Grudge Match (Wolfram only)

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

OOC: Seriously Raf, there are no hard feelings, I just figured it would be a good battle and had a history to it to make it more interesting I made my one-hundreth post special just for you Raf

IC:It was a blistering hot day, The sun just seemed to suck the life out of every living thing around. No birds were in flight accept for the vultures, circling around some poor being that didn't make it. McMillan took off his uniform top and laid it onto the table that was next to the railing, he had a pretty good view from the second story balcony. He leaned back in the chair and pulled out a cigarette. Any hotter and I wouldn't need this lighter he thought as he lit it up. He took a long drag and held it for a moment, he hadn't been in combat for a little while now and was just starting to be able to enjoy it.

Africa, odd place to be, but every once in a while the intel is correct, I wouldn't have come all the way out here if I didn't think it was McMillan placed his cigarette upon his lips and let it hang down as he wiped off his forehead with the back of his right hand only to return it to it's previous task. He was sharpening up his knife, he wanted to be sure that if he did happen to see that bloody German, Wolfram, he would be ready. Intel said he should be passing through here within the hour and would have a very light escort if any. None the less, all of his magazines were loaded and his chambers were all filled.

McMillan didn't want to shoot him, well at least not from a distance, but they had unfinished business, twice he had met this man on the battle field, each of them had gained the upper hand once during their meetings. Each time due to unforeseen events neither had been able to vanquish the other. Now it was personal, McMillan wanted Wolfram dead, Wolfram wanted McMillan dead, this day might not see the both of them enjoying it's pretty sunset.

McMillan placed his blade back into it's sheath strapped to his right thigh and picked up his canteen. He had just topped it off not twenty minutes ago and it was barely cool, it would be undrinkable within the next hour due to the intense heat. McMillan let out a satisfying "Ahhh..." as he took the canteen away from his face, he leaned forward a bit and poured a little bit over the back of his head. He screwed the cap on tight and put it back on the table, leaned back in his chair and took another long drag to finish of the cigarette. He flicked it up against the wall on the other side of the balcony, just so he could see the sparks fly.

[∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram]

OOC: Oh this looks good. Great grudge match intro, can’t wait to vent some steam McMillan. I’ve implied two NPC units with Mr Wolfram, this primarily because of your second-floor height and knowledge of me within the area (element of surprise). So it sort of evens it out a little. Hope you don’t mind?

IC:

The heat, the sand, the deserted dead man’s land! A motto that the men now regularly used when on the edge of going bonkers from the heat; although, it did make a nice change, he was beginning to become tired of the relentless Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner! motto most of the men used when playing a game of cards within their bunks. What it actually meant, the Hauptsturmführer didn’t entirely know. Perhaps the insinuation of chicken dinner was the next best thing they had to no smokes? Either way, he couldn’t really care. They were here for one important reason, to the stop the British Royal Marines and Desert rats (British Armoured forces) from breaking Hitler’s neck.

Walking along heavy footedly, Rafael grumbled to himself incoherently, his two companions doing the same quietly, between long hard sighs and exhales of breaths that made a statement over and over again. I’m hot!. Young Gerwulf was one of the men striding up beside the Hauptsturmführer, his rifle hung loosely from over his shoulder, one of the few men Rafael could personally depend on. He’d seen many battles with the young soldier and prevailed many more hard times with him, the other soldier striding his opposite side, a little slower, was Burkhard. Again, the man had been through a lot with Rafael, but Burkhard being that slightly bit older, had a stubborn mind of his own at times… None the less, the two subordinates were good men and reluctantly walked the heat for their Officer.

Shifting his MP40 beside his hip a little, Rafael felt his dark uniform ‘shirt’ crumple to the weight. Alike the men, they all wore light fitting uniforms designed for the heat, but unlike his subordinates, Rafael didn’t wear shorts, just a breathable pair of dark trousers. “Herr Hauptsturmführer, ich sehen, dass wir fast es gemacht haben”[/I] muttered out Gerwulf with a weak smile, beads of sweat rolling from his temples, whilst Burkhard held a cool composure, merely looking ahead. “Hundert, Hundert und noch fünfzig Höfe Gerwulf, müssen wir das Ende von seiner Straße zuerst erreichen. Macht nicht unter schätzt die Länge” said Rafael strictly, shedding a smirk somewhat, knowing fully well they had to reach the end of the ghost town’s road before they could continue to their next target down range.

