Omaha Group WW2 (Inactive)

Game Master Batista Grave

The day is June 5th 1944... The day before the 2nd great war begins for the United States. No more needs to be said. The only question remains...do we jump?

The sun hangs high over the airfields of England. Troopers run around caring whatever gear they have. All soldiers, all trained, all ready. All you can hear is a garble of mess as the small squad of hero's sits in their own corner of the airfield, fully packed up ready to fly, weapons in hand and wings on their uniforms. Everyone is called to general assembly.

Major Olvesky: An older man in uniform stands on top of a Viper made Jeep. It may have been Ford that gave the army the jeep but it was Viper who invented them. FALL IN!!!! FALL IN BOYS! After a moment pause he speaks up again. English channel is blocked up with fog! NO JUMP TONIGHT! I SAY AGAIN! NO! JUMP! TONIGHT! Gather your gear and report back to barracks.

Most of the soldiers make a quiet aww to themselves. They were ready to fight. Everyone hated the waiting. The units started to disperse back to their respective squad barracks.

"Well that's unfortunate." says the young faced man in a southern drawl.

"I was hoping we could hop on a few of them Gerries!"

Description will be available tomorrow. Character stats will be given tomorrow. At least I know the character! :D

Verflixte Scheisse, says Dastl to herself as she undoes her harness to stop waddling around uncomfortably.

She looks at Johnson, Seems you've been in England too long, picking up the vernacular and all... Gerries none but a Tommy would call the Preussen a Gerry...

Liam snickers to himself a little.
"Gerry, Preussen...ah'd still say most would call 'em Kraut an' be done with it."

Dastl turns around to look at McGregor and says, Soldier, is that a way to address a superior officer? Zhu better git your gear squared away right quick and quit bad mouthing zhur betterzzzzz!

An army is an army after all. An Irishman with a Scots name... interesting...

Have to establish authority, I know the army is desperate for interpretation help but to stick me in a platoon as CO, strange, at least I'll get to earn an official mustard stain instead of all of the unofficial ones I cannot wear on my uniform.

Liam throws a lax salute at the Liutenant.
"Superior office aye sir, but better? To find his equal, an Irishman is forced to talk to god after all..."

Gee, there Ah go again, no wonder I never made it past Seargant with this attitude, but Ah just can't help it.

Dastl frowns at the insubordination, "You may not be up to this mission joung man, cuz zhur eyesight and zhur hearing's be lacking, obviously, I itdn't a sir! If by God you mean Austrian, zhu've got the correct voman."

She takes a breath with McGregor at Attention and says, "I can either Article 15 zhour ass or get zhou doin' KP, zhour choice Sergeant."

Realizing he may be pushing it, but unable to resist going yet a little further, the rougish Irishman smiles and sketches a slightly less lax salute.

"No sir ma'm, YER choice and Ah'm am sure ye will use yer better judgment to full effect."

Dastl looks at the SGT. and says,"I want to see 82 pushups for our mother division and then report to Master Sergeant Jones at battalion mess with zhour penknife for the potatoes. Understood!!!"

The yelling caught the attention of one particular officer that happened to be walking by.

Major Olvesky enters the tent with an angered look on his face. What is the g%% d#@ned issue in here! Who the hell is causing problems on MY BASE! This was a rhetorical question because he in fact, heard everything up to that point. He promptly walked over to Margit. You may be a LT but we all know why you are here... you're nothing more than a social experiment in a man's military...Furthermore you have no power to order punishments so long as you are under MY command. As punishment for YOUR insubordination you will be joining Mr McGregor in the mess as well... Let this be...the ONLY time I have to say this...This is MY base. So long as you are here your Austrian war power grant has no meaning. You are here to fight a war across the channel, not start one here. He then turned to the Irishman As for you....The usual punishment for you. Get out of my sight...both of you...before I Court Marshall both of you, strip you of rank and wings and send you back to whatever the hell spit of land you came from! IS THAT CLEAR SOLDIERS!!!!

He let out a deep low growl from his handlebar mustache, hand on his pistol on his hip as he waits for them to leave.

let it be warned. I will be rolling circumstance rolls..RANDOMLY through the game. This is a prime example of getting a nat 1 for the first time.

