Ursiatur wrote:Nation: Ursiatur
Character Name: Jessica Braig
Field of Expertise: Infantry - Special Operations (specifically)
Rp Example(Required for everyone after Obamacain and RB): You must pardon me on this one, I'm new to NationStates and honestly I haven't made any role play posts yet. However I'll make up for this by posting an AU story I wrote specifically for this sign up.A frozen, arctic wasteland was in front of them, behind them and to their sides. There was no escape, no freedom from their inevitable frozen deaths. Perhaps mother nature's wrath wouldn't be their cold, painful end in life; perhaps an French bullet would be their saving grace, allowing them to be sent home on a medical discharge. Others wouldn't be so lucky, others would have to die out in the freezing thirty degree weather in the day and the horrible -25 degree weather at night. It wasn't a winter wonderland and if it wasn't so cold it would probably be mistook for hell. "Keep moving." Major George Peterson said though his thickly covered mouth-centered radio in a muffled tone, "If we stop we'll only be out here longer. Base camp is only five miles away, we'll be safe there."
Major George Peterson was a tall man with strong muscles and an even stronger will. But the freezing land they so dared to crawl on had even him trembling at the knees. Every moment and every inch they moved through the snow that was easily seven or eight feet deep some times was incredibly painful and required every last ounce of power to keep advancing. Despite being covered in heavy, white clothing he was still cold and it would be night before they even reached camp making the trip that much harder on his aching mind. The war that he, among many other men was pulled into was against the nation of France.
If it wasn't for the fact the frozen island was a vital stepping stone to mainland America they probably would have just let the French take it for their own. No one could live there for extended periods of time and the few natural resources that the unnamed island had were all very difficult to extract. Hypothermia was beginning to set in almost, but thankfully the clothing Major Peterson and the rest of the small twenty-man group of soldiers wore was keeping it's miserable torture at bay. Chatter was minimal, although the few words that did slip between the different men were all strained and barely audible.
In the distance Major Peterson noticed something, specifically a black and long barrel. It stuck out like a sore thumb in the snow and the position didn't seem to be authorized as a sniper's den for America. Suddenly a shot rang out, loud and very clear. Before Major Peterson even knew what happened a man walking just behind him fell dead, his blood spraying in almost every direction and his body falling to the ground limp. The once white snow was starting to become a mixture of various shades of red, almost pretty in a macabre sort of way. Indistinct yells were heard across the intercom, mainly variations of 'Get Down!'. Before others had a chance, they too fell dead before their master, their lover, their embrace, Death himself.
George fell to the ground hard, taking a bullet in what seemed to be his lower leg. He almost knew that he was intentionally spared by the sniper for whatever reason, perhaps because his rank would make him a very powerful bargaining chip. Screams turned to silence, shuffling turned to the echo of rifle rounds and all around George there was death. Yet as he lay there, he didn't make a movement. He was as silent as the occasional winter hare that survived in the environment. The snow was grinding into his face, a pain he hadn't experienced since survival training, and the signature scent of blood was around him, perhaps even on him. He had his doubts that anyone else was alive, and even if they were the question was if they were even conscious.
The distinct sound of snow being crushed was heard, but it only sounded like one person was doing it. George rolled onto his back, perhaps offering himself the chance to see whatever was going on if he moved his head. If anything, he was going to finally have his exposed body off the snow. The sound came closer and closer when it suddenly stopped, prompting George to turn his head towards the direction the sound was coming from. He saw what appeared to be the shape of a woman, although it was slightly hard to tell with all the clothing on her body. He tossed his hands up into the air and made a grunting sound, "Don't shoot. I'm not armed." He rolled back on to his stomach and then got on his knees. Yet he refused to stand up, only putting his hands behind his head. He changed attitude dramatically after he got onto his knees. "On second thought, if you shoot at least shoot me honorably, will you?"
The unknown sniper shook her head before speaking, "No. I'm not going to shoot you. . ." The voice spoke in a light French accent and was absolutely feminine. "No, not at all if you come with me, Major." She smiled although it was doubtful that George could see it under the layers of clothing. "Get up now." Her voice was demanding, firm and sincere. There was obviously going to be no playing around with the sniper and George realized that quickly. He did as he was told and quickly at that before putting his hands in the air to give the sniper even fewer reasons to kill him. She took her rifle, holding it by it's butt and slammed it across George's head effectively rendering him unconscious. Where she was taking him wouldn't be known to him and for all chances he could very well be turned in to the French government for use as a pawn in the silly little game.
Ze Example was ze amazing.
Application Accepted
