Realistic or Modern Okkulten Wald

[Rui]

[SIZE= 26px]Sabine [/SIZE]
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Sabine glared at him, trying to drown despite the smile working its way onto her lips. 
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"I need a change of clothes, hold on a moment." 
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[SIZE= 14px]She darted into the tent, not allowing the group any closer view of her clothes.[/SIZE]
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[SIZE= 14px]She returned seconds later in a standard white bathrobe and flats. [/SIZE]
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[SIZE= 14px]"Alright," she pulled back her damp, messy hair "let's continue?" She settled in beside Konstantin. [/SIZE]
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[SIZE= 14px]@HumansArentReal[/SIZE]
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@Rabbutt
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(I don't remember everyone...)
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[idalie]

SGT. KONSTANTIN JOSEF SOKOLOV
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As Sabine hurried ahead, past the others, including the German he still hadn't quite come to terms with, Konstantin settled in at his old table and stool. Checking that the homebrewed vodka still remained beneath the edge of his bunk, alongside the Balalaika. 
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As Sabine returned, settling down beside him, Sokolov drew his hands down over rough features and stared out at the others scattered about. Making small affectionate glances towards the Frenchwoman beside him before clearing his throat. "We miss anything important?" He questioned, digging into a pocket for his cigarettes. Offering one towards Sabine whilst plucking one for himself.
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@Rui
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@Rabbutt
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@Romulus Scipio
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@Reaper 1-1
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[TheBaneOfYou]

James Jefferson
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Jame's long walk to clear his mind was rudely interrupted by the intercom. "Damn..." he said under his breath, doing a one eighty to head back tot he camp. He enjoyed his alone time, he was still social as hell; but the alone time was needed in order to keep his cool, ESPECIALLY when he came into contact with a German. Hands shoved in his pockets, shirt wet from the rain, and head pointed down, the man was nearly back to the tent.
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Well, at least something was happening. The silence can get to him out in this hell on earth. What if the enemy is planning better than we are? What if they now have the upper hand? These thoughts always gave him disgruntled thoughts about his superiors. 
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So much complaining, so much anger. His finger was itching to shoot something. A shame he wasn't able to do so out of the tent, but at least we're doing something now.
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He quickly disregarded these thoughts as best he could, perhaps he was whining too much. After all, he didn't want to kill his image by being an angry husk of a man.
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The tent was nearing, he took a deep breath and cleared his throat... getting back into his so called: "prince charming" attitude. 
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"Hey, does anyone have a swig of whiskey they're willing to spare?" the man questioned, entering the tent. He soon realized the other American, and noticed his high rank." he threw up a half-assed salute and a surprised "Sir!". Embarrassed, he sure was; however, James was prepared to get back on his feet. Took a lot to shame the mischievous man. James wasn't sure if drinking was permitted now, so he had to make sure by attempting to look presentable.  
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[Rabbutt]

Everett "Yoshi" Yoshioka
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Yoshi shot a small glare towards the Russian and his companion as they entered, lifting a vexed eyebrow. "Why do you two smell of sweat?" He asked, before shaking his head, waving his hand in a dismissive fashion. "Never mind. Get a clean set of clothing. You can listen in." The lieutenant ordered, making a brief motion to their bunks, before twisting back to the map. Palms pressed down on either end of the paper, Yoshi let out a quiet sigh, glancing up at the men and women gathered around him.


"Boys, this is our push. Henceforth, from this moment on, Chaplin squad will be apart of Operation Zion. This team will be led by myself, with Captain Worthen as executive officer. Sorry, Captain." He said, flashing a wink and a chuckle. Grasping his pen once more, he would trace a line from the Camp to a large black dot, labeled "Cologne." Giving it a few taps, Yoshi would soon cross over it with a large X. "Our first destination, lads. The German city of 'Cologne'. Unfortunately, we will not be visiting for wine, women and song, much to the disappointment of our French friend here.  Instead, we will act as the eyes, ears and, fortunately, mouth of this operation." He announced, straightening himself up. 


