Post by WC C.#3 Diamond, N. E. on Aug 17, 2008 21:51:47 GMT -5
Sitting, typical for Neil at times like this. A war was stirring up in Europe, America was going in, and they wanted someone in. And by they we mean the New York Times. They figured Neil was their best bet, a single man, no family, some experience with firearms and a camera. Who else could they pick? So, it was chosen, the files and transfer requests tightened in a folder, signatures from General Patton to have Neil attached into a random battalion and get his work done. And worst of all, he was gonna go straight to the front when he got his balls together. So when his boss entered, staring down at Neil.
Now Neil was a rather small guy, barely any muscles, and most of all a hollow look. He stood about five feet and eleven inches. He had short brown hair, one streak of lighter color from a scar. His eyes were a hazel color, a yellow blotch in the left one from the influenza outbreak. His skin was tanned, olive colored, and not to mention there were quite a few visible scars on his face from knife accidents. He was already issued his uniform, not a lot of patches, just two. One above his right breast which read 'DIAMOND' and the other 'PRESS'.
"Diamond, you know what you are gonna be doing over in Europe, right," the man said after a few moments of akward silence.
"Yes sir, I am to take photographs of the War going on between Nazi Germany, the British, French, and Canadians. I am to then send the negatives back to you, then I shall recieve my payment when my job is done or the war finishes," he replied, trying to keep a cool head.
Neil was in all senses worried from hell and back to head into the eye of the storm. He heard all about the Germans, and his olive drab uniform all too resembled an American Soldier uniform, but lacked any sort of chevron or insignia. So he was figuring any sniper could tell the difference about him, but a foot soldier probably couldn't. "So... Into the storm for me," he thought to himself as he grabbed his papers and headed out of the Times Building.
The streets were busy as always, and he needed to head over to his car. It was an old 1939 V-8 Ford Pick-Up Truck. It was red with cream colored trim. He used it to get around, and that was it all he needed, he had a bad feeling about this. His hands fell on the wheel, staring at the road ahead of him. He had a long way to the Air Port, then he would take it to there, and relax.
It took an hour to get there, traffic was terrible. When he got there, he got to a C-47 that was loading soldiers. And when he got there, he looked at a Sergeant, he was unsure who he was, but he was staring right at him. Then he walked towards him, shoving an old Lee Enfield into his hands, then shoved a grenade into his pocket, and slapped a bayonet into his belt, along with a shovel. Then he looked down at him.
"You got a camera, boy," the man said, a low voice. He had a Southern Accent, just his luck.
"Yes sir, it is my standard one, Kodak," he said as he pulled it out.
"Good," he said before he walked off.
He was then alone on the pad, before he too scampered up into the C-47. That was a long, long flight, but it finally arrived in England, that was where he got off, then got to the coast to board a boat to France. This took a long time, and he followed so many other soldiers. Then he arrived at Normandy, getting on the beach was easy, but after that he was lost at the lines of supply trucks and body bags.
Now Neil was a rather small guy, barely any muscles, and most of all a hollow look. He stood about five feet and eleven inches. He had short brown hair, one streak of lighter color from a scar. His eyes were a hazel color, a yellow blotch in the left one from the influenza outbreak. His skin was tanned, olive colored, and not to mention there were quite a few visible scars on his face from knife accidents. He was already issued his uniform, not a lot of patches, just two. One above his right breast which read 'DIAMOND' and the other 'PRESS'.
"Diamond, you know what you are gonna be doing over in Europe, right," the man said after a few moments of akward silence.
"Yes sir, I am to take photographs of the War going on between Nazi Germany, the British, French, and Canadians. I am to then send the negatives back to you, then I shall recieve my payment when my job is done or the war finishes," he replied, trying to keep a cool head.
Neil was in all senses worried from hell and back to head into the eye of the storm. He heard all about the Germans, and his olive drab uniform all too resembled an American Soldier uniform, but lacked any sort of chevron or insignia. So he was figuring any sniper could tell the difference about him, but a foot soldier probably couldn't. "So... Into the storm for me," he thought to himself as he grabbed his papers and headed out of the Times Building.
The streets were busy as always, and he needed to head over to his car. It was an old 1939 V-8 Ford Pick-Up Truck. It was red with cream colored trim. He used it to get around, and that was it all he needed, he had a bad feeling about this. His hands fell on the wheel, staring at the road ahead of him. He had a long way to the Air Port, then he would take it to there, and relax.
It took an hour to get there, traffic was terrible. When he got there, he got to a C-47 that was loading soldiers. And when he got there, he looked at a Sergeant, he was unsure who he was, but he was staring right at him. Then he walked towards him, shoving an old Lee Enfield into his hands, then shoved a grenade into his pocket, and slapped a bayonet into his belt, along with a shovel. Then he looked down at him.
"You got a camera, boy," the man said, a low voice. He had a Southern Accent, just his luck.
"Yes sir, it is my standard one, Kodak," he said as he pulled it out.
"Good," he said before he walked off.
He was then alone on the pad, before he too scampered up into the C-47. That was a long, long flight, but it finally arrived in England, that was where he got off, then got to the coast to board a boat to France. This took a long time, and he followed so many other soldiers. Then he arrived at Normandy, getting on the beach was easy, but after that he was lost at the lines of supply trucks and body bags.
