Post by Franz Albrecht on Jul 19, 2012 18:15:19 GMT
Country: Austria
Current Time: 3:30 AM
Weather Conditions: Light thunder and lighting storm
The haunting wail of air raid sirens echoed through the night air. Search lights darted and danced through the sky scanning for any Allied bombers. Suddenly the first formations break cloud cover, tracers from ground AA fire whip toward them. Flak explodes sending large shards of shrapnel into anything in its path. The loud rumble of engines shook the earth as the dark sky flickered and flashed. German night fighters started their attack, after a few moments some of the allied planes dropped altitude and burst into flames roaring toward earth in a fireball. The aircraft were now over their drop zone, the bombs began to fall.
Franz let out a loud moan then quickly sat up fumbling with the blankets that surrounded him. “I must get to the shelter”, he thought. Sweat poured down his forehead and he trembled in fear. He took a quick look at the nearby window that was open, the curtain blew in the wind. It had been another nightmare, Franz tossed the blankets off him and planted his feet on the floor. After a deep sigh he lifted a nearby glass of water to his lips and took a sip. Outside lightning streaked the sky, followed by a short rumble. Setting the glass back down he decided that he wasn’t going to get any more sleep.
Franz had come home to his family’s estate in Austria for leave. However coming from the Western territories with all the bombings had taken a toll on his nerves. After getting dressed Franz wondered through the dark halls of the 18th century mansion. The hallways were wide and well decorated. Paintings and sculptures were located on both sides, the statues of Franz’s family members cast ghostly shadows. He moved slowly in an attempt to sneak outside quietly, the marble floor beneath his feet made it difficult in jackboots.
He felt like a kid again, trying to sneak out in the night. Childhood seemed farther away than it had ever been. After descending the grand stair case into the main foyer a silhouette entered the room from a door on the far side of the room. Franz suddenly began to explain when his father stepped out of the shadows with a finger resting on his lips, “You will wake your mother”. An older man in his 60’s who walked with a cane. Rolf Albrecht was a First World War veteran and retired university professor, moved closer to his son,“I’m surprised you didn’t wake earlier, I heard you on my way down an hour ago”. He rested a hand on Franz’s shoulder, “War my boy gets the better of us all”. With a sigh he continued, “ I dream of the trenches often, I never told you or your mother what the war was like”. The man’s face appeared emotionless, “She could never understand”. This was the first time Rolf had ever spoke to Franz about the first war.
Franz saw a side of his father he had never seen before tonight. He wasn’t a harsh man, he always treated his family good but wouldn’t hesitate to punish his children when needed. The two men stood there in the darkness, quietly in one another’s company. Rolf turned toward the study, “Let’s have a brandy, it passes the time”. Rolf used his cane and limped toward an open door on the left side of the foyer, inside a large dimly lit study became visible, cigar smoke filled the air.
Franz used to sneak in here as a child. If his father ever knew about that one, he would have tanned his arse. With a slight grin Franz looked around the room. It was a man’s room, filled with knowledge. There were books in German, French, Italian and even English. Albrecht did a 360 degree turn, his gaze focused on a WW1 British officers sabre resting on the mantle above the fire place. Rolf spoke, “I picked that up some time at the beginning of the war”, A faraway look appeared on his father’s face, “When I’m dead you’ll get it”, he suddenly smiled and walked toward a table with several liquor bottles on it. Franz wondered into the room and sat in a deep leather chair beside the fireplace. “I saw some Brits at Dunkirk, but these days they are usually agents or commandos”, Franz replied in a low tone. There was a moment of silence, the only sound was that of liquid being poured into a glass. Rolf brought a glass to his son, “To peace..”, the grin faded from his face as he responded, “Peace..heh, It won't be long. We are losing this one Pa.".
Current Time: 3:30 AM
Weather Conditions: Light thunder and lighting storm
The haunting wail of air raid sirens echoed through the night air. Search lights darted and danced through the sky scanning for any Allied bombers. Suddenly the first formations break cloud cover, tracers from ground AA fire whip toward them. Flak explodes sending large shards of shrapnel into anything in its path. The loud rumble of engines shook the earth as the dark sky flickered and flashed. German night fighters started their attack, after a few moments some of the allied planes dropped altitude and burst into flames roaring toward earth in a fireball. The aircraft were now over their drop zone, the bombs began to fall.
Franz let out a loud moan then quickly sat up fumbling with the blankets that surrounded him. “I must get to the shelter”, he thought. Sweat poured down his forehead and he trembled in fear. He took a quick look at the nearby window that was open, the curtain blew in the wind. It had been another nightmare, Franz tossed the blankets off him and planted his feet on the floor. After a deep sigh he lifted a nearby glass of water to his lips and took a sip. Outside lightning streaked the sky, followed by a short rumble. Setting the glass back down he decided that he wasn’t going to get any more sleep.
Franz had come home to his family’s estate in Austria for leave. However coming from the Western territories with all the bombings had taken a toll on his nerves. After getting dressed Franz wondered through the dark halls of the 18th century mansion. The hallways were wide and well decorated. Paintings and sculptures were located on both sides, the statues of Franz’s family members cast ghostly shadows. He moved slowly in an attempt to sneak outside quietly, the marble floor beneath his feet made it difficult in jackboots.
He felt like a kid again, trying to sneak out in the night. Childhood seemed farther away than it had ever been. After descending the grand stair case into the main foyer a silhouette entered the room from a door on the far side of the room. Franz suddenly began to explain when his father stepped out of the shadows with a finger resting on his lips, “You will wake your mother”. An older man in his 60’s who walked with a cane. Rolf Albrecht was a First World War veteran and retired university professor, moved closer to his son,“I’m surprised you didn’t wake earlier, I heard you on my way down an hour ago”. He rested a hand on Franz’s shoulder, “War my boy gets the better of us all”. With a sigh he continued, “ I dream of the trenches often, I never told you or your mother what the war was like”. The man’s face appeared emotionless, “She could never understand”. This was the first time Rolf had ever spoke to Franz about the first war.
Franz saw a side of his father he had never seen before tonight. He wasn’t a harsh man, he always treated his family good but wouldn’t hesitate to punish his children when needed. The two men stood there in the darkness, quietly in one another’s company. Rolf turned toward the study, “Let’s have a brandy, it passes the time”. Rolf used his cane and limped toward an open door on the left side of the foyer, inside a large dimly lit study became visible, cigar smoke filled the air.
Franz used to sneak in here as a child. If his father ever knew about that one, he would have tanned his arse. With a slight grin Franz looked around the room. It was a man’s room, filled with knowledge. There were books in German, French, Italian and even English. Albrecht did a 360 degree turn, his gaze focused on a WW1 British officers sabre resting on the mantle above the fire place. Rolf spoke, “I picked that up some time at the beginning of the war”, A faraway look appeared on his father’s face, “When I’m dead you’ll get it”, he suddenly smiled and walked toward a table with several liquor bottles on it. Franz wondered into the room and sat in a deep leather chair beside the fireplace. “I saw some Brits at Dunkirk, but these days they are usually agents or commandos”, Franz replied in a low tone. There was a moment of silence, the only sound was that of liquid being poured into a glass. Rolf brought a glass to his son, “To peace..”, the grin faded from his face as he responded, “Peace..heh, It won't be long. We are losing this one Pa.".