Collecting his gear, he pulled the sling of his carbine over his body. "We move out in one hours time. We will be issued a halftrack, courtesy of our German companions, for transportation. If you have any questions, speak now or forever hold your tongue."


@Rui


@HumansArentReal


@Reaper 1-1


@Romulus Scipio


@TheBaneOfYou

 

[TheBaneOfYou]

James Jefferson
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James wasn't too thrilled that a Japanese man was leading the mission, and his face showed that. However, he had already been thinking too violently all day.. so he went with just biting his tongue. He took in the orders blissfully, and stood there silent when the requests for questions awoke. He looked around for anyone that would say anything in his silent state.
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[idalie]

SGT. KONSTANTIN JOSEF SOKOLOV
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Glancing at James waltz in minutes after himself and Sabine, the Russian grinned at his entrance. Alas, at the mention of sweat, he shrugged towards the Lieutenant innocently. "No idea, Sir."  Lighting up his cig, Sokolov took a long drag, pushing back his cap to openly examine the current plan. "Ah, Lieutenant, z'there is always time for fun in Germany. You forget." He laughed, tapping the side of his nose knowingly. Of course, he was merely lifting that dreaded mood of being sent out from base. "Just don't expect me to cut my fun short if we find any SS." His mockery took a sinister turn. Smoke dissipating in a hazy cloud from the corner of his lips.
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Russians, after all, were well known to be rash and barbaric. In the Soviet Union, you got shot if you charged ahead, and shot if you retreated. If the man in front falls, pick up his rifle, and carry on. Soldiers in the West were rotated, from frontline to resting in the reserves, spending not more than 40 or so days in the heat of battle. A thought which never crossed Stalin's mind. They had little, and the young men were now being forced into service. Either that or persuaded as Konstantin was long ago. Exposed to the Cult of Personality that surrounded their murderous 'Paradise'. However, they still managed to laugh and jest, drink themselves into stupors and wrestle over vodka or chocolate rations. It was a feat of human strength that surrounded the people who lived in the snow and ice that halted both Napoleon and Germany in its tracks.
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"JJ, I got vodka. Nyet, whisky. If you can stomach it." He offered across the room. "Sure as hell make you braver than z'those demons." Konstantin chuckled, leaning his shoulder lightly against Sabine's. In little other reason, than comfort.
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@Rui
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@TheBaneOfYou
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@Rabbutt
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@Romulus Scipio
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@Reaper 1-1
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[Romulus Scipio]

Fred Worthen
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"A lass and a Red?" Fred thought to himself as Sokolov and Sabine strolled into the tent. He laid strewn out across his bunk, map sprawled out in front with different colored writings written across it. Fred took another drag from his cigarette as Sabine sauntered past and shook his head and he continued to mark out pre-plotted targets. He taps his pencil against the map and looks up to both of them. "Captain Worthen, a pleasure, both of you." This certainly was turning into an eclectic bunch. Fred has served with individuals from other nation's, sure, but never once could he say he saw a woman in the combat zone. Like everything else today though, Fred brushed it off and returned attention back on to inspecting his gear. 


When Jefferson entered the tent and asked for some whiskey, Fred chuckled as he stood up. "A man after my own heart. As you were, Corporal." He returned a quick salute and turned his attention as the LT spoke up. He figured he would've been put in charge of the squad, seeing as he was the most superior rank in the unit, but the LT's brief dashed that idea from Fred's mind. He bit down on his cigarette for a moment, hiding his frustration. "The LT's XO...Jesus." He mumbled under his breath. Being the Executive Officer wasn't just a title position, either. It generally meant manning all sides of logistics and personnel were ready for the unit commander per mission. He took one last long drag from his cigarette before tossing it into the dirt floor and smashing it out with a light step. He kicked some dirt over it while he flicked open his lighter a few times, the familiar "click" sound emanating each time. 


