Warszawa, walcz!

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Mako Torriblaidd, Mar 21, 2014.

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  1. Gunfire echoed in the streets, the ground rumbled as a panzer rolled passed. Dariusz sighed, peeking out of the window of the confined basement his group had holed up in for the night. He clutched his weapon in hand, a jackboot passing right before his eyes. A slight frown rested upon his lips while he stepped away, pressing his back to the wall. "We wait for the division to pass and then we move... we should have prepared an ambush..." He grumbled, annoyed. His green eyes darted to his comrades, a small smile on his lips, at least glad that they had gotten into shelter before the division came through.

    "Alice, you and Lanaeus go up to the attic and look around, see how much longer we have... Alfons, set up in the livingroom and watch the door, anything comes through kill it. Constantine, you have the back door, same orders." His voice was cold and certain, ready to turn this home into a fortress if he had to. A real Pavlov if need be. "I don't want to have the Wermacht march in and find us all in a basement... now go!" He ordered, turning to look back out the window as a halftrack rumbled down the road.
  2. Alice, fealing like the only girl in this group was getting this hard. the nose was pissing her off, the war was pissing her off, her friends that where dead was pissing her off everything was pissing her off. maybe my week is coming that this is happening. she looked out the window from behind the window and thought "this is stupied" then growled and softly says/yells in Russian "Eto bred , pochemu oni zdes'? ne otvechay (this is bullshit why are they here? do not answer that)" then notice the notice her commander calling out orders "da komandir(yes commander)" she said still in Russian and started to walk up then waited for her partner.
  3. "We wait for the division to pass and then we move... we should have prepared an ambush..." He listened to his brother.
    But even as commanding as his brother was, and how he held sway over the young man--rocks, pebbles, and debris were literally 'bouncing' around his feet at the enormous tonnage of the tank that was rolling towards them. In all likelihood it was a Panzer IV. Definitely not the biggest tank Germany had, when compared to the Tiger which dwarfed it, or the Panther whose silhouette was taller. It was a medium-sized tank. At 25 tonnes it's main gun was a 75mm gun that played the role of anti-tank. Alfons had seen the same gun when their father had been killed due to his own ineptitude. But cannons weren't the only thing to worry about when facing a tank. It had an MG34 on the top of it's turret. Tanks like these also tended to have coaxial gun, which was a second machine gun that could be fired at the same time as the main gun. Usually mounted inside the turret's safe hull.

    MG34's were recoil-operated air-cooled machine guns. Versatile, MG 34 was arguably the most advanced machine gun in the world at the time of its adoption and deployment with the German Army. MG 34 combined two then-rarely combined characteristics into a substantial advantages over other machine guns:

    • mobility, being light enough to be carried by a single soldier;
    • a high rate of fire of up to 800 to 900 rounds per minute.
    They alone were to be feared, never-you-mind the behemoth that was making the nightmarish grinding noises as its treads rumbled over the rough roads heading straight for them.

    "Alice, you and Lanaeus go up to the attic and look around, see how much longer we have... Alfons, set up in the livingroom and watch the door, anything comes through kill it. Constantine, you have the back door, same orders." Alfonse didn't say a word. Just trembled. He thought about the many beautiful things man could be inspired to create. The Sistine Chapel. The Mona Lisa. What is God's name inspired this? It was a nightmare.

    900 rounds a minute.That was 15 bullets a second to be whirling around their heads. Not to mention if the fired that 75mm gun, there wouldn't be a point in guarding a door to a collapsing building, now would there? His brother was really out doing himself this time. Convoys were one thing, but a tank?! The sheer weight and girth of that mammoth thing. He'd heard they didn't lob entirely solid shells either. Some were high-explosive. Perfect for building demolition. But as he turned from his brother, looking like a ghost to go set up far across the living room behind a flipped table--he knelt down on one knee, propped his automatic rifle on the edge of the turned table that was about three or feet long and perhaps a foot or two wide--he waited.

    He hated waiting.Not because he was impatient, of the two he had to say he was perhaps more patient than his older brother. He hated waiting because it churned his stomach, it palpitated and twisted his heart--especially if he knew what was coming. Alfons could be a brilliant tactician, if he could have only had the courage to be one. His knowledge, his awareness of the enemies forces and their gear made him vital--even if he was quiet and subdued.

