Lone Wolf [Luther]

[Rhys Bevan]

OOC: Well, I know I've got another Hostile Thread but no one's posted yet so maybe PuNK could suspend it. This is just going to be a 1v1 with me versus Luther so no one else enter, please. Also, Luther, can you make your first post introductory? Good luck!



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Rhys stumbled through the dense woodlands blindly, his half-forgotten rifle slung over his back, his eyes blinking stupidly. The heavy blizzard had not yet ended its course and the young Staff Sergeant was coated in a jacket of numbness. His hair was matted with sleet - and blood - and such was the power of the snowfall that he could hardly see anything. Just whiteness. A sea of whiteness.

It had been a stressful day to say the least. Rhys and a small contingent of his men had been trekking through Poland, ambushing several small squads of Germans as they ildly marched through the freezing snow. The tommies had been a couple of miles away from base and, as they moved for home, their tiny skirmishes were by all means just a way of keeping them entertained. Rhys reckoned they must have killed over forty krauts when the day ended, but then the men had got cocky.

Lieteunant bloody Hallett. He had been a fool. He had ordered the twenty men of the company to attack a contingent of wary German soldiers in the distance, despite the fact that their numbers swelled to at least fifty men. Rhys had tried to reason with the Lieteunant but gentlemen never listened to the rabble. And so Rhys had been caught up in the vilest battle of his life. All around him, men had been screaming as the roaring German soldiers butchered the lot of them. Hallett himself had been one of the first to be killed, a bullet sending him sprawling into the increasingly snowy ground, his skull cracked underfoot.

Barely three men had escaped the slaughter and Rhys had no idea where they were. Whatever the case, he was alone now and he had no idea where he was.

Suddenly, he lost his footing over a particularly stubbor root and sprawled into the snow. Coughing weakly, he rolled over onto his back and noticed a large tree, perfect for shelter. He hobbled over to the tree and let the overbearing branches take most of the beating from the heavy snowfall. The Staff Sergeant let out a sigh of relief. The blizzard was weakening now and Rhys could at least open his eyes without having his eyelids filled with snowflakes. His heart skipped a beat. He recognised the forest. He was within but two miles of the base. Rhys was about to set off on the journey once more when he heard a vague sound in the distance. Someone was coming.

[William Luther]

A MITRE cubed box carved into the ground and snow is simultaneously one of the most awkward and comfortable places in the world. William reluctantly pulled himself up from the floor and looked over at the small stub on candle on the shelf he had dug the night before to make sure he didn't asphyxiate in the sealed room. He awkwardly removed his blanket and folded it into his haversack. He pulled out the rabbit skin and revelled in the warmth it gave to his ears while pulling off his outer pair of gloves and extracting his morning rations. He chewed absent mindedly on a slice of bread while he searched for his book of matches to light the heater for a bowl of porridge.

It was his fifth and final night in a forward observation post near enemy lines and the batteries of William's radio had run out, but he hadn't needed that to tell that a battle had raged the night before, which meant he would have to be extremely careful returning home. He stopped in his thoughts as footsteps thundered over head. They weren't those of the local wildlife, only foxes and rabbits ventured in this area and they had a light patter, it was definately man. He extinguished the small flame and gripped his rifle, resisting the urge to release a small moan as he felt the freezing metal through the thin inner gloves. He looked upwards to the grey tarpaulin and pulled lightly, making the hole in the ceiling open up so he could step out. He double checked his white winter fatigues were done up and his belt kit was secure around him and pulled himself up slowly.

His fur-covered head emerged from the hole and slowly looked around, taking in every detail in the snow-beaten landscape. He saw a silhouette in the distance. William pulled the lined hood of his jacket up and pulled himself out of the ground. He ran over to a tree and leaned against it as he waited for some sort of confirmation whether or not the figure was friendly.

[Rhys Bevan]

Rhys peered out from behind the tree at the lone figure in the distance. He felt his heartbeat quicken rapidly as felt the panic rise in his throat. Although the figure was partially concealed by a large tree, jutting out from the East of the woodlands, Rhys knew with exact certainty that his assailant was a member of the brutal SS. The Staff Sergeant had seen the domineering dark uniform countless times before and it was doubtful that the German was in the dense forest for a chat and a flask of coffee.

The Brit was unsure whether the enemy soldier had spotted him or otherwise but he wasn't going to take any chances. Rhys doubled back through the vast woodlands and ducked behind a second tree, further down in the south of the forest. He withdrew his Springfield from his back and recoiled instinctively at the freezing metal. Of course it was freezing, Rhys sighed. It had recieved as much of a beating from the vicious blizzard as he had. Rhys rubbed his numb hands together and again clutched at the rifle, gritting his teeth.