He didn't like it, but he figured causing a scene in front of everyone wasn't going to get anything done. He needed to find out a few more things about the mission before he could start necessary movement. The disgruntled Captain rose his hand as he spoke. "Yeah, butter, got a question for ya. That halftrack staying with us out there for the mission, or we gettin' dropped off? Also, how long do you expect this movement to last? We're gonna need to jam as much food and water into that thing if we are staying long. Oh, right, one more question. The Kraut half track coming equipped with a MG42, or barebones? If we're gettin' one, I vote our resident expert gets to man the thing." He points over to the German before issuing a chuckle. 


@Rabbutt


@Rui


@Reaper 1-1


@TheBaneOfYou


@HumansArentReal

 

[Rui]

Sabine
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Sabine nodded her head lightly, smiling warmly towards Konstantin. She even chuckles at their sterotyping.
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"Oui, wine would be nice, but I'll settle for vodka," she studied the map Yoshi and Fred seemed to have been studying. "Yes, I know the city well. I can navigate our party through less occupied roads, both by the dead and unfriendly living." 
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Sabine turned to the rest of the group then, a small smile coming to her face. 
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"Alright. I suppose I'll see you all in an hour." 
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She returned her gaze to her Russian, 
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"Perhaps we will have time for privacy another day. We need the hour to prepare for the mission." She kissed his cheek, using the sweet gesture to punctuate her words, before leaning in to whisper, "Bring more of that vodka and the day may be sooner than later." She then proceeded to lean in and nip his ear behind her hand, smirking towards him as she stood and moved to her bunk to begin packing and whatnot. 
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@Rabbutt
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[SIZE= 14px]@Romulus Scipio[/SIZE]
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[SIZE= 14px]@HumansArentReal[/SIZE]
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[TheBaneOfYou]

James Jefferson
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"Since my alcohol tolerance is about as strong as your poker face, Sok... I'll pass on your offer." he let out a 'heh heh' before saying: "Unless we see some horrible shit out there on the field.  I'd rather be drunker than a skunk than to get these breeches wet." he sarcastically continued. He gave the plan another look, studying it. These pushes will get us soon into the belly of the beast, and that'll be some shit. His cocky self thought up of him saving the day and being showered with war medals. It's going to be a hell of a ride, and James is planning on ridding shotgun. He later snapped out of his daydreaming, eyeing the crew in front of him. Judging them as thorough as he could. "I wonder how good they're at cards..." he thought to himself. They all looked like rookies to him, so the intimidation of the new arrival and the German eased. (That did not, however, fix his hatred for both the nip and the Nazi). He still kept to himself and figured that not letting out his anger would be the best idea.
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He then awaited for the Captain's questions to be answered. He wasn't the best at the whole strategy thing. All he knew was to aim and shoot at the baddies and yell orders at the lowest of the low ranks. Keeping his cool and being a deranged maniac on the field was his go-to. So obviously, he's feeling a mixture of bored and useless in this planning room. Feeling every second as he grips the table.
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[Raku]

Edward Feintofen
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Edward chuckled with Worthen after he had talked about a half-track with a MG42 on it. " Machiengewehr 42, one of the most fun guns to shoot. Last time I used one of those was a test fire." he said. At least Worthen was reasonably well-hearted, comparing to the other American. Watching Konstantin pull out a bottle of alcohol, Edward remembered something. He had a bottle of scotch his cousin had got him a while ago. His cousin had moved to Britain before the war. When he returned he brought back a British bottle of scotch. It's a little over 4 years old but he gets it's still good. Edward reached into his bag, searching for his bottle of scotch. "Ah, found it. British scotch. Never opened it, never tasted it, and 4 years old. I hear that this stuff is best when it's aged. Anyone want some?" he said pulling it out of his bag and showing it to those in the tent. He popped the cork off and smelled it. It wasn't terribly strong but it had a kick. Edward took a swig from the bottle and let out a sigh. "Not bad. Sorry for having a drink Lieutenant" he said. The scotch gave a sweet release from what was going on. 
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[idalie]