Yikes! Ol' Brushface is in no mood to play today, still, last time he got this fired up the ordered the whole SQUAD to latrine duty, guess we got of easy.

Deciding that playtime is officially over, Liam snaps to with parade ground dicipline.

"Sir yes sir!"

He then whispers out of the side of his mouth to the Liutenant.
"Let's get outta 'ere right fast or he is liable to USE that gun."

Quickly leaving he mutters to himself.
"Yikes...typical that HE of all people should be walking by, had it been Captain Townsend this would have ended MUCH differently."

The other man with the group had reddish-brown hair, long for the military but still reasonably short, and the beginnings of a beard on his face. He grinned as the Irishman started talking, glad that he wasn't too alone here. But when the Austrian woman started berating Liam, Roy frowned.

"Here now, there's no need for all that--" he begins, his accent a moderately-thick, but understandable, Scottish brogue. He cuts off when the Major enters.

After the Major and the others leave, Roy turns to the remaining members of the group. "Well, that was certainly... interesting. Name's MacArran, by the way, Roy MacArran, survivalist and specialist here. Too bad about the jump delay, but honestly, I'd not like to be jumping in this kind of fog; we'd be like to hit cliffs, or land in the water, or God knows where."

I don't have the full character sheet done yet, but the beginnings of it are there. Also, I've decided not to try and spell out the phonetics of Roy's accent--I figure most people know the gist of how Scots sound, so just read it like that in your mind. I know I am.

"Nice to meet you, Roy. My name's Keith!" Keith says with his hand outstretched and a big smile.

I assume everyone knows how to do a Southern accent, so I'll do the same as Loup.

1st LT. Margit Dastl waits for the rest to clear the tent and speaks, "Sir, vith all due respect. Whether zhu like it or not I am an officer in the US Army and have been such for two years and have served with distinction during said time, and according the UCMJ am allotted the rights listed therein. I was not acting in an insubordinate manner. It is, of course, inappropriate to speak to a commissioned officer like that in front of the troops. Major, I hope we can work together to take down the damned NAZIs."

"Lieutenant! Please, hold your tongue... The major is very harsh on everyone, not just on you! I was once given court marshel for my mother sewing pleats into my pants!" Keith says to Margit Dastl.

"But believe me, at least we don't have Major Corcoran! He shot a medic for missing a stitch!"

On the way out Liam notices that the Liutenant does not seem to be following, peeking in he sees a scene that almost makes his jaw drop.

B&+@&&!s! She is talking back to ol' Brushface!?! That's not big brass ones she's got, that's cast iron right there.

To intrigued to leave he stays outside the tent listening in.

Ol' Brushface doesn't have much use for women on a GOOD day...

"Good to meet you, as well," Roy grins back to Keith, shaking his hand with a handshake that's firm without being vice-like or too vigorous. "I look forward to serving with all of you."

The Scotsman also catches his breath at Margit's words. "Fräulein ," he says, "or Fräu, whichever it may be, no disrespect intended, but Liam was just talking--I'm sure he intended no offense when you first spoke to him."

Roy turns then to the Irishman. "And you--maybe you think an Irishman need look to God to see his superior, but you only need a mirror to see an idiot. I'd suggest that we all start holding our tongues unless we're building camaraderie--we are, after all, going to be going into battle together, guarding one another's lives. We're a team; let's start acting like one."

That said, Roy looks to the Major. "Again, no disrespect, intended, sir--just my two cents."

After her being dismissed, she sees the others milling about evesdropping and she says with a large $-&t eating grin, "Zhu want to have an esprit de corps, kampfgeist, or whatever... Ve're all doing pushups for the All American Division"

She gets down (with the rest of the group) and does her 82 pushups with an additional clap at the end, chanting "A is for Airborne, I is for in the sky, R is for ready, B is for born to die, O is for out the door, R is for ready, N is for never quit and E is for everyday." By the the time she gets B the entire group is chanting in unison, they repeat that for the whole ordeal.