The road was long and uneven, quite wide too, buildings either-side neither tall or short, let alone many of them. So the place was crooked and ghost-like, Rafael could only imagine what’d happened there previously. Mass execution or mass evacuation? Burkhard snapped him from out of his thoughtful stature though, as the rugged male muttered “Macht nicht unter schätzt die Länge. Ich habe dass zu meiner Ehefrau einmal gesagt, haben wir fast keine Hochzeitsnacht gehabt”, Gerwulf laughed to himself and struggled with his rifle a little, whilst Rafael chirped a small laugh himself at the thought, at the same time, he didn’t fancy the images of a cocktail sausage. Urghh.


Translations:[/b]

Herr Hauptsturmführer, ich sehen, dass wir fast es gemacht haben.
~ Herr Hauptsturmführer, I see we have almost made it.

Hundert, Hundert und noch fünfzig Höfe Gerwulf, müssen wir das Ende von seiner Straße zuerst erreichen. Macht nicht unter schätzt die Länge.
~ Hundred, hundred and fifty more yards Gerwulf, we must reach the end of his road first. Do not under estimate the length.

Macht nicht unter schätzt die Länge. Ich habe dass zu meiner Ehefrau einmal gesagt, haben wir fast keine Hochzeitsnacht gehabt.
~ Do not under estimate the length. I said that to my wife once, we almost didn't have a wedding night.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

It wasn't easy to tell due to the overbearingly high temperature but had it been a cold day, the haze of heat could have been seen coming from atop McMillan's skull. He was almost livid at the fact that he had been unable to eliminate this thorn in the side of the Allies before and now he was going to have to lay eyes on the man at least one more time. He also knew that it would not be an easy task and tried his best to keep his head clear.

McMillan took a firm grip on his 1911 Colt pistol and yanked it from his holster. He reached up along the back of it with his thumb and firmly napped the hammer to the rear and put the slide lock safety in place, he didn't want to take any chances, he had placed his hands on the man before and knew that he was tougher than he looked, any fraction of a second he could shave off of his reactions would be instrumental to his success. He slid the pistol back into his holster and snapped it down tight. His nerves were on edge, he pulled out another cigarette from his pack and lit it up, almost breaking his lighter in the process using so much force. He took a quick drag and blew it out as if he thought he was drowning, it didn't matter how much he tried to vent, he knew that if the intel was right that Wolfram was getting closer by the second.

He took one of the last swigs of water from his canteen, it almost burned his lips and tongue. With a tight sneer he put the cap back on the canteen and placed it on the ground up against the wall. He couldn't get the man's face out of his head and every time he thought about the past when Wolfram had him at gunpoint his fist got tight and his knuckles turned as white as he hoped Wolfram would when he saw McMillan again. There was no denying it. Once Wolfram saw him he would know that he was there for only one purpose and that was to leave Wolfram lying limp in a pool of blood, gutted like a fish, if not worse.

He had all but finished his cigarette when he heard something that didn't belong. His ears perked a bit and his brow tightened as he listened intently. It was the clicking of boot heels No one around here would wear such a thing unless they had too. The streets below were home to merchants and passers by, the majority of them had sandals due to the heat or were just plain bare foot. McMillan crouched down and looked through the wide railing of the balcony. You have got to be kidding me! he thought to himself Not only did the intel boys get it right, he is about to pass right under me. McMillan pulled his carbine off the table and placed it at his feet. With his left hand he held his cigarette and in the right, his pistol. He had already made the mistake of wanting to kill Wolfram with his hands, but Wolfram had an escort and they must be dealt with quickly.

[∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram]

Life! The Hauptsturmführer cringed at the sudden sight of a few people lingering around towards the end of the road, merchants on their stalls, the casual few people wondering around aimlessly within the thick of the heat. Argh! Their dark skins further made the Hauptsturmführer knot up inside; If Hitler could witness their freedom so easily, he’d be bouncing around in a fit, having them do something useful for the fatherland! But no, the vermin wondered freely and sold their produce openly, like the Nazis hadn’t touched them yet.

Young Gerwulf hesitantly looked between Burkhard and the Hauptsturmführer beside him, almost beginning to feel the comedown feeling of the situation newly arising; Civilians were a menace regardless and when those Civilians just happened to be the stained race towards the Nazis, a different turmoil of oil began to burn inside the SS-Men, particularly their Hauptsturmführer who deemed very quiet, already feeling the long distant gazes from the innocent civilians within the short distance. Perhaps it was guilt that had them deem very quiet? Or true aggression to this third-world race…?

