Post by jimbobdudley on Oct 5, 2007 16:29:08 GMT -5
“Come on Jimmy old boy! If you run at that speed on the battlefield Jerry will most certainly have shot you down in moments!”
Jimmy swore to God if Corporal Harold Swift didn’t have the friendly facial features and the combed moustache that he did, it would be much harder to deny him. Jimmy Davies took a brief pause to catch breath as he shot a glance at his leader, who stood a walking distance away from him smiling like a Cheshire cat.
“Don’t worry, only five more hay men to kill!”
He said in his usual jolly voice. It was a inside joke within the squadron that Harold was used for some of the propaganda posters the government used to encourage to join up as he always bared such a resemblance to the leader with the twisted moustache. At least it was better than being compared to ‘We Want You’ Kritcher.
The Squadron was easy for Jimmy to settle into. Mainly due to the fact all of them were from his local area of Peckham, London. Apparently it was a scheme made by the army to get more men to join, by having their own select squads of friends. This had proved to be popular and squads named such as ‘Birmingham Bud’s’ or the 'Sheffield Pal's'. The hometown connection helped everyone to gel quickly and generally help morale. For Jimmy it had worked at any rate.
It had been two months since Jimmy had joined the army. December was fast approaching, and there was still no word on when the war was to end. Many would say this would be too soon for a war, but it was one of the great lines and jokes the British used for recruitment drives.
'The War will be over by Christmas'
Many fools had believed them and joined, seeing the war as a free holiday in Belgium and France. The looks of worry and panic as the prospect of front line action was soon dawning on their faces it was looking like the war would be longer than expected. The face of war had changed. No more glorious charges of the cavalry, the machine gun were less of a threat as before, and the side was much tougher than the Zulu's. Trench warfare. Two lines were drawn in Europe and dug into its muddy, unforgiving body. Progress was hard to make, as either side could easily mow down any advancing side with a blast of the deadly machine gun.
Back in England, however, the morale amongst the public was still great. Words of encouragement stilled reigned upon high as the public were fed lies of the brave British and the how ghastly, horrid creatures the Germans were. It was same within in the camp as the higher authority in there tried to get the men geared up for facing the enemy.
"They are the devil's children,"
a General once told them all in a briefing,
"They know no emotions, they have no heart and they will certainly take no second chances with your life."
The General paused mid speech as he tried to think of what else to say. It was clear to the soldiers he had not thought of this before hand.
"...Do you know what one looks like? A German soldier? Well, I'll tell yer, cos I have...seen one that is. Well, he has...he has...eye's of hate. Well...bad... And a pointed moustache to try to scare those around him, but he doesn't scare us, hey chaps?"
He laughed. The only to do so. The soldiers looked at him with vacant expression, while maybe whispering the odd thing into someone’s ear and snickering cruely. It wasn't exactly inspiring.
"And the spike. That spike on their helmet. Do you know what that’s all about? It’s for killing that is. But not just you and me, oh no, but those of little children..."
"I say! I won't let him near my kid then!"
Chuckling aroused around Swift, who wasn't obviously impressed with the speech as everyone else. His cheeky smile was like that of a small child as he itched his moustache. The General was not at all impressed.
"Act as your role expects you too, Corporal..."
He muttered in a dull tone. Swift replied with a little salute before grinning at the troops who surrounded him.
---------------------------------------
3:30 PM
A light wind blew other the fields that morning. Its weak grasp was strong enough to pick up the likes of the fallen autumn leaves and glide them for a short distance. Its whistle was the only sound for a distance in the open air. Soundly a gun shot, loud and sharp, appeared in the distance and then the festation began. Men, soldiers to their country, charged up the steep bank. Weapons in hand they gathered speed gradually, legs pumping hard like big pistons to an old ship. Eyes focused and strained, they fell to the floor one by one. Their camaflonge hiding them amongst the long grass. Shouts came from within the sounds of gun fire and explosions. The shouting from one soldier gets more aggressive. He shouts with great rage at his companions, but the sounds of a bomb falling makes him hard to hear. Frustrated, he gives up and charges. Head down, he runs like an American Football player going for the winning touch down point. The gun shots sound all around him. He dives for the floor as the world around him turns into a slow motion film. His heart beating so hard it's a surprise it’s not visibly beating out of his chest. He hits the floor hard and rolls on the grass before stopping face first on the floor. Breathing heavily, he looks up slowly to see a pair of boots. Big, wide black boots, courtesy of the American Army.