SGT. KONSTANTIN JOSEF SOKOLOV
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With a smothered grin, he returned the affections. Caressing her jaw, before the sharp nip at his ear. Leaning forwards, especially when already so close to her inclined head, Sokolov murmured - "Zhat is a promise." The Russian laughed, watching as the Frenchwoman swayed off towards her bunk. Clearing his throat, as if nothing had occurred, Konstantin then turned to rifle through his spare pack, dragging out a slightly less war beaten uniform. "Sabine, лисица, did you put my coat back?" He called over the tent, till jokingly aiming a dark glare towards James.
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"Well, at least you admitted it." Konstantin remarked. "I just pray you don't try any drinking contests and stick to your cards, comrade." He mocked. Going behind their makeshift room dividers, Sokolov stripped down. Exchanging shirt and trousers for cleaner versions. Ones which had been scented by starch collars and carbolic soap of the camp laundry. Buckling up the rucksack, he threw in his ushanka-hat for good measure. Making quite sure the alcohol was safe in its cradle of cloth. "JJ, don' start scrutinising. I see z'that look. Just remember you're one of zhe youngest here. I joined up '33. I wonder when you did." He remarked, peering out from the divider.
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@Rui
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@TheBaneOfYou
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@Reaper 1-1
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(Anyone else)
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[Rabbutt]

Everett "Yoshi" Yoshioka
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Yoshi uttered an irritated sigh at the boyish jeers of drinking and hooliganism, with the idea of disciplinary action briefly crossing his mind, before fading away. With a simple shake of his head, Yoshi lifted his pen, pointing it towards Captain Worthen with a nod. "Excellent question." He deemed, oncemore dragging the tip of the pen across the landscape of the map. "We will be supplied with a two weeks field supply. Boys are filling the machine as we speak." He explained, before drawing a small, empty circle a small ways outside Cologne. "In 10 days time, we shall regroup with elements of the 1st Milita Division following their push into Germany, where we will resupply and rest, before shifting past enemy lines once more." Yoshi finished, setting the pen back onto the mattress.


"As for armament, I am told that, yes, we will indeed be supplied with an MG-42. With limited ammunition mind you. Only for use in emergencies." He paused, letting out a quiet chuckle, before retrieving a piece of paper from the bag. "Word from the Commander. He said, and, I quote, 'No popping your goddamn cherries buzzsawing any zeds, jerries or otherwise unless they', and, again, I'm quoting here, 'Are crawling directly into that dark abyss you call your asshole'." He read, before tucking the paper away. 


@Romulus Scipio

 

[Rui]

Sabine
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Sabine, after having put on her uniform (she rarely wore the damn thing. Another upside of spying was wearing whatever you damn well pleased), strode out to meet the others. Tailored military greens decorated with pins for this and that (quite a collection), but pants like a man would wear, versus the skirts worn by most women in the service. Granted, they were a bit tighter, to the point where she would never wear them outside of work, but she knew she would be able to move easily and quickly should, as the Americans would say, "Shit hit the fan". 
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A small bag containing the few things she felt she would need was slung over her shoulder, hair partly concealed beneath a black barret decorated by the French coat of arms. 
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"Grizzly," She called, slipping into the Russian man's room, her slightly heeled, laced up boots clicking as she entered, "Do I look professional?" She asked teasingly, watching him as he prepared. 
[SIZE= 14px]@HumansArentReal[/SIZE]
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[idalie]