Rafael slowed his pace somewhat and casually turned to face the men lingering closely, drawing their attention quickly as they looked a little concerned. “Schauen Sie sie, nicht an spricht nicht mit ihnen und im Namen des Vaterlands, nimmt nicht Erbarmen auf ihnen. Versteht?” spat out their Hauptsturmführer vigorously, the hot tempered look straining to break free from his face, but remained composed as he watched the two men nod awkwardly and utter out “Herr Hauptsturmführer”[/b], only wanting to keep the situation calm themselves and avoid any conflict with the locals. Three men against many other’s could turn out to be a brutal conflict towards them, the town didn’t seem to be under any immediate rule either just yet, that inevitably made matters worse.

Happy with the men’s response, Rafael phased a appeased look and strafed his gaze off down the road momentarily, calculating how much further they had to subdue the heat, until they reached their fellow rendezvous. Wasting no more time, he briskly took a step off the mark again, setting the pace for the men, who clutched the leather straps to their rifles and lumbered them back over their shoulders. Burkhard however, began to feel a little intimidated by the daunting stares from a few of the locals, causing the man to swing his Karbiner 98k rifle into his grasp, cradling it across his forearms and itching his trigger finger closely towards the stock of the rifle. “Gerwulf, Sie schauen uns mögen Geister an - ich fühle gut um dies nicht”[/b] quietly said Burkhard towards Gerwulf, feeling a little nervous, causing Gerwulf to nod back in compliance and divert his stare from the local townspeople, who froze and stared.

Nearing the last fifty yards to the end of the street, a few beggars suddenly sprung out of the woodwork and slung themselves against the Hauptsturmführer, their veiled bodies and rotten hands clutching onto Rafael’s clothing, begging in despair for some money. Worriedly and quickly, Hauptsturmführer pushed at their hands, stumbling backwards a little, spurting out “STEIGEN Sie, AB STEIGEN Sie MICH AB!”, but their weight and hands prevented him from straddling his weapon, causing Gerwulf to spring forwards, clubbing the butt-end of his rifle against their bodies, knocking them back a little, whilst Burkhard sprung the bolt on his chamber, causing some of the nearby patrons to worriedly re-think their actions. Walking towards the scene, Burkhard allowed the two men to shove and remove the beggars, keeping an eye out for any other trouble makers, his body moving backwards towards a building behind him, as if to keep his rear flank covered.



Translations:[/b]

Schauen Sie sie, nicht an spricht nicht mit ihnen und im Namen des Vaterlands, nimmt nicht Erbarmen auf ihnen. Versteht?
~ Do not look at them, do not talk to them and in the fatherland's name, do not take pity upon them. Understand?

Gerwulf, Sie schauen uns mögen Geister an - ich fühle gut um dies nicht
~ Gerwulf, they look at us like ghosts - I don't feel good about this.

STEIGEN Sie, AB STEIGEN Sie MICH AB!
~ GET OFF, GET OFF ME!

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

McMillan squinted his eyes slightly, mainly due to the heat but also due to the hatred of the man coming ever so closer. They seemed a little paranoid and that was possibly one other bit of a flaw that would help McMillan pull this off. He already was going to have the element of surprise and now they were too busy watching all of the civilians in the area to even think about what was about to happen. The inevitable bloodbath that would ensue.

McMillan shifted his weight from his front foot to his back one. Didn't want either of them to fall asleep and he wanted to make sure he was harder to see, just in case. He re gripped his pistol over and over as he started to become anxious to spill the blood of the German's on the street below. It was not going to be a very honorable move that McMillan was hoping to pull off, but war is never something that honor should get in the way of, as it stood it was three versus one, McMillan just had the high ground and hopefully would keep the element of surprise.

As the trio bound for disaster neared the building McMillan was waiting in. By what must have been some higher power or something, the civilians decided that they were no longer intimidated by the small band of German soldiers. They almost looked as if they were trying to swarm them. One of the German's put a nice hurting on one of the civilians, McMillan almost wanted to smile, he would have done the same thing if he could have gotten away with it, but only for safety reasons, one of them could have been recruited by a Nazi pig in the past and had some odd hatred for Americans.

Out of either fear or need for knowing no one could get behind him, one of the German's backed up, looks like he put his back against the wall that was, at the moment, supporting the balcony that McMillan was atop. Well didn't look like this one was entirely right in his thinking, for there was someone behind him and McMillan was now in the business of killing Nazi's.