"Nice try, Charles. Unfortunately you would've got shot as soon as you got up."
A panting Paul Charles turns himself wearily onto his back and stretches his arms out wide. He's eyes widen by the impact of the adrenaline.
"Be...bet..."
His words struggled to end between the deep breaths.
"...better than staying idle on the floor. Either way I would've been shot."
General Harry Logan smiled upon his young trainee.
"It would've taken great balls to do that on the field, though."
"Sir, I do not think this is neither the place nor time to talk about my sexual activities..."
Logan raised his eyebrow at the soldier’s comments and took a quick glance at the pretend battlefield. The soldiers had made very little ground since Charles' run and hadn't even reached the third speaker, out of the seven of them.
It was going to be a long day...
6:56 PM
Inside a darkened office, there is minimal lighting. An aged army commander sorts his messy desk. Papers and document folders lay in scatty piles all over the wooden surface. He sighs as he looks at the task in front of him. Leaning back on his chair he runs his wrinkled hands through his balding head. He paused for a moment as if time froze still. He went to open a drawer when an abrupt knocking came from his door.
"Enter"
He boomed as he quickly tried to get back to the mess that was his desk. In entered the tall frame of Logan entered.
"Sir."
He held in his hand a document file, which given the situation on the Corporals desk didn't help no end.
"Just my notes on the weeks training sir..."
The look on the general’s face was apologetic as he surveyed the mess with the file outstretched in his hand. The corporal just laughed.
"No problem Logan, I'll look at it after."
He smiled, which gave Logan some relief by the look on his face. The general went to turn towards the door, before returning for one more question.
"What’s the situation in Africa looking like, sir?"
"Well, they've officially taken over. We're considering action, and that’s about as far as I know."
"Ok, sir...thanks you..."
Down-hearted, as if he was expecting more information, Logan leaves the office, softly shutting the door. The Corporal sighs once more.
He hadn't the heart to tell him the truth...
Reckless. The fighting underdog of the WFWF. The unsung hero…
...the total fluke.
At Survival of the Fittest you faced me at my lowest point. Since the day I joined the WFWF, I've always set myself goals. Little aims of achievement. For starters, it was to get good matches and be noticed on the House Shows, which I did by Main Eventing it nearly every show in my time there. So goal one was achieved. Then when the X-Breed title came about, I aimed to win that. X in the Air I climbed that ladder and seized it with my two hands. Goal two crossed off my list. Now as a champion, I tried to get myself on the TV shows. I also happened to climb a ladder for that to grab the contract for it. Ironic how things like that happen, hey? But then, when I got to Felo-De-Se my goals just...vanished. I had nothing. I had no dreams, no ambitions. I was a lonely sheep, lost from my heard. Then I went on a slight decline. I didn't have any drive to compete. That’s why, after you pinned me at the PPV, something inside me clicked. A lever in my head switched. I needed something to aim for. Not a title or a record. But for pride. See, losing to you...well...its the sh*ts basically. I mean, look at where your careers gone. Once you could've had a full time contract with the main show. You blew it and now you’re jobbing on the House Show. Hey, I feel your pain. I know it’s a b*tch there. You want to go to do better things and you’re being held back. But still, life's hard. If it was up to me, I would sack you. But then, I'm not the one with the power and the fancy office with the name plate. Go fish. But Reckless lets talk business. Loaded. New show, new era, new Possessed Child, new goals. Whole new me, a totally different Child from the one you faced at Survival of the Fittest. You have two options, get beaten or go back to the House Shows.