SGT. KONSTANTIN JOSEF SOKOLOV
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Glancing up after he'd finished making himself look presentable, including polishing his brass buttons for frontline duty, the Russian wolf-whistled in passing at the Frenchwoman.
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"Are you kidding? Very professional. I like zhe trousers. Helps accentuate if you ask me." He nodded, peering just slightly at her behind.
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His calves had been wrapped with cloth puttees, before knee-high military grade boots were drawn up; everything straightened out for once. To some, the Sergeant actually looked like an officer, which was odd considering his normal attire in camp. Making his move, Konstantin reached her side with ease. "Where did you put my coat? I'll be needing it for zhe mission." His question was informal, lighter in tone and a gaze which could only be labelled as humoured besides adoring. 
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"And you should pack something warm too, wouldn't want you catching a chill." 
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@Rui
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[Rui]

Sabine
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"Your coat is on my bunk," she replied, a small playing smirk on her lips, "I'd much prefer you be there than it." She nodded her head at his suggestion to bring a warm garment. 
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"Will do, sir." She saluted mockingly, pecking his cheek on her way back out, "I'll go fetch your coat." 
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@HumansArentReal
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[idalie]

SGT. KONSTANTIN JOSEF SOKOLOV
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"Спасибо" He replied, offering another bitten-back grin as he recieved a kiss on the cheek. "Sir? Z'Thats a change." Sokolov chuckled, before tangling his fingertips together. "I z'think I'd be more z'than glad to be where that coat is, trust me." He watched her leave, with perhaps a little too much intensity for it to be called 'innocent'. Nonetheless, he was happy Sabine would accompany them. But as always, there was an unsettling sinking feeling of 'what ifs'.
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@Rui
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[TheBaneOfYou]

James Jefferson
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"I was eighteen when I signed up, Sok." lied the young warrior. "Sure, America was a little late to the party... but that doesn't make me a rookie." he took the Ukrainian's comment as a test to Jame's experience. "I don't mean to brag, but I'd bet I'm the best damn aim here.". The soldier looked very cocky with his smug grin, eyeing down Sok after he barked his statement.  "Don't get surprised when I save your ass out there." He gripped the table. It was an unbelievable fact that James took war VERY seriously, and this was the first time he exposed this fact in this lot. He sighed, looking down with his hands still clamped on the edge of the table that presented the strategic war plans. He was a little embarrassed from his outburst, but it had to be said, for he was the best (in his eyes).
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He paused for a moment, trying to collect anything that could pose as a strategic question... he had nothing. Really, he just wanted to get out of this tent, he just feels really useless currently. "How long 'till we move out now, L.T.?" he questioned the Japanese man. He didn't like to formally address an enemy, but considering his behavior he felt he was already on thin ice. Later he realized that his question was almost on same par as a "Are we there yet?" from a child on a Sunday drive. He shrugged it off, remembering he sometimes gets a kick out of being as annoying as possible.
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[Raku]

Edward Feintofen
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Edward escaped the Nirvana the alcohol gave him and put the scotch back. Listening to the Americans, other than the Lieutenant, was like watching to kids. The younger one's name was slipping but Edward was starting to doubt his credibility. Saying he was eight teen when he joined the US Military and saying he was the best shot, Edward couldn't believe that the Reich was losing to them. "Ve'll all see on the battlefield I suppose. So Lieutenant, vhat vas the name of the city ve are being sent to?" he said to the Americans. He hadn't heard the name of the city they were going to, he prayed it would be his home city.
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[idalie]

SGT. KONSTANTIN JOSEF SOKOLOV 
"And I was Sixteen. I lied about my age, so I could escape and get out into zhe big wide world which went to shit." He took a few steps forwards, crossing his arms across his chest with a glare. "I don't give a single fuck whether you save my life out z'there. I don't care if you die. I don't want to know how good your aim is, as long as you pin some fucking SS and a demon whilst you're at it." Sokolov cocked his head, those shadowed glaciers now intently making each word resound with brutish honesty. "And don't you look at me like I'm some idiot. You wouldn't be so cocky if both sides were shooting at you. You would remember not to be too confident when you don't have a fucking rifle to hold. Just pick up zhe one from zhe dead in front. It's z'that easy, isn't it? When you have to beat a German head in beneath a rock because you haven't even got a badge to your name. Eh? Aмериканский." Konstantin growled, jaw tensing and relaxing with a flex of muscle. Alas, he settled on a stool with a fierce expression of disgruntlement as he pulled out another cigarette from the already diminishing packet. He surely had lived up to his nickname 'Grizzly'.
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@TheBaneOfYou
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@Rui
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@Reaper 1-1
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[Romulus Scipio]

