England Falters: Wartime Resistance RP

[Jav3lin]

Gar's beautiful view was abruptly silenced as J'aime came to greet him.
You have no idea..
"I have.."
His eyes did not leave the scenery and his hands rested on a metal railing ranging from left to right.
There was a slight breeze rolling in from the ocean, but the cold was easy enough to withstand when the vast sea blasted right there in front of him.
"Medical personal, women, children... I have seen them all die, from my hands to others. I did not want them dead, nor did I wish for them the fate that they received, but I have tied more nooses than you have shoes. So believe me when I say the Americans are treating us no better."

He kept his voice low and his gaze forward. His tone sounded distant, almost like he didn't care anymore.

 

[iThinkCat]

Spoiler: OOC

Hmm...Babs didn't like that answer very much. Sorry Jav3lin, but she's going punch Gar. No offense.

"NO!" J'aime shouted. She was mad, mostly from his attitude. He talked of killing the innocent in a icy stoic voice like it was nothing. Clenching her fist tight she let a right hook spring towards Gar's face, nailing him in the side of his jaw. "You're fucking blamin' others for your sins. You're a grown man so fucking act like one."

The sight of him was only making her rage grow. She turned and stormed off removing herself from the situation. In quick stride she made her way through the barrack obviously angered. Fucking twit! Her thoughts were rapid and and incoherent. She wlked onward trying to calm herself. Perhaps trying to find that clinic would take her mind off things.

 

[Jav3lin]

The punch was unexpected. His face flushed with red as he touched the spot where her fist landed.
"In due time... you too will succomb to the American war machine"
He remained silent after that, keeping his view on the ocean.

But within, he was struggling to resist the memories that surged forth.
Blood on his hands. Innocent blood. He remembered the chamber where they kept the bodies. All twelve of them....
The first six month, he'd puke his guts out every week, as more American prisoners were hauled in. Being stationed in Portsmouth he was in charge of escorting American and French soldiers that were shipping in from Europe. Along with shipping in, many people wanted to ship out, so American families that were currently residing in England were told that safe passage from Portsmouth was the only way out. But once they were there, there was a fee to be paid, and those without money... well... they were sent to the prison facility. And the soldiers captured at the beach fronts never survived one night.

Even God will not forgive me now...
He whispered to himself as he looked up into the sky, praying for redemption.

 

[curlycrouton]

"Ahh... a noble sentiment indeed." He was lost in silent contemplation for a moment, before snapping back to reality once more.

"Ireland... well that's quite a story. For a long time I'd have fought to the death for the emerald isle, in fact it's most likely I'd be doing exactly that right now if it weren't for my old commanding officer, McGloin. This was about a year ago, and I'd just joined up as an engineer. Filthy work, but at least I got a uniform and a little money. Now I've met some real rotten bastards in my years, but none of them could hold a candle to McGloin. Long story short, I ended up shooting the slimy prick in the head after a particularly heavy night of drinking in the company barracks and a pretty heated argument. Of course, I had to go into hiding for a fair few weeks so I wasn't brutally murdered by all of McGloin's cronies. I spent most of the time living with squatters and such. Miserable existence. Eventually, I made the decision to defect. I sold what intel I had knowledge of to the English, and was in turn granted asylum. When I got here, this was the only job going, so I joined up. It's not noble, but it's the bloody truth." Michael chuckled.

"I'm no freedom fighter, that's for sure."

 

[Fraught]

As the crowd went towards where he reckoned the barracks'd be, he darted behind a corner, running farther and farther, clutching his bag like it was made of glass, making sure not to drop it, but at the same time slippery and very fragile. He took nervous glances around him, and found a big rock randomly located next to the big building. He sat down, and dropped his bag on his knees that he was now keeping hard together.

He took out a picture of a mish-mash of travellers, all happily smiling and some waving amidst the heads.
"Oh," he said in a sorrowful manner, pressing it against his right cheek and rubbing it for a while. He looked at it again, and even after owning the photo for so long, he noticed a detail he knew the implications of, but had never seen in the picture. A flag of red, white and blue, something he once was neutral towards, but now hated seeing. The stars looked like they'd explode on impact, the pattern of red and white lines looked like ditches, or rivers, of blood and soap water, as if someone had tried to wash the blood away, leaving half of it still shining with the embarrassing truth behind.