With a slow and graceful move McMillan stood a little bit and peered over the railing, the German soldier was directly below him, slightly to the right, too bad for the poor idiot that McMillan was right handed. McMillan pulled his cigarette that had almost burned out, over the railing and let it fall just in front of the unsuspecting Nazi below. His left hand coming out was immediately followed by his right, brandishing his pistol. Either way the man below would look at the cigarette, affording McMillan an easy shot at the back of his head and neck area, or he would look up and see it coming. Either way, he was doomed for punishment.

As the cigarette hit the ground McMillan placed his sights upon the idiot below. The sparks traveled a few inches from the impact and flared out with a minimal amount of smoke. Right as McMillan saw the man's helmet move he squeezed the trigger on his hand cannon and it fired, as soon as he was able to put the sights back on target due to muscle memory, he fired a second time. He didn't know the outcome of hie ruthless move, but he knew he didn't want to be right there for the reaction to it.

McMillan immediately knelt down and grabbed his carbine. He took hold of her tightly and moved, as lowly as he could, to the doorway to the balcony that, hopefully, served as his horse that brought the death of the man below. There was no door, just a rectangular hole in the wall, he positioned himself halfway in the building and halfway out. If they came up the stairs inside he would be waiting, if they fired on the balcony at such a steep angle he should be safe, if they tried to climb up the balcony, well then they were idiots and the Army should have sent a cook to handle this problem.

[PuNk! ™]

Moderation Post:[/b]

Shame this thread hasn't a map, but then again, I know the continous editing to it gets annoying. So let me know if I accidentally mistake someone being somewhere, they're not. In pure text threads, I make notes as I go through, of who's where - Hopefully I shouldn't get anything wrong. Just like to be precise with my Mod-Marks. Fair warning to you's.

The following Actions Have been made;

CSM; McMillan:

• Firing two shots from off the balcony with the Colt .45, McMillan's first bullet sparked with a loud 'Clang' as the bullet punctured through the bottom of the German Helmet from close range, imediately killing PVT. Burkhard.
  
  
• The Second Bullet added insult to injury, as it thumped into the male's neck, sending a spine chilling crack as the bullet hit the spine.
  

PVT. Burkhard will be crossed out upon your Roster Rafael, you may either remove his name or leave it.

Next Post, Wolfram.
~Danny[/color]

[∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram]

OOC: Not much to Mod-Mark, McMillan can probably post straight away. Doesn’t bother me.

BANG! A shot rang out all brisk and suddenly, catching Hauptsturmführer wearily off guard and his subordinate Gerwulf, who instinctively grappled at his rifle, falling to one knee alongside Rafael; Who’d stunningly froze, not out of shock or complete surprise, but out of awe’. Rafael’s baby blue eyes narrowed dauntingly as his eyes caught lisp of a male leaning over a nearby balcony, brandishing a Colt .45, then, BANG! another fierce American pistol bullet left the chamber - by this time, Burkhard’s body was already on it’s slumbering lifeless way to the ground, the once joking and jubilant male collapsing upon his front coldly, the apparent sight of crimson red blood spurting from the back of his head.

Screams rattled the nearby area as locals began to flee the area, market-stalls being violently pushed aside as Merchants climbed over them, slumbering their bodies across the produce and products upon their stalls, risking their wealth for their lives. The Hauptsturmführer remained frozen for a brief moment still, the face of the Allied Soldier he’d seen ever so briefly, looked incredibly familiar and now one of his subordinates laid dead, blood oozing from his skull. “Herr! Herr!” ranted Gerwulf worriedly, grasping at Rafael’s arm ruggedly to snap the man back to reality; again, Rafael wasn’t in shock, just in complete awe’ that the one male, of all the dozens of Allied soldiers he’d seen, had reappeared? The man that’d shot him twice with that very pistol, the familiar noises the shots made re-occurring within that brief moment. Boom, Boom… Perhaps this was his prayer being answered? Revenge?

Inhaling sharply, the Hauptsturmführer snapped his head towards Gerwulf and grabbed the soldier by the gruff of his uniform, marching towards the nearby ‘side wall’ of the building, that lead down a crooked narrow alley where the beggars had appeared from. “Es ist ihn! Ich kenne sein Gesicht! Es ist ihn Gerwulf!” spurted out Rafael manically momentarily, sheer madness within his eyes, aggression building as he gripped into Gerwulf’s tunic, gritting his teeth. Young Gerwulf merely stared, unable to comprehend what his superior meant, but nodded none the less.