She gets up and says solemnly "Vone more for the paratrooper in the sky" as she points up making the veterans remember the jumps in Sicily and Salerno and their fallen comrades. And she gets back down again to the last one extra slow.

An Dich errinere ich mich, Johann und der Laboer Einsatz( I remember you Johann and the Laboe mission)

Another soldier walks into the barracks and lets out a chuckle

???: I hear ol' fuzzy wuzzy got ahold of ya. Sorry to hear that I was hoping to get to you before he did...

The man was tall, muscular, more so then the average soldier. He wasn't bad looking either. (leave it up to your imaginations shall I?)

Captain Mehan: I'm Captain Mehan, I run the squads of this chunk of Pathfinder. Don't let whatever fuzzball told you to do get ya down...come soon we won't be in HIS base anymore. I take care of my own...anything you need come get me. Ill square you away. Nice BAR by the way...carry one of them myself.

The trooper leaves after introducing himself.

Roy looks incredulously at the Austrian woman as she says the whole group will do pushups. "You've got to be joking! That won't raise team morale, it'll ram it through the floor!" When she looks back at him deadpan, though, he groans and gets down like everyone else.

The Scottish trooper can barely refrain a laugh, though, when she begins to chant. Well, that's certainly a fun little ditty... I wonder what we can't do to that...

And, so, Roy begins to chant his own rhyme, which only the two troopers just near him (and not the woman) can hear as he whispers it under his breath...

Just a quick side note, as a RL earner of the blood wings, some of the jodies(Marching songs) you would and could play with but the Airborne ones, never, you wouldn't make fun of what makes you elite. Roy's chant well is something a "Straight Leg" would do. (Anyone other than airborne)

After slowly rising and seeing the Captain, she asks, "Sir, I vas vondering if supply vas able to procure the AP rounds for our .30-06 rifles. Zhem could be a lifesaver in zha field."

Those rounds can puncture steel plate and we could sure use them against zhem bunkers

GM, would it be possible for margit to make a napalm cocktail by getting some diesel fuel from the motor pool?

"Hmmm...salt of the earth type that cap'n innit? Looks and sounds like the type who kicks back with the troops after a mission rather than going to the officers mess."

It would honestly be easier just to take a bottle of whisky or some alcohol, a piece of cloth and use the matches form your cigs or lighter for that. If you want diesel...your going to have to do some sneaking and gathering on your own time. I won't say you can...but it won't really be a good idea to do it.

Once you all are ready please go to "sleep"

Captain Mehan: He stops at the door and turns to look at margit Ya...every bullet is an AP round. Don't expect them to go through a bunker or anything....they are ment to punch through Flak vests....not anything else. And why would you ask a question like that...I mean...I don't want to sound like a wise ass or anything but...you have been training for how many months and you still don't know what kind of ammo you have?...I would go over your gear, double check it. Oh...pack some extra food as well. We don't know if we are going to be stranded out there with our pants down or not.

He leaves.

That's a good point, Margit, and I'll definitely keep it in mind, but Roy barely sees himself as Airborne, particularly speaking. He definitely knows it's an elite division, and he's honored to serve with the group, but he considers himself primarily a knowledgeable warrior.

Roy chuckles at Margit's question, and at the Captain's answer. "Doesn't take armor-piercing rounds to punch through flak..." he murmurs, commenting on the lack of real protection offered by most military wear. "Better to never let the bullets near you, and best of all to never let them fly in the first palce."

That said, the Scotsman moves to his bunk. "But right now, it's best if we all get some shut-eye, in my opinion. If that's not affronting you, Lieutenant, I'll turn in for the night, get ready for tomorrow."

"Turning in," though, isn't going directly to bed: Roy proceeds to perform no fewer than twenty situps on his bunk before finally rolling over... and pushing up with his arms, maintaining that position for about five minutes before dropping to the bunk and going to sleep.

"... You gonna do that all night?" Keith asks while he watches Roy do situps. Keith is simply laying down in his bunk, watching some of the others.

Roy pauses at the height of one situp, his hands clasped behind his head, and he turns to Keith with a small, mischievous grin. "You sound like my girl," he says, "except she sounds a lot more hopeful when she says it." Without laughing, he resumes his exercise.