Your choice and your neck. Choose wisely.
Jimmy swore to God if Corporal Harold Swift didn’t have the friendly facial features and the combed moustache that he did, it would be much harder to deny him. Jimmy Davies took a brief pause to catch breath as he shot a glance at his leader, who stood a walking distance away from him smiling like a Cheshire cat.
“Don’t worry, only five more hay men to kill!”
He said in his usual jolly voice. It was a inside joke within the squadron that Harold was used for some of the propaganda posters the government used to encourage to join up as he always bared such a resemblance to the leader with the twisted moustache. At least it was better than being compared to ‘We Want You’ Kritcher.
The Squadron was easy for Jimmy to settle into. Mainly due to the fact all of them were from his local area of Peckham, London. Apparently it was a scheme made by the army to get more men to join, by having their own select squads of friends. This had proved to be popular and squads named such as ‘Birmingham Bud’s’ or the 'Sheffield Pal's'. The hometown connection helped everyone to gel quickly and generally help morale. For Jimmy it had worked at any rate.
It had been two months since Jimmy had joined the army. December was fast approaching, and there was still no word on when the war was to end. Many would say this would be too soon for a war, but it was one of the great lines and jokes the British used for recruitment drives.
'The War will be over by Christmas'
Many fools had believed them and joined, seeing the war as a free holiday in Belgium and France. The looks of worry and panic as the prospect of front line action was soon dawning on their faces it was looking like the war would be longer than expected. The face of war had changed. No more glorious charges of the cavalry, the machine gun were less of a threat as before, and the side was much tougher than the Zulu's. Trench warfare. Two lines were drawn in Europe and dug into its muddy, unforgiving body. Progress was hard to make, as either side could easily mow down any advancing side with a blast of the deadly machine gun.
Back in England, however, the morale amongst the public was still great. Words of encouragement stilled reigned upon high as the public were fed lies of the brave British and the how ghastly, horrid creatures the Germans were. It was same within in the camp as the higher authority in there tried to get the men geared up for facing the enemy.
"They are the devil's children,"
a General once told them all in a briefing,
"They know no emotions, they have no heart and they will certainly take no second chances with your life."
The General paused mid speech as he tried to think of what else to say. It was clear to the soldiers he had not thought of this before hand.
"...Do you know what one looks like? A German soldier? Well, I'll tell yer, cos I have...seen one that is. Well, he has...he has...eye's of hate. Well...bad... And a pointed moustache to try to scare those around him, but he doesn't scare us, hey chaps?"
He laughed. The only to do so. The soldiers looked at him with vacant expression, while maybe whispering the odd thing into someone’s ear and snickering cruely. It wasn't exactly inspiring.
"And the spike. That spike on their helmet. Do you know what that’s all about? It’s for killing that is. But not just you and me, oh no, but those of little children..."
"I say! I won't let him near my kid then!"
Chuckling aroused around Swift, who wasn't obviously impressed with the speech as everyone else. His cheeky smile was like that of a small child as he itched his moustache. The General was not at all impressed.
"Act as your role expects you too, Corporal..."
He muttered in a dull tone. Swift replied with a little salute before grinning at the troops who surrounded him.
Little did anyone know that Swift would be soon sending them all to their deaths...
---------------------------------------
3:30 PM
A light wind blew other the fields that morning. Its weak grasp was strong enough to pick up the likes of the fallen autumn leaves and glide them for a short distance. Its whistle was the only sound for a distance in the open air. Soundly a gun shot, loud and sharp, appeared in the distance and then the festation began. Men, soldiers to their country, charged up the steep bank. Weapons in hand they gathered speed gradually, legs pumping hard like big pistons to an old ship. Eyes focused and strained, they fell to the floor one by one. Their camaflonge hiding them amongst the long grass. Shouts came from within the sounds of gun fire and explosions. The shouting from one soldier gets more aggressive. He shouts with great rage at his companions, but the sounds of a bomb falling makes him hard to hear. Frustrated, he gives up and charges. Head down, he runs like an American Football player going for the winning touch down point. The gun shots sound all around him. He dives for the floor as the world around him turns into a slow motion film. His heart beating so hard it's a surprise it’s not visibly beating out of his chest. He hits the floor hard and rolls on the grass before stopping face first on the floor. Breathing heavily, he looks up slowly to see a pair of boots. Big, wide black boots, courtesy of the American Army.