    My oh my, how he spurned his desire to be more courageous...just like his brother Dariusz.
  4. As the tank passed by the house, Frank sat quiet mumbling a prayer, unintentionally mixing German words with English ones. As his commanding officer issued the orders, Frank failed to hear his name. Alittle confused he stood up from the corner and grasped his Thompson tightly and asked in a hushed tone, afraid the Nazi's outside would hear the speaking "What about me Commander? You got a special job for me like takin' out that tank?" Finishing his words he chuckled alittle trying to shine some light on the dim situation. Shifting his weight, Frank's gaze shifted towards Dariusz to his little brother, Alfonse. The poor boy was trembling and was quite pale. Once again instinctively, Frank nodded towards him, not caring if he noticed or not. Sure Frank was only four years older than him, but he considered anyone younger than him a boy. Returning his gaze to his commander, he stood against the wall waiting for his orders.
  5. Lanaeus did nothing but nod. He wasn't usually pleased with commanding officers; no matter who he served under, he could see flaws and things they could improve on in a plan. Speaking up about it wasn't smart; they usually took it as an offense to their pride and intelligence, and he became their enemy for making them fools. But that wasn't how the military worked, so he just nodded and left the gathering, heading up the stairs and to find the entrance to the attic. Maybe there's a window to get on the roof. From there, I could possibly jump on the tank...

    No. Orders are orders. Alice is an unusual Russian name, I think. Oh well.
    So he just followed his partner up the stairs.
  6. Sarah sat quietly as the tanked passed by the three story house she sat in. She was on the third floor, in the attic of the broken house, and she was hidden behind rubble with her rifle propped up next to her. Across the street she saw movement, not from the convoy, but in a house directly across from her. She watched as a man peaked out from the barely visible basement window just a Nazi patrol was stepping infront of it. Just like that the face she saw disappeared behind the wall. She watched as the patrol crossed the street, and straight towards her. She watched as the patrol laughed at something one said man in German. She cursed in anger as she heard the door close right below her. The Nazi patrol was right below her, held up in the same space she was. Lightly backing away from the hole in the wall, she lightly walked across the attic floor as she heard the Nazi's talking and laughing below her. She took the wrong step, and heard the floor creak below her. The Nazi's conversation stopped and she could feel the Nazi leader ordering one of the soldiers to check it out, and the next moment her body was being filled with holes. It never came though, and just as soon as it stopped, it started again. Getting to the door, she made sure the deadbolt was locked and propped a chair up infront of it. Returning to her post quietly, she awaited for her next move to play out.
  7. With eyes pinned open he watched another halftrack rumble by followed by a SdKfz. 221. "Shit, that's a lot of artillery moving through..." He muttered as he listened to the incoherent German babbling, sadly he couldn't speak it. The sound of brakes made him freeze, a truck had just stopped to let soldiers out. He slowly cocked his weapon, turning his eyes to Frank before muttering. "Grab the satchel charges and grenades..." He muttered as the soldiers began to lurk, pointing at the building and splitting up into teams. "Fucking hell..." He groaned before taking a grenade of his own, "Get upstairs Frank, this will get loud..." He muttered before tugging on the charger of the potato masher grenade he had lifted off a german, rolling it out of the window into the midst of the preparing forces before turning and running for the stairs. "Weapons up!" He yelled as he ran, stumbling for footing as he scrambled up the stairs. "Hold the building!" He managed to get out just as the grenade went off, crippling the truck and killing all who stood around it. Luckily there was too many vehicles in the way to get the panzer back this way, though the halftracks would be a bitch. "Lanaeus! Alice, I want grenades in the crew compartments of those half tracks when they come around! Constantine, watch the exit, make sure it's clear! Anything comes in here dies!"
  8. Chaos. All chaos. Nothing but chaos. The visible shakes only seemed to spread like slow enacting poison; pouring into his veins from unseen serpents fangs having sank into him somewhere. Sweat saturated his face, mixing with dirt and grime of having to run building to building--sometimes with the previous building from an artillery shell. Or maybe it was from the many times he had to fall face first into the cobble stone streets from Germans lobbing Stielhandgranates or "Potato Mashers"--whatever the hell you called them, they made a loud noise and people died--like they were skipping stones over a pond.

    Or maybe this onset of sweat, which, literally looked like some one had dumped a bucket of ice water over top him--was brought on by the noise...that horrible noise. It sounded like paper or cloth ripping and tearing. Its claws piercing men's bodies at a seemingly unreachable rate. It could even saw small trees in half. He thought of course of the MG34, it successor the MG42 would be even horrifying and even being nicknamed "Hitler's Buzzsaw", Allied Forces actually trained their troops whenever they heard it go off. How to cope. How to survive.

