Post by RTH on May 29, 2011 7:51:06 GMT -5
Username: rubes
Character Name: Luther L. Fleetwood
Rank: Rank 2 Medic - Sergeant
What Army Will You Serve Beneath? : US(American)
Nationality: American
Character History:
Character Name: Luther L. Fleetwood
Rank: Rank 2 Medic - Sergeant
What Army Will You Serve Beneath? : US(American)
Nationality: American
Character History:
Born on September 23, 1920, Luther was born into an upper-middle class family in Erie, PA. Father a doctor at the local clinic, and his mother a singer at a local lounge. Life was easy enough for his younger years, weaving between school and working at his father's clinic as a bedpan cleaner. From age ten he was training at his dad's clinic for medical experience, at the time he thought nothing of his past, only aspiring to his future. The depression did hurt his family a bit, but not like others. But by age 18 he had acquired over 1,000 dollars in a bank account for a college fund.Writing Sample:
At 19 he was enrolled in Jefferson Medical College in Philadelphia, earning steady grades in his trauma class, and excelling in basic doctoring. For four more years he would study, getting his degree quite early on, a basic license for medical practice in the United States in 1943, just in time for him to 'Join the US Army' signs to appear all over in his home town. Needing a way to help pay for his bills, and hoping to gain money to open his own clinic when he got home, he went to the nearest recruiter.
By his 23 birthday, he was training in a US Army Medical School for treating typical combat wounds, from bullets to burns, he knew most of them well. Yet by 1944 he was ready to engage in the war, like many youth of the country, ready to go into Europe and fight the Axis Powers. Yet one thing the youth kept in mind was the Geneva Convention...
Hunting down the shot down bomber, it was hell behind enemy lines. Three men crept silently in the night, guns at the ready. Heading them was a Lieutenant, armed with a Thompson and quietly guiding them to where the last coordinates were transmitted. Second was a typical rifleman, carrying a Garand. Then there was Luther, silently creeping behind the two with his .45 Colt. "Germans got the bomber somewhere near here on its return, during the day mind you. That is a portal of six hours," the Lieutenant whispered.
At the edge of a farmline was when the feelings emerged, like someone was staring down their backs as they silently moved. Sweat was making the tape on their dogtags start to peal off, so there was the occasional click clack[/] of the tags hitting each other, or some other object. Nothing could be done for it as the Lieutenant was first to go over the hedge, then went the rifleman and finally Luther.
Grimacing in pain as his hand hit a nettle, the medic retracted his hand, rubbing the fresh prick wound.
"Cut the noise," a sharp retort came.
Nodding simply they moved to the smouldering remains of the bomber. Silently the medic dropped into the shatter fuselage, finding the radioman dead at his station, a his restraints still holding his corpse into the seat. Blessing the body quickly, he moved into the cockpit. Next corpse was the bombardier, laid back in a puddle of his own blood, front full of twenty-four bullet holes. A pained groan left the medic as he gave Last Rites to him as well, before getting up into the pilot, navigator, and co-pilot seats...
The co-pilot's neck was snapped from impact, his eyes frozen in a fearful look, while the navigator, Flight Engineer and pilot were missing. No parachutes were missing through... Moving to far back, he discovered the mangled bodies of the waistgunners, their bodies pumped full of holes. The tailgunner, as well, was missing, but a bloody back window, which meant he was most likely sucked through a vacuum. Gulping he moved back up through the hole he had submerged in, he looked over to the Lieutenant guiding them.
"Four dead, four missing," he informed the Lieutenant, who was scanning everything, only to nod.
"Germans got them, haul ass out!" was all he said, no last ditch effort to find them, just leave...
. . 1st Lieutenant-(Polish) 
