returned to the back door. Instead of slowly entering the hotel like last time, Mac learned the lesson the clotting wound taught and ran in with his rifle at his hip, ready to fire on any Germans still on the bottom floor. From the coat room, through a sitting room, and to the front lobby Mac rushed, barely pausing enough to peek into the open doors of each side room as he ran past them, but as expected, unless there was cabbage in the cupboard, there were no krauts left. In the empty lobby, Mac stopped to slam the door closed. Then, as he locked this plain oak door, he got an idea and tossed his pack in the corner of an adjunct room before slinging his rifle.

Mac stepped into a side room and surveyed the accommodations. The room was the staple of the hotel profession, an apartment. And this apartment Mac was standing in had certainly seen better days. At one time it could have easily served a small family comfortably with it’s combined two bed bedroom, kitchen, dining room, and sitting room, but ever since the was had moved to France the hotel had been looted and now everything that could be moved easily had been taken, but fortunately, the dining table was among the things left, and that’s all that Mac wanted. He grabbed the sturdy oak table with his left arm and as quickly as he could, dragged it back into the lobby. He then shoved it securely in front of the main door , and then ran down to the back door, closed and locked it, and pulled the table from the nearby room to in front of this door, just like the other. With the doors locked tight, Mac then walked back up to a shadowy corner in the room next to the lobby to sit down with his pack and tend to his wounds.

[Jonas Merhoff]

OOC: Don't feel a map was needed. My post is easy to understand as Mac decided not to attack me and I don't want to attack him. Don't need a map to show you that I'm looking at the window closet to Mac, do I?

Jonas was muttering under his breath, urging the American to run around the corner in a whisper. But he listened as the footsteps came to an end, and he knew the American was turning away. Jonas swore and wondered if the man had retreated. No, he couldn't jump to conclusions. He could be taking up position in the holiday. Slowly, he averted his attention to the holiday, where he had locked the door. He steadied his rifle and waited patiently, but it seemed like no use. Cowardly American... Recon Scouts....always so damn annoying. He began to push 3 more bullets into his Kar 98, aware that he wasn't in much danger anymore.

Just as the German Captain finished reloading he heard a faint noise in the distance. Almost sounded like a table scraping across the floor...in the hotel. A barricade. "Ah...there you are you little rat..." Jonas whispered to himself, beginning to aim again. He focused on the nearest window and the door to the hotel, hoping the American would expose himself. He certainly wasn't going to be charging the Americans position any time soon, and so a game of Cat and Mouse had begun. Jonas was confident he would be the cat.

[Mac Bargett]

As Mac sat in that dark and dank corner with his rifle on his knees, his breath calmed and the adrenaline began to leave his system. He tried to use this peaceful period to clear his head and think about what to do next, but that wound continued to scream in his head, telling him to retreat, to leave before the mission was finished. Mac needed to take care of that wound before he listened to it and let the Germans win, so he took his medical tin out of the small pouch on his belt and pulled open it’s tab. Inside was a long piece of gauze and a packet of crystalline sulfanilamide. After he ripped open the packet, he sprinkled the sulfa over the two wounds and then wrapped it up in gauze. The pain slowly changed from a shrieking burn to a duller, number sensation, and this was enough that Mac could slowly slip his pack back on, stand up with his rifle, and return to the front lobby.

Now that his wound was cleaned and the hotel cleared, Mac needed to investigate the rest of the buildings around the hotel, and shoot that German, unless the Kraut had already ran all the way back to the Rhine. Because of the chance that “Johnny Von Skedaddle” was still watching the hotel, Mac wasn’t going to leave through the front door, if he did he would be an easy shot. No, it would be best if Mac left the same way he had entered the hotel, and so he started walking towards the back of the hotel. But then he noticed something that the burning pain of the wound had pushed out of his mind earlier. The staircase. This hotel had another floor, and another floor could have more Germans. Deaf Germans if they had not came down after all the shots, but German nonetheless. Not thinking about why Germans wouldn‘t had already investigated the bottom, Mac quickly rushed into the room and up the stairs with his rifle and bayonet drawn, once again ready to fire on any Germans that had the misfortune to be up there.

Mac did see Germans, but luckily for him, they were already deader then the SPAM in Mac‘s pack, and they had been for some time. The stench of the rotting bodies had hit Mac even before he had gotten halfway up the twisted staircase, and he had to stick his face into his uniform before he could finish the staircase into the second floor. He examined the bodies in the suite as best as he wanted to, which wasn‘t much. He could tell that they were obliviously dead and not sleeping, the blood and guts showed that, but he couldn’t tell what had killed them before the stench overpowered him and he had to flee into the private bathroom and close the door. In this small room, there was just one German, slumped over the side of the bath opposite the open window. As he knelt under the window and took deep breaths of the fresh air, Mac examined him, his first dead body up close. He noticed how similar it looked to photos he had seen of the aftermath of the Civil War. Like them this was not a man, just an empty bag of flesh. The man had travelled all the way from Germany to France, just to end up no better then the animals Mac had once hunted.

Mac hoped he didn’t turn out the same way.

[Jonas Merhoff]

OOC: Oh **** forgot it was my turn to post. Perhaps because you decided not to attack once again? Very well... I shall do the same.

