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Skeleton:
Name: (Including Rank)
Age:
Occupation sad What your job is, either within the military or otherwise)
Faction: (Allies, Axis, or Neutral. Also include specific country, and whether or not you are a civilian)
Family/Marital/Offspring/Etc:
Image: (Preferably a tektek)
Biography:

All those interested must apply for this RP, and must show high levels of literacy and historical accuracy. Please note, that in this RP, it is possible to change the course of history as we now know it, but it has to be in a realistic matter. (I.e., no one man goes and kills a division full of Germans and saves the day sort of crap)




Name: Lt. Col. Rachel Martin
Age: 28
Occupation: Pilot, Commander of the 126th WAC Flight.
Faction: Allies, Originated in Canada.
Family/Marital/Offspring/Etc: Mother, now living in England.
Image:
Biography: Rachel Martin was born on 1 November 1914, to William Robert Martin and Janet Martin. Her father had left for war shortly before she was to be born. He was injured at Vimy Ridge, but survived to fight at Amiens, wherein he died during the "Last 100 Days".
Being forced to live without her father and being an only child, Rachel grew up tougher than most girls, as she and her mother rarely made ends meet. When news of the Second Great War broke out, she was more than eager to join the Women's Air Corps and train as a pilot.

During her training, she was noted as the star pupil among the group, and his now the Commander of the 126th WAC flight and has attained the rank of Lieutenant Colonel. Although being the Commander of a Women's flight, she lives on an airbase populated by both sexes. She, along with 10 other women in her flight, are one of the air groups among the WAC, as well as the entire air force. They are currently the only female fighter squad at Kenley, and there is no female bomber squad at Kenley as of current.




Name: Corporal James Warren
Age: 27
Occupation: Infantry Soldier, Corporal, 5th Platoon, Easy Company, 2nd Infantry Division
Faction: Allies; Maycomb, Texas
Family/Marital/Offspring/Etc: Married, 2 children
Image:
Biography: Born May 24, 1915, James Anthony Warren Jr. was born the second oldest son of a corn farming mother and father in a small farming town just several miles East of Waco, Texas. A so-called 'warrior trend' going on in his family, it is said that in each generation of Warrens, at least two sons left for military service: in his grandparents' generation, Grandpa Jack Warren and Grandpa Anthony Horace fought for the Confederate States of America in the Civil War; in his parents' age, his Uncle Thomas Warren and his father served in the trenches in the Great War. In 1939, the news of the German invasion of Poland somehow awoke the warrior's blood in both James and his older brother Isaac Jackson. James joined the United States Army while Isaac joined the Navy.

After several hard, arduous months of training at Camp Forrest in Tullohoma, Tennessee, James Warren Jr. was now Corporal in 5th Platoon of Easy Company of the 2nd Infantry Division. Over the course of the 3 years that passed between 1939 to the year of 1942, James Warren was promoted to First Sergeant and was Platoon Sergeant to Second Lieutenant Roger Neals, the Platoon Commander of 5th Platoon.

On 14 August 1942, several divisions of the United States Army packed up and sailed overseas to Europe to assist their allies against the threat of Nazi Germany.

"a**-crack of dawn, long boat ride, Germans shooting at us. Not the way I expected the way to come to Europe," Private First Class Matt Sooners remarked as the Higgins boat made its way closer towards the (from their current point of view) speck of land still a few hundred miles away still.

"Sooners, shut the Hell up," murmured First Sergeant James Warren Jr. "It is too God damn early to deal with yer bitchin'."

"Jeez, what crawled up your a**, Sarge?" asked Private First Class Bob Harris.

"Watch your mouth, soldier. It still ain't that early, meaning I'm still capable of tossing yer sorry a** over the railings and leavin' ya out to sea," Sergeant Warren replied tiredly as he looked out towards the land. He cleared his throat. "Ya see that teeny tiny speck'a land o'er yonder? That there's whacha call Hitler's lil' d**k." He paused for the laughter to subside. "What we're gonna do is stomp all over it with the Cannucks, and then we're gonna have some nice, French cress-ants fer breakfast. Welcome to France, boys!"

They had sailed on for about another hour now and the beach had grown closer. And larger. The fortifications, beachheads, bunkers, and machine gun dugouts now began to intimidate 5h Platoon's men. Second Lieutenant Roger Neals, the Platoon Commander, was probably beginning to sum up the courage to make his probable first heroic speech of the day, so Warren decided he might as well give a crack at a second one. At the very least, it'd get his mind off of the MG nests and Flak 88s looming ahead which had already began to fire potshots across the sea at them.

"Driver!" he called out. "What's our ETA?"

"I don't know, I'm guessing about a half hour at best," he replied. "Damn ocean's too choppy for an assault today. Its a pain in the a** to keep this baby goin' in one general direction, but we outta get there."

"Well, if we're gonna get there, get us there in one piece," Warren replied.

The Higgins driver scoffed. "Will do, Sarge."