    Heart palpitating, throbbing in his chest. Every last second seemed to span a lifetime. His eyes looking down the iron sights. He tried to breathe calm and steady, but for Alfons--poor, sweet, loving Alfons that was never going to happen. He wasn't called "Mouse" for nothing. He could scurry faster than anyone. Running was what he was what he was good at and at a time like this--when the world seemed to be crashing down upon like a tidal wave of black powdery smoke and hardened steel chariots riding the tide of blood that was too much for the ground to soak up--or perhaps it simply didn't want to.

    Who could blame mother nature turning her back on them. They were supposed to be the top of the food chain. Alfonse wasn't a readily educated man. He didn't all his mathematics, he wrote sloppily, He spoke in stutters from permanent affliction of shell shock. Here he was a simple tanner and shoe makers son and he wondered day in and day out If God had chosen the right creatures to be the dominant species. He wanted to hide like a rabbit in a rabbit hole, but what was coming was a viper.

    One of his legs, without a single thought from his brain in conscious measure, began tapping a booted foot impatiently or perhaps fearfully. Despite this habit of his, one much like a person addicted to nicotine will chew their nails or chew gum, this was his way of preparing his mind for what was to happen as soon as that knob turned even the slightest. As scared as he was of dying, he was even more scared of Dariusz perishing. He idolized the man. He wouldn't just let the Nazi's take him to a concentration camp, starve, abuse, over work and then gas him.

    That notion was perhaps the only thing to keep him from running out the back door and hopefully to safety. But where was "safety" really at? No one had come to stop the blitzkrieg attack. Alfons knew, he just knew they were simply outclassed. German engineering was to war, what Newton's laws and mechanics did to unleash the industrial revolution.Their weapons. Their tanks. Their vehicles. All better equipped, and more armored than their own.

    But Dariusz's plans were brash, straight forwards. If they built a wall of stone, he'd breaking it down. Brick by brick. He adored his brother, Alfons did. But he often worried that he didn't understand the sheer gravity of what was in play. His brother saw Germany occupying Poland, their home. Alfons saw Germany occupying the entirety of Western Europe. It was so much more than a mere annexation as with Austria. It was more than a land grab for Poland. A monster had come to set the stage for a new world order.

    So deep in thought, so frightened by the concept of squeezing that trigger. So afraid at the sight of blood on this scale and so terribly, terribly daunted by seeing their pale faces staring up at him with cold, dead empty eyes. It was too much to bear. His heart twisted in his throat. When he heard the shutters of the window outside slam from the explosion--he lost it. 8mm Mauser rounds, the same rounds the German's used in their bolt action 98k rifle--perforated the door in front of him.

    The weapon he had was so unlike many of the others. Most carried sub-machine guns,
    Choroszmanów subs or hell--they could surely grab one of the MP40's. It didn't shoot 45's but 9mm was still quite leathal and there were just plenty of them. He shot rifle rounds, but unlike bolt actions, his was an "automatic" rifle. It shot like a sub-machine gun--with a lot heavier round. At it's peak it could reach 650 rounds per minute, had a detachable magazine of twenty rounds, had a muzzle velocity of 2,800 feet a second and had over 3,000lbs of kinetic energy. It was gas operated, which meant the blow back ejected spent cartridges (Which he collected frequently.) and automatically loaded the next round all in a split second. The 8mm Mauser didn't have the velocity of an American Browning which shot .30-06 rounds. But it struck a lot harder.

    Rather too soon or too late, the heavy lead punched through the wooden face of the door surprising a patrol group yet the shell had blown the brains and bits of skull as the area near his eyes exploded once it drove like a nail though the mans temple striking a second German mangling his face as the shattered bits of super-heated lead plunged right into his right cheek sending the man's body recoiling backwards as his brain matter too erupted, spraying the half-track behind him with a drizzly red mist as both men fell.

    A fluke. He had killed two men, with one bullet by sheer accident!

    "I wonder if brother's gonna be mad with me?" He thought frantically after opening fire. He could hear Germans yelling just outside the door before a storm of 9mm parabellum rounds rained into the living room. Fortunately, no one one was hurt--well, aside from to Germans-- because they couldn't penatrate the thick wood table. Alfons simply hid behind the table, wood splintering everywhere around him.