"Now that's dirtier than a double fried catfish! Tell me more." Keith says looking at Roy with his full attention.

It has to do with the Geneva Convention, typically, AP rounds are only issued for weapons designated as antimaterial vs. antipersonnel, if we have them already, then cool. Napalm is a lot nastier than a molotov, ok, just being an alchemist, through and through

Margit nods her head and then spends some time sharpening her bayonet and pen knife before hitting the proverbial hay.

"What can I say?" Roy grunts as he switches from situps to the stand. "One of the main lessons I've learned from my time in the wilderness, as well as in war: Endurance is everything."

....you do realize that the Geneva Convention for ww2 was only for the treatment of prisoners of war right?...hasn't gotten to different ammo yet because there was not enough ammo types out there to..really need regulating...and by definition ALL ROUNDS were considered AP rounds because they killed infantry...your thinking way to hard about these things x-o...

alright, moving on.

Everyone only gets about 3 hours of sleep. The traditional military horn blares out as CO's and other higher ranked officers storm into all the barracks, lights in their hands.

officer LETS GO ON YOUR FEET SOLDIERS! CHANNELS CLEAR! WERE LEAVING IN 2 HOURS! GET YOUR S$#* TOGETHER! LETS GO GO GO!!!! The officer leaves and the base suddenly comes alive as everyone is woken. The time has come. It was early, too early for this kind of crap. The outside air was cold, but adrenaline was taking over everyone. Nobody cared about the cold. The loud speaker of the base came alive shortly after.

Loud Speaker: All pathfinders report to your planes, all pathfinders we are mission go. I say again mission is go. Check all weapons and equipment before reporting to your field commander. Transmitter team, your transmitter will be waiting for you at your plane. God speed soldiers...

Everyone make a will save. You did not get the full amount of sleep required. Give me a will save to see if it will negativity effect you.

Will 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 2 = 19

Margit puts her Corcoran Jump Boots and the rest of her gear on, she then helps any of her more groggy compatriots with their gear. Then she does a quick jump test to make sure nothing is over rattly, and securely fastened.

Afterwards she waddles her way to the C47 with a glimmer in her eye, a stone in her gut and excitement everywhere else.

Will: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (13) + 2 = 15

Guess this is my cue to actually completely finish the character and get the sheet in the profile...

Roy starts awake and rolls out of his bunk, having slept in his uniform due to the possibility of just this happening. He grabs his gear and throws the backpack on, then loops the strap of his M1 Carbine around his neck and shoulder. "Alright, boys and girl, let's head out!" he says, his voice chipper and bright (sarcastically so, if he's feeling crappy).

Will save: 1d20 ⇒ 2

Liam just blinks for several seconds, almost unable to fully comprehend what is going on, and when he rolls out opf bed he falls down on the floor with a thump.
"Ouch! Wankers..."

Oh...I'm killing the first person I see, unless they come with a peace offering...like a bottle, a cup of "fortified" tea or discharge papers.

Roy barely holds back a laugh as he watches the Irishman tumble from his bed. "Rise and shine, beautiful!" he says, helping Liam to his feet. "Last thing you want to be on a jump is asleep. That's the best way to miss your pull."

Will Save: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 2 = 7

"Boy! I got my sleep! Uh... what's what's wrong with the Leprechaun?"

The plane is a beautiful, a worthy vessel for your travel into hell and back. "The bombshell" is her name. As is tradition, there is a beautiful lady painted on the side, the unique part about this one...she is sitting on a turtle. Don't ask why. Only the pilots know. Standing next to the plane is a handful of other soldiers, one of them being Captain Mehan.

Mehan: Well now. Looks like we get to go. One of you take the transmitter... FALL IN BOYS!

The soldiers gather together and sit down in jump order (Give me a "Jump" order). A small prayer is given, and Mehan pulls every soldier onto their feet, one by one so they can board the plane.

When she jumps isn't so interesting but 1d4 ⇒ 2, Ok I will go second

Roy's fine taking the transmitter, although he already has plans for his gear once they hit the ground. These military-issue packs always have extra crap in them; everything non-essential is getting dropped once we land.

