Post by Harry Hamilton on Feb 17, 2010 21:41:06 GMT -5
Username: harry
Character Name: Harry James Hamilton
Rank: Sergeant
What Army Will You Serve Beneath? : US(American)
Nationality: American
Character History:
Staff Notes:
Character Name: Harry James Hamilton
Rank: Sergeant
What Army Will You Serve Beneath? : US(American)
Nationality: American
Character History:
Harry James Hamilton was born on May 20th, 1923. His father was Horace Hamilton, a general store owner who fought in the First World War, and his mother’s name was Beulah James Hamilton. Harry was born and raised in a small town in the hinterlands of Pennsylvania. He was a very athletic youth, though he had always been skinny for his age ( perhaps as a result of growing up during the Depression ). Harry enjoyed hunting and fishing, but his absolute favorite sport was baseball. During his childhood, whenever he wasn’t working at his dad’s store, he was playing baseball with his friends. In his teens, he played football for the local high school. He wasn’t the star player, but he was still a well-liked member of the team.Writing Sample:
Harry was a shy child. That isn’t to say he didn’t have friends–he did–but he was more reserved than the other children. He kept his quiet and mild-mannered nature well into his teenage years. He wasn’t quick to anger, but was a very genial lad, who was trustworthy and willing to help out his friends whenever he could. The townspeople always said that, like his father, Harry was a man you could trust. In addition to this, Harry was a gentleman. He didn’t date much in high school–not because he couldn’t get a date, but because he was so awkward around women. Standing at 6'3", Harry was certainly the tall and awkward type, but he wasn’t ugly–just not the dashing, debonair Clark Gable-type. He was actually quite attractive, and had dark brown hair and ocean blue eyes.
When the Japanese ( or Japs, as Harry and nearly everyone else in the country would call them ) bombed Pearl Harbor, like many other young men, Harry ran to the nearest recruitment center to enlist in the army. His parents didn’t disapprove of his decision. After all, Horace had fought in World War I, and Harry had felt that it was his turn. With his father and mother’s blessing, Harry left town.
Over the next few months, Harry advanced in his training. This began with him getting his army-style haircut and being issued his uniform. He couldn’t help but to feel proud as he wore that uniform. He also thought of what his father’s first day in the army had been like. During his training he kept a daily correspondence with his parents, informing them of everything that happened to him, big and small. At the end of his basic training, he received a ten day furlough. Of course, he hurried back home to surprise his parents. On the last day of his visit, Horace gave Harry a package that he was told to open only when he returned to camp. After a blissful respite, Harry bade his parents farewell.
After coming back to camp and completing his remaining infantryman training, and advanced to the rank of Sergeant. Harry was soon told that he was being assigned to North Africa. While rustling through his things for a pen with which to write his parents, he found his father’s package. He tore it open to discover his father’s journal from his own days as a soldier. For the remainder of his time at the base, he read from the journal each night.
Harry was deployed in November of 1942. He and his unit landed at French Morocco, near Casablanca. He was immediately assigned reconnaissance missions. To his surprise, he and the other Allied forces were met with violent resistance from the Vichy French forces. The youth was quickly pulled into Operation Torch.
November 9th, 1942.Approved/Denied?: Approved
Harry cursed quietly and took cover as the three French soldiers opened fire on him. This was ridiculous. The Americans were only trying to help and they were being attacked. At this rate, we’ll never reach Casablanca, Harry thought sourly. The young sergeant figured that some of the French officers were still loyal to the Nazis. He couldn’t imagine why, after all, the Germans were occupying France.
A French soldier fired again, and Harry dove behind a nearby rock formation. The terrain was rough, and cover was scarce. His training could have never prepared him for this! Gee, was Pop lucky. At least he didn’t have to fight in the desert, mused Harry ruefully. He knelt and raised his M1 Garand, his blue eyes narrowing in concentration. He edged his way around the rock so he could see his target. Heart pounding, he pulled the trigger, and his arm jerked from the recoil. He could just make out the Frenchman dropping his rifle and clutching his chest before toppling over into the sand. One for Sergeant Hamilton, he thought almost giddy with excitement. That just left the other two. The two soldiers had apparently noticed their dead comrade, and one was kneeling next to the body, exposing his back. Taking advantage of this, he fired three rounds into the man’s back, watching in satisfaction as he fell on top of his companion.
Two down, one to go. Evidently the last one wasn’t going to make the same mistake his friend made. Harry fired and missed, and the Frenchman took cover behind a rock. He fired from behind it at Harry, hitting a chunk of rock next to him. Harry fired his remaining four rounds at the soldier, which turned out to be a waste. Luckily, he had some extra clips. He dug into his pocket as the clip automatically ejected. Harry quickly inserted the new clip just as a bullet hit his left arm.“Damn.” he muttered, grabbing his knife and tearing open the sleeve of his jacket and shirt. He cringed at the small hole indicating where the bullet went in. He got out his field dressing and used his knife to open it. He applied iodine to the wound, basking in the slight break from the pain, and dressed the wound. Harry dabbed it with the cotton swab and dressed the wound, holding his arm to his chest. He ripped off his helmet and hung it on the muzzle of the rifle. Slowly he inched the weapon over the top of the rock so that only the helmet was visible to his enemy.
Bang!
The shot caused the helmet to fall off of the rifle. Harry tossed the rifle and caught it, and then dropped his left arm over the rock so that it was dangling in midair. After a minute, he dropped the rifle and retreated to the ground behind the rock, dragging his arm along as he did so. Harry looked at the Frenchman from the rear side of the rock to see if his plan had worked. Apparently it had–for the Frenchman was no longer behind the rock, but was walking toward his dead companions, thinking that he had killed Harry. Now was his chance. The American soldier quickly pulled out his Colt M1917 and rose over the rock, catching the Frenchman in the head. The Frenchman whirled around and dropped to the ground, dead.
Harry replaced his weapons and stood up, walking over to the bodies of the French soldiers. It was then that he was fully aware that he had killed other men. Resisting the urge to vomit, he turned away and ran back to his encampment. About half an hour later, he had made it back, and after giving a report to his commanding officer, was taken to the infirmary for proper treatment of his wound.
**************************
“You’re very lucky, Sergeant. It only penetrated the skin. There’s no bone damage. Your vitals are fine.”
Harry looked up at the nurse as she spoke to him. Her voice was gentle and sweet, the only pleasant voice he’d heard in the last few months. And she was lovely to look at, he had to admit. He finally realized that she expected him to say something, and his reply came out in a nervous stutter, “O-oh, thank goodness.” he answered with a shy grin. “Thank you, ma’am–er, Lieutenant!” he amended with an awkward salute before hurrying from the tent and back to his own, cursing himself and blushing all the way. Well, at least he had something good to write home about...
Staff Notes:
Good Work, Harry. I rather liked this application, I approve your request for Sergeant.
Welcome to the Board,
Furey Campellone
Major-(Italian)