Gulping hard, Rafael let go of Gerwulf’s tunic and yanked his MP40 up from his side, angrily pulling at the bolt upon the side of the SMG to load it. Glancing towards Gerwulf momentarily and out of the Alley towards the Balcony, he began to phase a plan. “Jener rührende Mann ist allein, sehe ich, dass kein anderes Mittel feuert von und Gebrauch seine Seitenwaffe gut bewahrt er, was von seiner Munition verlassen ist. Dieser Narr ist nicht raffiniert, schießt er ein Grunzen, wenn das überlegene ein paar Höfe weg ist. Ich habe diesen Mann an seinen Knieen einmal gehabt... Er wird den Boden lecken, bis ich mit ihm gemacht bin!” spoke the Hauptsturmführer quickly as he flicked his eyes about, from the street, to the balcony, to the body and back to Gerwulf, planning everything perfectly. Something he was best at.

Finally, he moved away from the edge of the wall and pointed towards a back entrance a few meters away, quickly ordering “Sie werden hier, Erschießung an jenem Balkon, Schrei zufällige Wörter bleiben, als wenn Sie mit mir kommunizieren... Mit Ihnen sehen mich an jenem Balkon als der Sieger nicht, flieht Gerwulf. Steigen Sie dort nicht. Sie müssen was ist geschehen hier berichten, versteht!? Feuern Sie jetzt! Gehen Sie!” he said with an urgency, ushering the young soldier off towards the edge of the wall, who merely done as he was told, aiming up towards the balcony with a swift eye, firing the whole remainder of his clip in a mere thirty seconds, shouting loudly in German as if he were talking to someone… By now, Wolfram had already sneaked in through the door.

Translations:[/b]

Herr! Herr!
~ Sir! Sir!

Es ist ihn! Ich kenne sein Gesicht! Es ist ihn Gerwulf!
~ It's him! I know his face! It's him Gerwulf!

Jener rührende Mann ist allein, sehe ich, dass kein anderes Mittel feuert von und Gebrauch seine Seitenwaffe gut bewahrt er, was von seiner Munition verlassen ist. Dieser Narr ist nicht raffiniert, schießt er ein Grunzen, wenn das überlegene ein paar Höfe weg ist. Ich habe diesen Mann an seinen Knieen einmal gehabt... Er wird den Boden lecken, bis ich mit ihm gemacht bin!
~ That pathetic man is alone, i see no other means of firing and using his side-arm, well, he's preserving what's left of his ammunition. This fool is not clever, he shoots a grunt when the superior is a few yards away. I had this man at his knees once... He will be licking the floor by the time I'm done with him!

Sie werden hier, Erschießung an jenem Balkon, Schrei zufällige Wörter bleiben, als wenn Sie mit mir kommunizieren... Mit Ihnen sehen mich an jenem Balkon als der Sieger nicht, flieht Gerwulf. Steigen Sie dort nicht. Sie müssen was ist geschehen hier berichten, versteht!? Feuern Sie jetzt! Gehen Sie!
~ You'll stay here, shoot at that balcony, shout random words as if you're communicating with me... With you do not see me at that balcony as the victor, flee Gerwulf. Do not go up there. You must report what has happened here, understand!? Now fire! Go!

[PuNk! ™]

Moderation Post:[/b]

I've decided to make a Mod-Mark anyway, in regards to Mr Wolfram's NPC unit taking shots and other movements being made.

CPT. Wolfram:

• Using his initative and taking cover successfully, Gerwulf's rifle shots failed to make any real connection with the enemy (McMillan), as they sparked and clanged against the metal railings.
  
  
• However, CPT. Wolfram has managed to issue sufficient orders (with the help of Gerwulf's loud ranting) to conceal his next movement. Entering the building quietly, CPT. Wolfram remains concealed to the enemy.
  

Next Post, McMillan.
~Danny[/color]

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

McMillan could hear some shouts coming from below, he was hoping that it was due to the fact that the Nazi that had been against the wall was now laying dead next to it. There was a lot of commotion coming from below as the screams of civilians filled the air. It sounded almost as if someone had started a stampede.

As the sounds drew further and further away, incoming fire started to erupt onto the railings of the balcony. Slow reaction McMillan thought as he jumped from being startled by it and bit his tongue. Mmmmm, gah that stings as he wiped a little blood from his lip. He was not in a good position and had given up his element of surprise for one opportunity that he used to possibly inflict damage on one enemy. DAMN IT!!! Should have tried to fire at the others. He shook his head a little as small pieces of debris fell around him from the brief volley of fire. Oh well, what's done is done, time to focus on how to get the rest of this done or get out of here.

Whoever was firing below was not Wolfram, McMillan knew his voice, but he was apparently talking to him, McMillan didn't know any German and even if he did, it would have been almost impossible to make it out over the slow stream of bullets coming up into the balcony's edge. McMillan had a small idea, wouldn't do much but it might buy him a little time, not that he really knew what he would do with it if it worked.