He let his breathing relax and peered through the attatched scope. It was a relatively easy shot. The target was only partially obscured by the great tree that was doubling as his solid cover. Rhys suddenly realised he was aiming for the man's right fore-arm and that, given the choice, he would rather disarm the opponent than kill him. Had he gone soft? Rhys shrugged. He decided to go with his instincts rather than his mind and, making sure that the German was in his direct line of sight, pulled the trigger.



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[Daniel Brennan]

Moderation Post:[/b]

Lengthen up your posts if you want more positive Mod-marks.

The following Actions have been made;

Staff Sergeant R. Bevan:

• Firing a single shot at William Luthers 'fore-arm' the bullet didn't make solid contact with the man, instead it grazed off his left shoulder causing a small scratch (Half a centimetre deep) to bleed.
  

~Dan[/COLOR]

[William Luther]

Luther cried out as the bullet slid through the skin on his shoulder and dropped to his knees. The next part of his plan depended on his acting skills. He was feeling extremely lucky as he had been looking around the tree when the enemy fired and the bullet had just missed his face, but it had served dividends, and William had seen the shooter.

"Mutter!" he cried - Mother. He slowly reached down into his belt kit and pulled on the popper-studs of one pocket. He pushed a small sachet of coffee ( ) aside and pulled out a small wound pad. He pulled the sterilized packaging apart with his teeth and placed the white pad over his injury. He pulled his knife out and cut of a small piece of medical tape and secured the dressing.

"Mutter," he repeated in a weak voice, remembering what he had been told a time ago, the last thing that goes through a dieing mans head is his mother. He flexed his fingers experimental and reached into a different pocket, pulling out his shaving kit. He slowly pushed the mirror around the edge of the tree and spotted the sniper, by the look of it working the bolt on his weapon. He let out a final whimper before whacking his fist against the tree. William counted out ten seconds before rolling around the tree, taking in a sharp intake of breath a his shoulder pushed against the ground. He pushed his injured arm out infront of him and pulled the rifle's sights over the chest of the solider. He raised it slightly so the forward pin of the gun was over the face. He squeezed the trigger before rolling back over. He pulled the bolt on his rifle and made sure all his limbs were hidden as he leant against the trunk of the tree.

[Daniel Brennan]

Moderation Post:[/b]

VOTE DAN!

The following Actions have been made;

SS-Sturmscharführer Luther:

• His 'dying man' tactics did indeed fool the dim-witted Rhys Bevan, but unfortunatly the bullet didn't hit, instead zooming into the snow mere centimetres away from his right foot.
  
  
  

~Dan [/COLOR]

[Rhys Bevan]

Rhys saw the enemy fall to the ground and a wave of relief washed over him as he proceeded on his journey. But common sense overrided his desire to arrive home. Rhys had aimed specifically for the arm, a shot almost impossibly likely to be fatal and he was fairly certain that the bullet had barely scraped the enemy's shoulder. Surely no reason for a hardened soldier - an SS man - to fall to the ground like a child. Either he was already weakened from an earlier battle, or perhaps the harsh climate or he was pretending.

The Staff Sergeant drew a sharp intake of breath when suddenly a shot rang out. Rhys instinctively dived to the floor and saw a bullet thump harmlessly into the ground, mere centimetres away from his breathless form. Rhys leapt to his feet and was about to aim once more towards the figure when he realised that he was completely out of his line of sight. The coward was hiding behind the tree. Sitting, presumably.

Rhys sent a blind shot into the West, hoping to confuse the enemy over his position, took a deep breath and charged out from behind his cover. He dived behind a second tree, jutting out from the South-East and leaned against it readily. He poked a head out from behind the cover to see the enemy in a similar position to his own.

Sliding the rifle through the thin branches of the ugly tree, Rhys adjusted the scope expertly and once again aimed cautiously for the German's forearm. It was horrible; Rhys had never suffered this experience before. When one was against countless of the enemy, they all seemed the same, all mindless drones who were set on the planet for one to kill. But looking at the one lad he was against, Rhys felt a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. What if the soldier was just like him? He never thought of Germans having feelings or being anything other than cannon fodder, but as he stared at the young man, he felt differently. It almost felt like murder.

Rhys took a deep breath. He couldn't think like that.

"It's him or me," he muttered to himself with gritted teeth, as he moved the sniper rifle a fraction to the left for the best advantage possible. Taking one last look at the unsuspecting German, Rhys' survival instincts took over and he pulled the trigger.