On the plane, Roy sits near the rear of the jump order. "I like to fancy myself good at pep talks to get everyone out the door," he grins, sitting down. "And I think you all know how to use the parachute, so no worries on that."

As Liam looks up at the grinning Scottish man he has to hold back an overwhelming desire to throttle him.
The world can spare ONE Scot surely? Ah ok...fine, but if this happens again I may kill him...WITH the Texan....

Liam shrugs and takes place as the first in line, his head is still swimming and he figures that unless he jumps fast he may fall asleep again.

Once in the plane, Margit starts singing Blood upon The Risers... He was just a rookie trooper and he surely shook with fright as he checked all of his equipment made sure his pack was tight he had to sit and listen to those awful engines roar 'you ain't gonna jump no more'

There was blood upon the risers, there were brains upon the chute,
Intestines were a-dangling from his paratrooper's boots,
They picked him up still in his Chute and poured him from his boots
He ain't gonna jump no more!

This one is a classic, I used to love this'n

"If it's alright with ya'll, I would like very much to be after Roy. I'd rather not be shot at immediately.." Keith says to the rest of his group. Keith looks at his shoulder pads, clad with the large white circle and red cross that shows he is a medic.

The fatigued Liam can't help but grumble to himself.
I think I may throttle her too and all...ah well, I wouldn't have gotten any sleep in the plane anyway...

Liam just shakes his head, hoping the cool air of the jump will clear his mind some.

"That's fine, Keith," Roy returns, patting the medic on the shoulder. "You're the last one we want to lose on this, after all. And in the air, it's awful hard to see those little crosses, so going last may not be a bad plan."

Margit chuckles to herself fully knowing that jump order and survival is irrelevant.

Fellas, make sure zhou drop zhour kit bag before zhou land or zhou'll break a femur. Breaking a femur in Nazi occupied France is the vorse ting that can happen to zhou

I am just going to skip the hours before the jump. I am sure you want to get to fighting. After you get a jump order tell me in the discussion and I will be able to roll for each of you individually on how your jump went.

The loud roar of the planes, along with the adrenaline of actually going now, keeps everyone awake.

oh by the way...if I say you get a little insanity. Just act as if nothing happens. I will be doing stuff to you once you reach a point of insanity. So just play sane.... don't go bout trying to kill each other cuz of nothing.

Not a word was spoken. If it was, nobody could hear it. Everyone was nervious. Everybody was pretty green. Lack of experiance is getting to everyone. Finally the red light in the cabin lights up as you hear the subtle thumps of flak guns.

Jump man (don't know his offical name) : EVERYBODY STAND UP!....HOOK UP! He then opens the door and you see everything. The night air is filled with tracer rounds from machine guns, AA turret placements and flak rounds. From a distance the first person in the plane can see another Ally plane being shot down. A sudden red of fire fills the air as the main cabin explodes. All were lost in that. Fortune has it. None of you saw this.

Jump man: EQUIPMENT CHECK!

paratroopers: 12 ok 11 ok 10 ok 9 ok 8 ok 7 ok 6 ok 5 ok 4 ok 3 ok 2 ok 1 ok!!!!!!

Moments later the green light is lit and one by one the paratroopers exit the plane into a hail of bullets and shrapnel. If they look below they can see hundreds of canapes opening up and men floating down to secure the objective areas.

Margit fluidly takes her chute's carabiner and hooks it to the plane's static line with a professional's precision you can tell this isn't her first combat jump, she smiles with glee and excitement.

When the Jumpmaster screams Go! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go!

She waddles to the front of the plane and holds onto the edges of the door just before her "Go," takes a quick moment to admire the skyline and steps out into the sky as her body is taken by the wind outside. But it is quick however as she her body makes its way to the end of the static line.

Not sure what time of day it is, is it dawn?

As Keith watches his allies jump out of the cargo bay before him, the only thing that goes through Keith's mind is I have this odd feeling that this will end worse than a 20-pound catfish...

Who wouldn't want to cut up, fry, and devour a 20-Pound Catfish?