Fred Worthen
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"Seems the Commander has an odd sense of humor." Fred spoke quickly, puffing his chest out slightly as he mulled the words over in his head. He inhaled and held his breath, trying to think of anything else he was forgetting to ask. Finally, after a few moments, Fred let out a loud exhale and nodded. "That's all I got, let's make it happen people." Fred waved his right index finger in the air in a circle, making a motion for "wheels up" while walking towards the exit of the tent. He was about to exit, but spun on his his heels and looked back into the tent, scanning over everyone for a second. He turns his right index finger into the shape of a gun with his thumb, and points at Jefferson. "Y'know, the best soldiers under my command always kept quiet about their skills, and let their actions in the field speak for 'em. No one likes a braggart." He makes a firing motion with his finger gun before spinning back towards the door and exiting.


Finally out of view of everyone, he takes a few brisk paces away from the tent as he fumbles with the straps to his helmet. He unhitches the chin protector and rips the helmet off his head and spikes it towards the ground, a dull slowp emanating from the ground as the mud caused by heavy vehicle traffic absorbs most of the impact. The helmet barely moved from its original impact point, simply sitting there taunting Fred by being obnoxiously obedient by not tumbling across the camp from his fit of rage. He curses under his breath, looking around, making sure no one saw his little hissy fit. He bends down and scoops up his helmet before continuing towards the motorpool on the far end of camp. 


His mind buzzed at high speed as he walked, millions of thoughts plaguing him as he walked and brushed the mud off his helmet. A squad comprised of a Kraut, a braggart of a Corporal, a commie and a lass playing a not-so-subtle game of grab-ass, and a fresh LT. "I'm fucked." Fred muttered under his breath, contemplating all the decisions that had got him to this point in his life. Before he can finish retracing his life's steps, he reaches the motorpool, where a small technical sergeant points him to the half-track assigned to his squad. He stops for a moment in the middle of the bay, thinking about maybe just walking towards the edge of camp and hitching a ride to anywhere but here with any convoy. 


He falters for a moment before the half-track revs up the engine and shows its ready to role. Fred breathes in deeply before nodding, more to himself than anyone else. He slaps his helmet squarely on his head, before ducking to get into the rear of the vehicle. He pops up in the cupella towards the front of the Sd. Kfz. 251. He smacks the top of the metal with the butt of his Thompson, creating a loud, repeating thwack, signalling to the driver it was time to move. The halftrack lurches forward with a low roar and moves slowly through the camp, turning up the fresh mud in its wake. The vehicle arrives outside of Chaplin's tent and parks. Fred jumps out of the left side of the halftrack, over the armored siding and lands on the ground with a squish, mud absorbing most of the impact again. 


Fred hefts his Thompson up in the air, resting the butt of the stock in the small space between his forearm and bicep before sauntering into the tent. He bellows out in a loud voice. "The Hanomag is on the scene, don't forget any of your shit, lady and gentlemen!"