OOC: I know the map looks like I'm shooting up at the leaves but remember, it's 2-D.



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[Daniel Brennan]

Moderation Post:[/b]

You don't need to keep putting the link to the map, Rhys.


The following Actions have been made;

Staff Sergeant R. Bevan

• Firing a shot blindly into the west the bullet hit, and killed, Captain Liam J. Brentwood as he was making his way to the bathroom in the nuetral area. WTF?!?!?!?!?!?! HILARIOUS LMFAO!!!!!
  
  
• Firing another shot that wasn't directed at one of his superiors, this shot did pierce the enemys left shoulder and it ripped through the skin on the other side in a magnificant spray of blood. The bullet narrowly missed the foe's main body.
  
  

~Dan [/COLOR]

[William Luther]

“Hündin!” Luther cried as the bullet pierced his arm, knocking the dressing clean off of his arm. He scrambled as quickly as possible around the tree directly into the brunt of the growing wind and snow. Perhaps it could be used to his advantage? Luther’s mind raced as he looked between the maze of trees and his hidey-hole. How easily could these Tommy’s be fooled? William unsheathed his bayonet and slipped it onto the end of his rifle. He turned his head around the tree and already felt the adrenalin surging through his system, numbing out the pain in his shoulder. He worked out the tree where the shot must have been fired from and let a single bullet fly at the lower branches of the tree where he swore he saw an arm stick out. He pulled back on the bolt thinking about his ammunition state. That was two of the five bullets the gun held gone, but he had another three or four stripper clips in various pouches about his person. He had enough ammunition to kill one Brit, surely?

He pushed up off of the floor and made a low run towards the nearest tree, not stopping until he had the firm trunk behind his back. He rolled onto his torso and pulled the rifle up to his cheek. He slowly lined up the iron sights into what he now clearly saw as a Brit. He realized that he clearly hadn’t been shooting to kill, and William took a small mercy on him. The pins rested over the left thigh of the target, a wound that would hurt like hell, but leave the target alive. He would take mercy on him, and give him the option of surrender, maybe even let him crawl back to his lines. His time in the army had shown Luther that Hitler’s vision wasn’t all that perfect, but doing anything more than thinking that would be an instant Court Martial. He could at least give the enemy a chance, by now they probably only wanted to be in this combat as much as he wanted.

The Sturmscharführer took one last troubled look down the sights off his rifle and resigned himself to his job. He squeezed the trigger, keeping the rifle steady the whole time. He took cover behind his tree and worked his route back to his hole.

Translations

Hundin! – Bitch!

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

Moderation Post

The following actions have been made:

Luther, firing a shot toward the low branches, you have successfully removed a small limb that fell and startled you enemy.

Your second shot (WHY ON EARTH WOULD YOU LET A MAN LIVE THAT WANTS TO KILL YOU?!?!?!) was...slightly more successful, although not hitting the mark you intended, it was close, more so to the inner thigh, removing a testicle in the process.

Rhys, luckily the cold weather has kept your blood veins tight and the flow not so quick, this wound cannot heal without medical attention, but you are in no PRESENT danger of passing out.

[Rhys Bevan]

Rhys felt a searing pain shoot through his entire body and stumbled to the floor in agony, gritting his teeth in pain. He breathed in and out as slowly and as camly as possible and stumbled to his feet, before staggering backwards and crashing back into the ice-cold snow. He closed his eyes and swallowed before once again attempting to rise to his feet. He was succesful this time and managed to stay upright, although leaning dependently on the tree at his side.

Reloading swiftly, the Staff Sergeant gathered up a mound of snow from the frosty ground and rolled it into a snow ball ( ). Shivering slightly from the cold, Rhys tossed it into a tree a couple of yards away in a bid to draw attention away from his position before charging wildly to a further tree, almost directly opposite the enemy's chosen position.

The enemy would not get away alive now. Rhys had grappled with his conscience whether to let the boy live but there was no two ways about it. If he did not kill the enemy then he himself would take his place in Hell. And he wasn't quite ready for the Grim Reaper yet. Not today, anyway. Rhys adjusted his trusty rifle and placed a hawk-like eye before the lens, following the enemy's exact movement. He aimed it directly at the German's chest, a mere inch below the bottom of his neck. Smiling vindictively, Rhys squeezed the trigger. As an afterthought, he re-positioned the rifle to point towards the man's scrotal area, a couple of centimetres below his belt and sent a second bullet roaring towards it.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

Moderation Post

Although there was a good bit of SPAM about this, you didn't say that you reloaded, and yes people do mention that, one of them being me.