He gritted his teeth a bit on the wound on his tongue and let a bit of blood pool into his mouth. He reached out and grasped his canteen behind him now. He held it under his head and let the blood drool out onto it, he repeated this process again until he had what would look like a lot of blood on it and smeared it a little with his hand to make it look like he had tried to clean some wound after applying some pressure or something. He lay down and inched over to the edge, the fire had ceased, he wasn't going over there while the man below might have a chance at a lucky shot. He slowly slid his canteen under the bottom of the railing, trying his best to stay out of sight, the canteen hit the ground with a thud and a small sloshing of water inside.

McMillan returned to his spot where he then swapped his magazines in his pistol, might have only been for two rounds but you never know. He crept across the hallway to the room just adjacent to the balcony and tried to see if he could spot anyone out of the other side of the building. All he could see through the only window in there was a sea of rooftops. Lovely...well you have effectively put yourself in a horrible position, if they have reinforcements near they can wait, you on the other hand have nothing and definitely do not have the luxury of waiting. He moved back to the doorway of the room he was in and positioned himself to see down the hallway toward the stairs. He was listening to see if the man below might have taken the bait. If he started talking and not shooting, McMillan might have a chance at another good shot, but it was doubtful.

[∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram]

“Um -- STERBEN Sie! Essen Sie ja meine Scheiße! Verrotten Sie in Hölle! Erwürgen Sie auf Ihrem eigenen Atem!” yelled out young Gerwulf as he frantically twisted and clunked at the warm steel bolt protruding from the side of his Karbiner. His arm rugged and quick, snapping his finger upon the trigger briskly to set a-breeze quick rifle shots, almost in hope that it’d psyche out the soldier that there was more than the odd one or two soldiers below. All the man knew, hopefully, from Gerwulf’s perspective, was that he caught a glimpse of a few men waltzing down the road. Sure, there could be a whole column more of soldiers trotting along behind for all he knew! Right!?

Gerwulf moistened his throat and pushed aside the thoughts, continuing to frantically reload his bolt-action rifle, but the spring hit an empty chamber and the young, yet experienced soldier fell back behind the wall with a hasty slip in his step. “Ich bin heiß... Dieses Schwein stirbt am besten schnell” muttered out the young soldier to himself, as he loosened the strap beneath his jaw, his hard cumbersome helmet immediately becoming lighter - the young boy’s pearly blue eyes lisping in the limelight of the sun as he began to fiddle out another round of bullets for his rifle, snapping them downwards into the stock of the rifle, before hitching the bolt upon the rifle to load quickly. “Ein... Zwei... Drei…”[/I] he counted down slowly, as if to calm his nerves, the smell of Burkhard’s rotting corpse already catching wind of the hot air, before he sprung out from behind the wall and yelled with a hardened grunt of a war-cry to start snapping his finger against the rifle’s trigger again, sending another fast volley of rifle shots off towards the balcony.

Meanwhile, Hauptsturmführer Wolfram quietly walked along the narrow and dark corridor to the ground-floor, his own pearly blue eyes glowing in the dark as he cautiously and slowly walked through the warm building. His breathing became slow and long, as he nervously continued to creep slowly, the noise outside covering most of his soft feet marks made, as young Gerwulf frantically and aggressively hurled random abuse and pot-shots towards the upper tier of the building. Just as he requested.

Passing beneath a wooden ceiling fan, that spun crookedly, blowing hot air downwards upon the Hauptsturmführer momentarily; Rafael paused and slowly drew his MP40 closer to his long slender hands. Peering into a room upon his right, he gradually moved along, shuffling noises emitting from above as expected, obviously, but whether there might’ve been anyone else lurking - well, he had to be cautious, as he continued to advance through the downstairs quarters. Eventually, his eyes set upon a flight stairs in the short distance and the devious trademark grin emerged upon his lips.