@Rabbutt


@HumansArentReal


@Reaper 1-1


@TheBaneOfYou


@Rui

 

[Rui]

Sabine
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The Frenchwoman appeared just in time, bearing the Russian's coat. 
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"Here, Konstantin." She said quietly, handing the man his coat.  She stepped out, her bag having increased a bit in size due to the coat she packed at Konstantin's suggestion. 
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"Are we all ready to go?" She asked, surveying their motley crew. She must have posed the question rhetorically, because she didn't wait for a reply before nodding. 
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"Right then. Off we go." 
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She stepped out of the tent, loading up into the car with the Lieutenant. 
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"Afternoon." She said casually in greeting. 
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@Romulus Scipio
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@Rabbutt
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@HumansArentReal
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@TheBaneOfYou
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[SIZE= 12px]@Reaper 1-1[/SIZE]
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[TheBaneOfYou]

James Jefferson
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"Watch your mouth, commie." replied James, in a low voice. He had a tendency to speak low with a hint of anger when someone gets him mad. He clenched his fist, looking at the big man. If there was one thing James was good at, it was to look brave in dangerous situations, gives him an edge and is one of the biggest reasons he got up to the rank of corporal. He didn't want to start trouble before the big push, some bruises and maybe a death would be frowned upon and make the entire attack way more difficult than it should be. He did not, however, want to come off as a wimp and be known for backing out of something like this exposure. This created a large debate in his mind on what the hell he was going to do, he fiddled around in his brain for some ideas, but not taking too much time. He still had to look strong and keep his ground in front of the commie.
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"Listen, Sok, buddy." he started, after briefly clearing his throat. "Ain't sure if you even remember, but it sounds like you've taken a couple of sips of vodka too much." the man paused, before continuing. "I was gonna go easy on you, but you're making it REALLY difficult to keep my cool." he paused shortly again... "I understand if you're angry about the poker game, but there is no time for this.". He had to flex his muscle some more with another boast, he couldn't help from doing it. It had to be done, he said to himself, because  he'd just look weak if he didn't. "Besides, I doubt you want to see your ass get kicked in front of your girl. They call you a grizzly, right? Well... I used to hunt bears back at home. Not as intimidating once you figure out their weakness." James cracked a smug grin, but in the back of his mind he debated whether that last comment was too strong or not. Well, it was too late now.
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He stood there, hands still clenched and back still straight. Looking very presentable in front of the large man. Quickly, he started thinking of a battle plan JUST IN CASE. He knew for sure that Sok could probably kill him if Sok got a good grip. So duking it out was out of the question. Besides, he never really focused on his physical strength, more on his wit and aim (though his arm was still meh at this point, at least he knew what he was doing to an extent). He quickly remembered that his pistol was still holstered to his side, he NEVER took that baby off. Was it loaded, thought? Had to be... right? Perhaps Sok doesn't have to know about that. In case that doesn't work, his duffel bag was over on his bed, behind the big Ukrainian. Plan B, he decided... but hopefully no fight will break out in the first place. He could only hope about that last bit.  
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[Raku]

Edward Feintofen
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Edward didn't want to get in between the two men, especially if they were his former enemies. Hearing Worthen outside as the familiar roar of a half-track engine rolled up, Edward turned around to get his stuff. He rummaged through his bag, picking out what was useful and what was not. He felt his heart sink as he saw a particular item, a small rectangular shaped locket containing pictures of his brothers and sisters. After looking through the pictures that fell out when he opened it, he picked out one and held it up to his face. It was a picture of him and his siblings with him in the middle, his slightly younger brother and sister at his side, and his younger siblings in front of them. They were all smiling, like theree was not a care in the world. Edward felt the streak of a tear go down his face. He fell to his knees and held the picture to his chest. "Warum? he cried out quietly. He didn't think anybody heard him. "Vhy? Vhy did I listen to him. Verdammt, Vater" Edward said quietly. He collected the photos and put them in the locket and put it around his neck. He held it up to his lips and said "Ich liebe Sie alle" (I love you all). Having wiped the tears off his face and his stuff packed in his bag,
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[Rabbutt]

Everett "Yoshi" Yoshioka
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Yoshi gathered his belongings, stuffing the map and the various documents back into the bag, before slipping it over his shoulder. With one last check of his bandolier and pouches, he slipped the sling of his carbine over his uniform and set out from the tent. The rain had come to a halt, and instead, a chilling wind rolled through the camp, as if an omen from the gods above. As the hairs on Yoshi's neck stiffened, he simply pulled on the edges of his wool cap, clambering aboard the edge of the halftrack. Cocking one arm back, he would toss his belonging over the open-roof back, continuing to hang off the vehicle's side. "Load the ammo and the organs, come on now." He exclaimed to the squadron below. "Cologne ain't gonna liberate herself."