At least that's the way he looked at it. From a ship in the background, from the hands of the people that inhabited the scenery; the American flag was everywhere, giving - from farther away - the whole picture an appearance of just an abstract splotch of the three colours.
"Emmy," he said, running his fingers down a young, slender woman's figure. "My Emily," he continued, almost as if speaking through a cascade of tears. "Should this ever come to a solution, I hope you'll still," he said, finishing his thoughts in his mind.

He felt a tear - almost by itself - sliding down his cheek. The top of his nose started tingling, as it always did when he was sad and expressed his emotion with his expressions extra vehemently. He put the picture back, and quickly wiped his eyes and his cheek.
"God damnit, they can't see this."

He thought it best to let a little more time pass, to let the tears dry and to let his mind vacate of emotions. He stared up at the trees afar, and the sun shining through a thin cloud. The silent flutter of a butterfly flapping its wings right past his ear and the soft sound the friction his hand had with his bag filled his mind, and that was all he let in.

He closed his bag, stood up, took a long, but slow and calm breath in and breath out, and walked to where he saw the others walk before. The first thing he looked for was Rufus - currently the only friendly face this side of town. He saw him lying on his cot, another one laying empty next to him.

"Sir, mind if I take this one, Sir?" he asked, looking at Rufus, forcing himself to not smile, an endeavour which didn't seem all too successful.

 

[Sparrow]

Chapter 2: What Happens in the ECA, Stays in the ECA

All the recruits had wondered off to sleep, one way or another. They layed, sprawled in few cases, on the un-comfy beds that were the train seats. Considering their less than ideal sleeping positions, most of them slept soundly. They must have had a rough day before. All that travelling, all those new people to meet. They deserved a rest, surely.

"Wake up, peons!", Emerson's voice boomed through the train carriages, "This is not a secondary school! This is not a nursery! This is the closest thing any of you will ever get to the army again, and in the army they wake at 6-AM SHARP! So in the ECA, we wake up at 5-AM SHARP!"

Most of the troops nearest to Emerson awoke, confused and dazed. Most of them had not been asleep that long, regardless of the fact that they may have needed some well deserved R&R after their long trip to Dover.

"Get to platform 1, quick-like! I do not want to hear MOANING, I do not want to hear SIGHS. All I want to hear is the little taps of your hooves making their way toward the platform and I want to hear them WITHIN the minute! Go, go, go!"

 

[Broken Orange]

Luke woke up to Emerson's voice yelling at them to move. Kimmel had never been much of a heavy sleeper. He could've thanked that countless years of waking up at an ungodly hour to get to work at the next construction site. With several cracks of the neck and popping of the spine and clearing of the throat of any phlegm, he was the first person to make it to the platform and stayed quiet, wishing for a cup of coffee.

 

[Katherine Kerensky]

"Ach mein gott..." Von Bernkastel mumbled quietly to himself as he pulled himself up from his bed. Luckily for him, he had slept with his earphone in, so his ears weren't ringing, as doubtlessly the ears of some other unfortunates were.
He got up and stretched, before reaching down, roughly grabbing his coat and dragging it on, and stuffing his MP3 player into a pocket.
Platform One... 5am... mein gott...
He wandered out the door, and off in the general direction of Platform One, yawning.

 

[Broken Orange]

Standing on the platform, the man known as Rufus joined him there, looking very groggy. Trying to hide his accent, despite being tired, Luke greeted him.

"Howdy. Get a good nights sleep? Kinda hard with our cots."

Goddamn it, I sounded like an freaking American. Maybe he is too tired to notice.

 

[NeoAC]

Chris slowly rose as the captain started shouting at them. Oh great. Fucking 5AM in the morning. The sun's not even fucking out mate. Bloody typical gung ho military ************. He was not a morning person. Playing the clubs all night will do that.

He slowly eased himself off the hard military bed and after fumbling around to find his clothes, he dragged himself towards the the Platform that was indicated by the commander. One guy was already talking, sounding like the enemy. Great he must be a spy or something. He decided to answer. "How can we get a good nights sleep if we don't even spend the whole night sleeping? It's still dark out!"

 

[CounterAttack]

Katrina looked over to the seemingly German man who was addressing her from his bunk, and answered him when he finished speaking. "I know that. I've no desire to get shot..." Or shoot someone else, when I think about it. She had serious doubts about whether she would stand up and fight when the time came, or if she would cut and run at the first sign of someone shooting at her. Katrina didn't want to be labeled a coward, but she knew there were some things that people just couldn't do.

With that in mind she looked away from the others in the room, flopping down onto her bunk.