Shifting his Officer’s cap a little, the Hauptsturmführer glanced around quickly one last time and urgently made his primary target the staircase. Approaching it with a dead aim from the end of his MP40’s barrel, he strode closely and made sure no lurking eyes were looking over, taking his first step onto the flight of stairs, he gradually began to ascend upwards the flight of stairs, his body lowering immensely as he crept along, his breath tightening up within his gullet as he held it all in, his wet and sweaty palms clutching at his submachine gun with a deadly grip and iron-fist. Then, fixing his gaze upon the door at the end of the staircase, he pinpointed quickly where the balcony would be from the outside and grimaced at the thought of being wrong, but certainly knew the noises were from within that room. Hitting the trigger, he opened his mouth as to not burst an eardrum within the closed walls and began to send a whole barrage of bullets spiralling off towards the door, his eyes squinting as he watched chunks of wood spurt and kick out from the woodwork, before quickly he darted off the staircase and slumbered into one of the rooms, hiding up against the wall with a desperate panic of breath to catch his nerve again. Awaiting the man to either find him or run…



Translations:[/b]

Um -- STERBEN Sie! Essen Sie ja meine Scheiße! Verrotten Sie in Hölle! Erwürgen Sie auf Ihrem eigenen Atem!
~ Um -- DIE! Yes, eat my shit! Rot in hell! Choke on your own breath!

Ich bin heiß... Dieses Schwein stirbt am besten schnell.
~ I'm hot... This pig best die quick.

Ein... Zwei... Drei...
~ One… Two… Three…

[PuNk! ™]

Moderation Post:[/b]

Hey guys, good battle you've got going on here. Enjoyable to read.

CPT. Wolfram:

• With (NPC) Gerwulf shooting at the balcony, the bullets continued to 'blindly' miss their target, but none the less, did cause a 'racket' and continue to puncture holes throughout the exterior of the balcony.
  
  
• Creeping up the staircase and opening fire; With a good surprise effect, CPT. Wolfram's SMG Bullets failed to make any big inital penertration through the wooden door. SMGs are known for their close combat, but Assualt Rifles are known for their piercing qualities.
  
  
• However, from the velocity and mass of bullets fired. A majority of the bullets did manage to puncture holes and break through, sharp studs of lead cascading around the room within, acting more like stray bullets reflecting from off their inital impact upon the door.
  
  
• One of them successfully slitting across McMillan's cheek, causing a minor wound, but blood spatter none the less.
  

~Danny[/color]

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

McMillan thought about sitting back on his heel for a moment to try and come up with something, the wild fire off toward the balcony had continued once more Maybe he will run out of ammo...that would be ni His thought took a back seat to the creak he just heard on the staircase, before his eyes could completely widen, a barrage of small arms fire came rushing down the hallway. HOLY BLOODY HELL!! Ran through his mind as he leaned towards the interior of the room and rolled over back onto his feet, still in a low position.

As he started to stand, he noticed that his face was wet, he put his left hand up to it and drew it away, it was smeared with warm wet blood. OHH, you just made your next to last mistake pal! McMillan wanted him, the hatred almost started his brain to boiling. He put his pistol into his holster and pulled his carbine up to his shoulder, he didn't really aim at all, he just pulled his sights up to the wall that seperated the room he was in and the hall way. He let out a tremendous moan, as if he had been critically wounded and fired off two rounds with a brief pause in between them then coughed and sputtered a bit and fired off a third round. Sounds believable enough. He thought as he coughed a bit more and stomped the back of his heel on the ground, almost as if impersonating a bull about to charge I do it when I'm on the ground hurt, most people I see on the ground hurt do the same thing.

McMillan peeked his head out of the doorway and couldn't see anyone in the hallway. He stepped across back to the balcony and grabbed his uniform top, two holes, not bad The German below must have put them there and now he was gonna play possum. He stepped back across the hallway and moaned a bit with a cough or two in there. He put on his top and buttoned it up one in the lower abdomen and one near the collar bone on the same side, that one would have more blood. "Oh God...(cough)...not...(cough) not now...UNNHH!"He wiped his face with a few of his fingers and went about placing the blood near the two holes, more on the higher one.

He laid down on the floor and fired on last shot from his carbine into the ceiling right above him so the dust and debris would sprinkle on his body, then he tossed his carbine toward the farthest corner from the door, it made a horrible commotion. He moaned and groaned, coughed and sputtered through the whole process. He stomped and drug his feet as well. He pulled out his pistol yet again and locked the hammer back,"PLE...PLEASE GOD...(cough cough)...LET ME...MAKE IT...(cough sputter) OUTTA HERE!! (cough)" placing his arm and pistol right up against his body so as not to be seen from the door way. He pulled out his blade and laid his other arm out so as to draw attention if need be.

He made sure to always keep at least on eye on the door as he continued on with his act. He winced as he ground his teeth in his mouth again so that the blood would decorate his teeth and he spit some out so it would run down his chin. Well if I ever get back home I should go into show business He just kept on with the charade, waiting to see if he could fool the best foe he had ever come across. (cough sputter stomp)

[PuNk! ™]

Moderation Post:[/b]

Following Actions have been made;

CSM, McMillan:

• Firing two shots through the adjacent wall, neither successfully managed to penertrate the enemy, as the slowed down bullets merely gracefully hit an obstacle. Not being Wolfram.
  