The camp had shifted back into full-swing, just as it died off mere minutes ago. The starting of engines and shifting of cargo soon served as the outpost's soundtrack. That was, until the familiar voice of Bing Crosby's "Swinging on a Star" echoed across the camp site's speaker system, no doubt the work of some cheeky radio operator. The light cheers and laughter of the nearby Crosby squadron rang out, bringing somewhat of lightened mood to the otherwise glum Militia. 


Just as Yoshi made his way up and into the bed of the halftrack, a voice called out. "Chaplin Squad, Chaplin Squad!" An English-accented voice exclaimed. The source soon revealed himself, in the form of a well-dressed British officer, marked with the single star of a brigadier general. Alongside him walked a young woman, disheveled in appearance with messy hair and dark, restless eyes. Yoshi, popping his head over the edge of the halftrack, leaned down towards the general  "Lieutenant Yoshioka, I presume?" The General said, offering a hand towards Yoshi, with which the young officer promptly shook. "Brigadier General Aizlewood, acting commander of 'Operation Zion'." He introduced. "This here is doctor Kvetka Bubnova. She will be accompanying you on your mission in order to collect data on this, 'demonic horde'." The General explained, motioning towards the woman. The doctor simply remained silent, glaring towards the members of Chaplin squad with a rather unfriendly gaze. Yoshi responded with a look of confusion, before glancing down at his executive officer for his take on the news. 


@Romulus Scipio


@Rui


@HumansArentReal


@Reaper 1-1


((and like anyone else I'm missing))

 

[Romulus Scipio]

Fred Worthen
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Fred was in the tent, watching members of the squad file out one by one, also eying Sokolov and Jefferson as the two got more heated. He shrugged, figuring he would let them duke it out for now and dipped his head out of the tent. First thing he saw was a man with a star marked on his helmet. "Goooooood fuckin' night." Fred whistled to himself and dipped his head right back into the tent, marching quickly to the two and stepping in between them. He tilted his head downwards slightly and peered at both of them before growling out his next words. "You two cut this shit out right fucking now, before I skullfuck you both back to the rank of private and have you both stuck here digging latrine trenches for the whole goddamn camp." He wagged a finger in both of their faces. "And if I have to say anything on this matter again, so help me God I will bring some real righteous fury down on your heads." He straightens back up, shoots them both one more glance, and performs an abrupt about face, marching right out of the tent. Fred wasn't used to having to be the "executioner" of a unit, always having a 1st Sergeant to be able to regulate the enlisted personnel. With the LT in charge, however, the Captain would be issuing "moral boosting threats" from now on to make sure the squad would be at peak operating capacity for Everett. 


Fred diverts his attention back to the impending General bearing down on their position. The Captain snaps off a crisp salute as the Commander briefs the LT and him, eying the new addition curiously. He honestly wasn't even phased by this point, almost chuckling to himself as he heard the news. He reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a few cigarettes. He offers one to the LT, General, and the Doctor. He wasn't sure if the LT or the Doctor would take one, but figured the General would. Brits loved to smoke, and loved to smoke socially even more. Fred clicked open his lighter and lit all those who took a cigarette in their little huddle before speaking, looking at the General. "Right, sir. We'll take good care of 'er, won't we LT?" He gives a nod towards Everett while taking a drag. "She'll fit right in, everyone's real friendly here." Fred lied. 


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@HumansArentReal