[hr]

The next morning Katrina was rudely awakened by Emerson yelling at everyone to get up. Why would anyone be crazy enough to wake them all with that shouting? She grumbled unintelligibly to herself as she got up, pulling her jacket from the chair that she had dragged over to her bunk. Dragging her feet over to Platform One as Emerson had instructed, Katrina had both hands rubbing the sleep from her eyes - she had only managed to catch a couple of hours, waking up every half an hour or so - and making attempts to straighten out the tangled mess of her fairly long hair.

Three guys had gotten to the platform before her, one of whom she recognised as the man who had spoken to her about avoiding the 'glory boys' as she put it. Katrina gave them a brief wave as she hurried over to join them.

 

[Katherine Kerensky]

"Ugh... did you say clots?" Rufus asked, staring at the other man, holding one hand against his stomach.
Ugh... I don't think dinner agreed with me... or, more accurately, the lack of dinner...
He turned as he heard footsteps behind him, and saw Katrina making her way over.
"And good morning to you, shortcake. I hope you slept well with the rabble"

 

[CounterAttack]

"Not really, no," Katrina answered, bypassing the comment about her height. "I kept waking up in the middle of the night, as I usually do these days. So there wasn't much in regards to sleep on my part." She shifted her weight from one leg to the other and back again, simultaneously restless, tired, and annoyed at Emerson for waking her up.

"Hey, um... I don't mean to sound needy or anything, but does anyone have any food or something to drink? Even a bottle of water will do."

 

[Broken Orange]

Luke turned back at the dark colored man complaining about how it was too early or something.

"Well sir, some of us can can survive on less than 8 hours of sleep when you work for a living. I don't think I caught any of your names. I'm Luke Kimmel" he said as he stretched his hand out to anyone willing to shake it.

 

[NeoAC]

Chris reluctantly shook the man's hand. If he's a spy, I'm going to make sure I at least get a prisoner deal out of this, instead of being executed. "Chris Ayanbadejo," he told him. "And I can survive on less sleep, just this is usually the time I'm going to bed. This is a shock to the system, yeah?"

 

[Lizmichi]

Ana barely got any sleep that night. She kept dreaming about the night she left Ireland. "God can a women get some sleep in the night. damn nightmares." Ana said swinging her legs over the bed. She put her boots back on her now cold feet and quickly laced them up. She grabbed her pistol returning it to its spot on her hip and flung her sniper rifle onto her back.

"Well time to get my ass going." Ana said heading to the platform wanting for a command. She stood around and took out another cigarette quickly lighting it and blew out the smoke. "Just another day." she said.

 

[SamuelT]

Robin pulled the rag past the scope one last time. It didn't really do anything, except perhaps make the glass even more greasy. He sighed. He'd filled his night with moving, noting and preforming minute maintenance to all arms in the cache. All firearms by firearms, explosives with explosives, and stationary with stationary. Misc was put in another room, rations and the like.

He heard Emersons bad-commander shout ring across the station. He'd heard him practice it on the way to Platform 4. He grinned slightly.

 

[Jav3lin]

Gar's dreamless night was abruptly ended as Emerson's voice echoed in his head, willing himself to waken.
Again.. no dreams. S'pose that's a good sign.

After gathering his pistol and equipping his razor blade and zippo lighter in the inside of his jack pocket, he made his way at a brisk paste toward Platform 1.

Arriving, he found that most of the squad was there already.
His eyebrows rose, as if briefly surprised.
"Var ég virkilega svona lengi?"
He said to himself as he took position next to no-one in particular and stood at the ready. Broad shouldered. Stiff back and a blank face, awaiting orders.

 

[SteakHeart]

Nadia was up right away, hopping to her feet. She reached into her bag and pulled out the crossbow parts. She snapped the two "arms" of the device onto the sides, clicked the grip and trigger into place, then clipped the quiver to her hip for easy access. She slung it over her back and set off at a jog to the platform.

She arrived and took her place next to the others, and stood up straight, figuring to follow along with the crowd.

 

[socialtangent]

Christoph woke quickly and stood up from his bunk. From out of his bag, he produced a handgun holster and strapped it to his thigh. He slid his USP .45 into the holster secured the few magazines he had for it inside his jacket. In no time at all, Christoph approached Platform 1 along with the other members of the squad. Stroking his goatee, he observed as the others arrived, some showing discomfort at having been waken up at such an early hour. He couldn't help but grin. "Mornings. You have to love them".