The following actions have been made:

Falling back in the snow, as cold as it is has helped Rhys to keep from passing out due to the sudden immersion of cold.

The snow ball successfully hit the tree and caused your enemy to look in curiosity think you moved.

Your movement did not go unnoticed but was not able to be retaliated against from the slight confusion.

Your first shot landed but not as intended due to the chill and blurred vision form the pain, it did however land solidly into you enemy's left shoulder where id lodged itself into his shoulder blade, knocking him to the ground.

You second shot was a surprising "click" but would have missed due to your enemy being hidden by lying in the snow.

Luther, the use of your left arm is now almost non-existant, you are losing a large amount of blood from the area, TAKE THAT INTO CONSIDERATION!

[William Luther]

Luther fell backwards crying out in pain. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes as he tried to lift him self up with his arm, the paining making it buckle at the elbow and cause a wave of pain to travel the course of his body. He whimpered and tried to grip his rifle, his arm felt weak from the amount of blood that had been lost through three bullets into the same shoulder What were the bloody chances?

Luther had one bullet left in his gun, and he was going to use, he had to inflict some sort of pain onto the English man. He opened his mouth and began speaking in broken English as he placed the barrel of his rifle in a low tree trunk. "You English bitch," he started, peering down the sights on the barrel of his weapon, his left hand hung uselessly at his side, "You have a last chance to surrender before you feel the wrath of the Waffen SS. Place your weapon on the ground." His mind raced as he chose a target. He wouldn't have much control of the rifle, so he aimed at a central point of the targets body, about where his navel would be, so the bullet was likely to hit something. All compassion towards the enemy had been oblterated, but then a new target occured to him. He grit his teeth and squeezed the trigger, his fifth and final bullet went flying at several thousand metres a second towards the enemy.

Willam twisted back around the tree and let the gun fall on its sling. As it fell, he pulled back on the bolt and slipped another charger in. He used his back to hold the rifle against the tree as his good arm cocked the weapon. He pulled the weapon up and held it at his hip, squeezing the weapon with his elbow. He broke over the open ground and jumped down the small slide into his hidey hole. He grabbed the folded blanket from on top of his haversack and stuffed over the hole, the white wool blending in with the snowscape. He opened up a pocket on his belt and pulled out a roll of bandage. He slipped off his coat; the cold instantly began to prick at his skin as he unrolled a length of the fabric. Grimacing with pain, he pulled the bandage tightly onto his skin to stop the wound. He wrapped it around his upper arm and over his shoulder, securing it with a small clasp and some medical tape. The blood flow began to slow instantly under the pressure. Luther reached into another pocket and pulled out a small blister pack. He pushed a single blue pill out and reached for his canteen. He swallowed the pill and the drug began to take effect. William felt the pain slowly ebb away, and his thoughts clear as he leant backwards against the wall. He placed his rifle on his knee and aimed up the access. If anybody came, they would die. He took a deep breath and waited for the enemy to make their move.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

Moderation Post

The following actions have been made:

Luther, firing a single shot, hit Rhys in the forearm being unabel to aim very well.

Moving to the hole and covering it you ALMOST passed unconcious from the energy and lack of blood.

So far you are successfully bandaging your wound.

[Rhys Bevan]

Rhys let out a cry of pain as a bullet ripped through the flesh of his right forearm, and stumbled to the floor. He raised a wary face from the snowy terrain and saw a glimpse of the enemy dashing into what Rhys assumed was some kind of pit or trench. He was about to rise to his feet and retalliate the German's insult when he decided that staying low would be his best option for survivial. He began to crawl slowly and silently towards the direction of the hole, pausing every few seconds for fear of being noticed. Rhys could see that the German was defending his position as best he could, and so he doubled back and took a different turn, attacking from behind.

As he approached his destination a few seconds later, Rhys noticed that the small hole had been covered with a snow-coloured blanket. Rhys found it hard not to be impressed by his cunning. He would never have been able to tell the difference between the fabric and actual snowfall had he not been looking for it.

Rhys breathed in deeply and, with his good arm, he withdrew a single grenade from his belt. Disbelieving of what he was about to do, the Staff Sergeant pulled the pin in a breathtaking moment of anticipation and counted to two internally, taking up half of the four-second fuse. He threw it down the opening of the hole powerfully, leapt backwards into a prone position and sent three controlled shots towards the mouth of the hole in a bid to force his opponent to stay his ground in the hole.

OOC: Harsh, I know, but there is nothing I can do to you that will match my pain! I have lost Rhys juniot and you will pay the consequences. If by some miracle, Luther survives, I'll be taking him hostage. The heavy red line indicates grenade-throwing.