Jonas's eyes scanned there area with hawk-like vision. He cussed under his breath when once again the hotel grew silent. The American feared him and wouldn't show his face, but he also didn't want to flee. Physiological warfare it was then. Jonas grasped a radio from a nearby table, all the while keeping his eyes trained on the 1st and 2nd floor windows before him. He started to tinker with the radio, praying that there was a German radio station with some propaganda and music. Jonas knew even in France the radio would be able to pick up a German radio station that could discourage civilians and soldiers alike and decrease their morale, with a few catchy tunes back home. Every now and then Jonas would play the radio for his men when they were out on the battlefield and the combat had lulled.

Just as the Hauptmann finished adjusting the radio to the station, he heard a door slam shut in the hotel. On the second floor... Jonas knew the American must have witnessed the massacre upstairs. How is it that something that should boost his morale forces him to hide in another room? A cowardly American... oh how the Hauptmann despised cowards Jonas steadied his rifle on the upper floor windows that were visible and made sure he moved his body further back from the window so he wasn't too exposed for anyone on the first floor. When he had his rifle trained on the windows, he used his left hand to turn the radio up to its max volume.

A woman's voice boomed out of the radio and introduced herself as the midge at the mike. Mildred Gillars, better known as "Axis Sally" or "the Bitch of Berlin". Radio propaganda. She talked about how the Allied Soldiers might not go home or see their sweethearts or mothers. She attacked F.D.R viciously and spoke highly of Nazi Germany. Then she played some Nazi music that Jonas remembered vividly. He began to sing along and chuckle, almost beckoning for the allied soldier to expose himself. He suspected him to move back onto the lower floor to get a shot on him if he figured that his window was being aimed upon, so Jonas often checked the downstairs windows of the hotel in case such was true. He wanted the American to expose himself... anywhere. Hopefully he had grown woozy from his wound.

[Mac Bargett]

It only took a few moments for Mac to get use to the stench of death that hung in the air, but he buried his face into his left sleeve and grabbed his rifle before opening the door to the massacre. Mac held his breath as he stepped over the mangled bodies and through the doorway leading into the next suite. This room was just a carbon copy of the previous, and likewise the only Germans were dead ones. That meant that that German that sent his calling card through Mac’s arm was alone here, except for the ghosts of his comrades.

Although the hotel was clear, Mac’s mission was not complete. There were still those two buildings north of the hotel that needed to be checked, and the sooner Mac check those, the sooner Mac could be rid of this ruddy cat and mouse game, so he quickly rushed down the stairs and headed towards the back door. Mac began to pull the table from it’s spot jammed against the door, but then he had second thoughts. If he left this door open, any Germans that were around could scurry back in and Mac would have to start this whole thing over again. No, it would be best to keep both doors tightly secured, although, if Mac wasn‘t going to use a door, how would he get out of the mansion. He entered one of the small, economical rooms, to find an exit, and found that one of the shoulder high windows sat above a large dusty end table. That would do well.

Mac jammed the bayonet on his rifle in the crack between the window and the pane, then slowly pried it open enough to slide his fingers in and open it the rest of the way. Then he took off his pack and helmet, tossed them outside, and peeked his head out the window. He saw nothing of interest, just grass, dirt, and pavement, so he gently tossed his Lee-Enfield onto his pack and followed it out from the end table, head first. With trying to not land on his injuries, Mac slid down the wall and pavement with all his weight on his left arm. The instant his feet touched the asphalt, Mac grabbed his rifle and jumped up to a crouching position, on alert, unsure if any Germans heard his uniform scrapping against the ground. When none showed up, he put his helmet on his head and slung his pack upon his back.

Once Mac got himself tidied up, he ran towards the corner of the hotel, and peeked around the corner. There were the 2 one story buildings, with Germans probably watching him from every window. But when these looming Germans did not open fire, Mac ran to the door of the closest building and quietly pushed it open. He had his rifle raised, but lowered it when he saw that the building was empty. He kicked the door closed and surveyed the situation. This building was a dance parlor. In the middle of the room was the lowered dance floor surrounded by a few chairs. In one corner there was a small wet bar, most of it’s drinks had been taken away, leaving only empty or broken bottles. In the corner nearest Mac was a grand piano, once worth more then the hotel itself probably, but now it had been gutted and the ivory keys stolen. As he stood there and examined the piano, Mac thought about what the room could have been like before the war. Happy Frenchies dancing and having a good time, the air filled smoke and joyous music. Mac could almost heard the faint music like a ghost through time.

Mac did hear music, and singing. For a moment he took a crouched stance and quickly spun around the room, thinking it was a trap. But no, the music came from the building across the street. When Mac peered past the piano, through the window, and into the next building, he could see someone enjoying the music. It was the German, right where he had been when Mac first entered the hotel. Quickly, Mac took aim. With his left arm laid over the piano and holding the stock, Mac slid the rifle over until the sights overlapped the far window of the opposite building. He waited a second, until enough of the German was exposed in front of that window, then fired, and instantly ducked under the piano to protect himself from broken glass and reloaded.

[Nathan Whyte]

Moderation Post

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Oooooookay...

Mac: Running through the hotel, he tripped on a staircase and cracked his head open, dieing. Mac pretty much held a sign above his head telling Jonas where he was, especially with the slamming of the doors of the building he entered.

Firing a shot the sound gave Ol' Jonas a heart attack causing him to drop dead instantly, the round smashed through two windows, but impacted on the table Jonas was hiding behind, not causing any damage at all. Shame, really.

Next post[/u] Erik![/color]