    "Brother! Brother! Help!" He sounded frantic. Of course if you had a half dozen guys pinning you down, shoot all around you---wouldn't you be just a little bit scared?
    #8 Mangekyō, Mar 24, 2014
    Last edited by a moderator: Mar 24, 2014
  9. Lanaeus was halfway up the stairs to the attic when he heard the first grenade go off, and then weapons erupting into metal-flining machines of hell.

    "Aw hell, couldn't we of gotten out of here without alerting half the goddamn Jerry army?!" was really all he could say at the moment. However much he wanted to just leave his 'leader' for giving away their position and a great deal of time to get into position, he couldn't, because another resistance group would pick him up, and they certainly wouldn't be happy for him 'running away' like a 'coward.' But that's life, so he stuck with his team, which he didn't really have any particular loyalty to.

    ((Note: Having the loyalty of your team would be very beneficial, it would lead to more efficient teamwork and much more haste in helping the rest of the team out.))

    So he continued up to the roof to find a good vantage point to kill some Jerries. If he got lucky, he may be able to get on top of that Panzer, and taking a Panzer in one peace would be very beneficial for him.

    Regardless of the reality of his idea, he kept on to it. Finding a window in the attic, he unlocked the small clasp, and slowly inched it open, grenades going off below him as the took aim at what could possibly be an officer. He had a big mustache and a nice helmet; maybe he could grab it on their way out, if they killed all of the Germans and he managed to get to it first.

    Or he might miss and alert them all to his position.

    He fired anyways, and promptly....

    Knocked his helmet off.

    Fuck me was all that could go through his mind before his window was shredded from the automatic MG that was set up somewhere, and he ducked with his helmet blown off.

    Oh the irony. What saved my target saved me.
  10. Grabbing the messenger bag full of explosives, he sprinted up the stairs. Sprinting up the stairs was a bad idea. By the time Frank reached the top floor, gunfire filled the air, a bullet nearly tearing into his throat. Sliding into cover behind a couch, he fired blindly for a moment, and then took a moment to reload his gun. Taking one of the grenades from the messenger bag, he pulled the pin and threw it over the couch. Hearing it slam into the dirt outside, and hearing the germans "Achtung Granate!" (Watch out, Grenade!) brought a smile to Frank's face. The shooting towards him stopped, and he took a peek over the couch, expecting an explosion, but as the seconds ticked by, it was clearly a dud. Reaching for his gun before any of the Germans noticed, he was too late as the gun fire exploded back up. Luckly he got the first couple shots off, taking out one of the Nazi's, but in the process was shot in the shoulder. Falling to the ground, his gun skidded across the room right next to the commanders brother, who was hunkered down behind a heavy wooden table. Quickly digging into his bag, he found what he was looking for, a Mills grenade. "Just if things come to worse."
  11. All things considered--Alfons thought he was doing better this time around. I mean, attacking an armed convoy--with tanks? Hell, he was surprised he was still holding his weapon. Now, one couldn't see it, but the man squirming behind the thick wooden table--which, was splintering and starting to look more and more like Swiss cheese--WAS trying to be brave. But he was also trying, very, very hard not to get shot. Something his brother who surprised him by being struck in the should by a 9mm firing MP. MPs weren't Thompsonss which fired .45ACP rounds or the heavier Mauser 8mm rounds that were fired from bolt actions such as the well designed Kar 98K. So they didn't pack the punch as either of them, but there were so damn many being flung through walls, doors, and windows that even hard wood was eventually even looking a little worse for wear.

    Still, when Darius was struck, his immediate reaction--go to his brother's side-- was impeded. Now normally, he was as cowardly as a fawn in spring time. But the fact his brother was hurt and he was being kept from his side, triggered an auto-instinctive impulse to defend his brother at all costs which had him rise up. Normally, Alfons was far from the perfect soldier his brother was, but one thing could be said about him was he was very observant both through seeing and hearing. So when he rose up with adrenaline pumping ferociously in his veins he fired quick successive two round bursts. Jerking the rifle to and fro, firing back through the walls with much heavier rounds, striking the men out side until the firing had ceased, at least for the moment.

    Alfons looked down to see that he too was bleeding, but it was only a piece of the table having been lodge in his side when the wood splintered. Still, he merely pried the bloody piece out of him, yeah, he'd feel it later right now his rother needed HIM rather than the other way around now. He scrambled over to Darius helping him to his feet before pulling him out of sight.

    "Brother, you've been shot!" He exclaimed tentatively checking the wound. "We need to pull back, we can't take out those tanks with out you!"
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