Next Post, Wolfram.
~Danny[/color]

[∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram]

Licking his lips, the Hauptsturmführer’s fingers coiled around the heated hand-grips to his MP40, his eyes slithering off to face the doorway, when a sudden two apparent rifle shots came curdling through the corridor, breaking into one of the adjacent walls with a monstrous landing, causing lumps of hard debris to cascade upon the ground. Holding his breath out of instinct, as if to not alert the enemy anymore of his close proximity or position, his baby blue eyes suddenly widened when the curdling cries lingered upon the warm air. Throated spits and rugged coughs murmured down the short, yet narrow corridor. Did he really manage to nail the son of a bitch!? It was highly likely, considering he emptied half of his magazine into the recipient’s room.

Moistening his throat with a hardy gulp, he ever so slowly and as if too cautiously, dragged his body towards the doorframe, ever so slowly dipping his head out towards the wooden door, splintered with puncture holes and dents from his mean machine’s vicious bite. He knew in his heart of hearts he should’ve just descended the staircase, grab Gerwulf and Burkhard’s dog-tag, but curiosity and revenge compelled the Hauptsturmführer to finish what he’d started - sure, he only had a brief glimpse of the man’s face from the balcony, but he never forgot a face and this so-called man has been the only one within the whole war so far, to even make Rafael draw blood. He had to pay for his ignorance towards the Fatherland, he had to end the rodent’s life, once and for all.

Once again, cautiously and slowly, the Hauptsturmführer slipped out into the narrow corridor and pushed his finger upon the release catch to his MP40, yanking out the half empty magazine and straddling it back into his ammunition holder upon his belt. Immediately yanking out another magazine, he slammed it into the receiving chamber and yanked the bolt back upon his MP40 real loudly, in hope to intimidate the presumed wounded man behind the door… Ready to meet his foe.

Kicking the door with an almighty swing from his booted leg, the heavy wood shuddered as it thumped against the wall; Rafeal immediately grabbing at his MP40 mercilessly as he trained it around the room, stepping in quickly to strafe his weapon about, before catching a glimpse of something behind a small table inside the room. Angrily, he kicked the small coffee table off it’s feet and narrowed his barrel end down towards the limp man on the ground, protruding two bullet holes from his tunic and a spatter of more blood around his face and limbs. “WER SIND SIE!? SIND SIE ALLEIN!?” Rafael spat out angrily, as he kicked the man’s leg with the tip of his boot, testing the wounded man’s patience, asking for a further reason to just blow his brains out right now. As he stood looming his MP40 over the wounded man, he caught a glimpse of something sparkle from his hand and immediately strode to his side, further kicking at the man, but his hand this time - sending the knife skidding across the floor a few meters away.

His forehead baled with sweat, Rafael stepped back a little and looked towards the Balcony, remembering Gerwulf “GERWULF Erhalten Sie --” but before he could even finish, he took a long look at the man’s face, smirking deviously, changing his mind about Gerwulf coming up to him - He wanted to make this man suffer, miserably. “Erhalten Sie das Etikett von Burkhard, erwarten Sie für mich unten…” he continued, a big fat smug grin on his face as he slowly stepped backwards, away from McMillan, his gun trained upon the man on the floor the whole while. “V-hat is your name, Soldier?”? said Rafael in a hard spoken English, his German thick and strong, asking a casual question, whilst he leant down to pick up the toppled over coffee table, twisting his Officer’s cap from off his head to rest upon the wood; His free hand soon enough making it’s self busy again, as he began to undo a few collar buttons upon his tunic, glaring upon the man he’d only dreamt of killing, ever since the day he slipped the club of his rifle.


Translations:[/b]

WER SIND SIE!? SIND SIE ALLEIN!?
~ WHO ARE YOU!? ARE YOU ALONE!?

GERWULF Erhalten Sie --
~GERWULF Get--

Erhalten Sie das Etikett von Burkhard, erwarten Sie für mich unten...
~ Get Burkhard's Tag, await for me downstairs...

[PuNk! ™]

Moderation Post:[/b]

I see no real need to Mod-Mark Rafael's recent post; No offensive actions have been made and disarming the Knife from McMillan is not God-Modding, regardling the current situation.

So good post all around, McMillan's Turn Next.
~Danny[/color]