"Nice try, Charles. Unfortunately you would've got shot as soon as you got up."
A panting Paul Charles turns himself wearily onto his back and stretches his arms out wide. He's eyes widen by the impact of the adrenaline.
"Be...bet..."
His words struggled to end between the deep breaths.
"...better than staying idle on the floor. Either way I would've been shot."
General Harry Logan smiled upon his young trainee.
"It would've taken great balls to do that on the field, though."
"Sir, I do not think this is neither the place nor time to talk about my sexual activities..."
Logan raised his eyebrow at the soldier’s comments and took a quick glance at the pretend battlefield. The soldiers had made very little ground since Charles' run and hadn't even reached the third speaker, out of the seven of them.
It was going to be a long day...
6:56 PM
Inside a darkened office, there is minimal lighting. An aged army commander sorts his messy desk. Papers and document folders lay in scatty piles all over the wooden surface. He sighs as he looks at the task in front of him. Leaning back on his chair he runs his wrinkled hands through his balding head. He paused for a moment as if time froze still. He went to open a drawer when an abrupt knocking came from his door.
"Enter"
He boomed as he quickly tried to get back to the mess that was his desk. In entered the tall frame of Logan entered.
"Sir."
He held in his hand a document file, which given the situation on the Corporals desk didn't help no end.
"Just my notes on the weeks training sir..."
The look on the general’s face was apologetic as he surveyed the mess with the file outstretched in his hand. The corporal just laughed.
"No problem Logan, I'll look at it after."
He smiled, which gave Logan some relief by the look on his face. The general went to turn towards the door, before returning for one more question.
"What’s the situation in Africa looking like, sir?"
"Well, they've officially taken over. We're considering action, and that’s about as far as I know."
"Ok, sir...thanks you..."
Down-hearted, as if he was expecting more information, Logan leaves the office, softly shutting the door. The Corporal sighs once more.
He hadn't the heart to tell him the truth...
-------------------------
Reckless. The fighting underdog of the WFWF. The unsung hero…
...the total fluke.
At Survival of the Fittest you faced me at my lowest point. Since the day I joined the WFWF, I've always set myself goals. Little aims of achievement. For starters, it was to get good matches and be noticed on the House Shows, which I did by Main Eventing it nearly every show in my time there. So goal one was achieved. Then when the X-Breed title came about, I aimed to win that. X in the Air I climbed that ladder and seized it with my two hands. Goal two crossed off my list. Now as a champion, I tried to get myself on the TV shows. I also happened to climb a ladder for that to grab the contract for it. Ironic how things like that happen, hey? But then, when I got to Felo-De-Se my goals just...vanished. I had nothing. I had no dreams, no ambitions. I was a lonely sheep, lost from my heard. Then I went on a slight decline. I didn't have any drive to compete. That’s why, after you pinned me at the PPV, something inside me clicked. A lever in my head switched. I needed something to aim for. Not a title or a record. But for pride. See, losing to you...well...its the sh*ts basically. I mean, look at where your careers gone. Once you could've had a full time contract with the main show. You blew it and now you’re jobbing on the House Show. Hey, I feel your pain. I know it’s a b*tch there. You want to go to do better things and you’re being held back. But still, life's hard. If it was up to me, I would sack you. But then, I'm not the one with the power and the fancy office with the name plate. Go fish. But Reckless lets talk business. Loaded. New show, new era, new Possessed Child, new goals. Whole new me, a totally different Child from the one you faced at Survival of the Fittest. You have two options, get beaten or go back to the House Shows.
Your choice and your neck. Choose wisely.
) Nice RP Description was good, Good Luck PC