Warrens stood up near the railing and held the back of the driver's seat for support as he looked at the 20 men from 5th Platoon that were in the Higgins at the moment. He cleared his throat and began:

"Listen up! Today's the day, boys. Fritz has a chokehold on that Frenchy port and our job, along with the job of every Canuck and God-fearin' American out here on these seas today is to take Dieppe. It ain't gonna be easy. Look to the man next to you, and look to the men in front and behind you. Of these 4 men, yourself included, 2 of them won't make it back."

He bowed his head. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death," he began, pausing to take out the Baptist cross that hung underneath his uniform as others did the same, "I will fear no evil for God is with me. His rod and His staff comfort me. He has prepared a table before me in the presence of my enemies. He has blessed my head with oil and my cup runs over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever. Amen."

"Amen," was the chorus of the now somber men in the Higgins, staring straight ahead now at the island with fear but also in determination.

Warrens cleared his throat. "This is history in the making, boys. Let's write it in as a victory for the US of A!" he roared, prompting the men in the boat to yell back and pump their fists in the air. "If one of us goes down, that son-b***h is gonna take 15 Jerries with 'em!" The men roared again.

The Higgins drifted closer and closer now.

"30 seconds!" the driver of their Higgins shouted as the beach of Dieppe grew even closer now. The men were nevrvous, the men were anxious, but most of all, the men were scared like little girls due to the MG fire pouring out frm the beach as well as the Flak 88 fire creating fountains of water, blood, and bits of metal to shoot up.

"You heard 'em, men!" Warren shouted. "Once we hit the beach, find cover behind those beachheads! Stevenson, get that Browning up as best as you can and lay down suppressing fire for the other boat crews!"

"15 seconds!" the Higgins driver shouted now, apprehension clear in his voice.

"Jerry won't know what hit 'em, fellas! Just keep your head low and you'll get through!"

"5 sec-" the driver was cut off by a Flak 88 round that capsized the Higgins, flipping it over and on its side sending its occupants into the shallow water and sand beneath it.

Warren struggled to free himself from underneath the ship. Machine gun bullets whizzed past him through the water. He saw a few of his men be cut down by the MG fire, their limp bodies contorting into some of the most awful forms of death he had ever seen, dancing a macabre ballet underwater.

He fought his way up to the surface, breathing heavily as he began to push forward, the water weighing him down. He looked around to see that at least half of the men that had been on the boat had surface. Assuming solemnly that the rest were either dead or were about to be killed as they tried to fight their way to the surface of the water.

The water acted like glue, slowing the men's advance to the sand of the beaches as well as to relative safety from the MG42s up in the machine gun nests. "Find cover!" he yelled as a Flak 88 round created a crater where Private Alex Moss once stood. His feet soon lifted themselves from the waters of the ocean. He ran towards the crater and dived in, saving himself from a machine gun sweep across the stand. 3 other soldiers had attempted to find cover in the crater as well, but 2 of them had ended up being mowed down by it. The third managed to scramble into the crater.

"Jesus H. Christ of Nazareth!" James muttered to himself as he looked back behind him at the sea. The Flak 88s were blasting their boats to pieces. He watched in horror as a Higgins came within spitting distance of the beach before it was blown in half by a mortar round, sending bits and pieces of men and metal flying through the sky.

He took his M1 Thompson Sub-Machine Gun and fired a small burst off at the MG pillboxes in a futile manner. He then ducked behind cover. "Stevenson!" he called out. "Stevenson! Where's that damn MG! We need suppressing fire!" he yelled. He couldn't tell whether or not Stevenson could hear him. A mortar round had landed just a couple of yards away, sending fountains of dirt all over him and the private next to him, probably nullifying his yell. Either that or Stevenson was already dead.

He then looked skyward and saw the aerial battle taking place overhead. He then looked back at the tormented sea and then around the beach itself. "Jee-zus..." he muttered softly. The private next to him looked up to pop off another shot from his M1 Garand but was met with an MG42 round through the skull. James sighed and bowed his head.

James smiled when he heard the sound of bombs falling. During the briefing, they had been told that RAF, Canadian, and American aerial supporrt would be on their way to clear the beach for the Allied assault force. His smile turned sour, however, and his heart turned to icy rock when he saw no planes heading over the enemy positions like they should have been.

"s**t! Their dropping them on our positions!" Captain Anthony Logan, the Company Commander of Easy Company yelled from a mortar-made foxhole not far from James Warren's position. "Advance! I'd rather die fighting Jerry then by our own bombs!" he yelled to his men, or rather, what was left of them.

"You heard 'em, advance!" Lt. Neals echoed, getting out from his cover and spraying a quick burst of lead from his BAR before running sluggishly towards the enemy front.

All around him and all around the beach, men were attempting to advance but were quickly being cut down by MG fire as well as by both Allied and enemy shells.

James closed his eyes, counted to three, and prayed to God before sprinting out of his cover, just in time to be propelled several feet forward after a bomb shell from one of the bomber's over head landed just a little ways off from his former cover.

He groaned as he tried to blink the stars away from his field of vision. He coughed and felt his warm blood seep from his mouth. The impact of the fall must have broken a couple of ribs. As the deafening roar of machine gun fire continued coupled with the falling bomb shells and Flak 88 fire, James was urged on by pure primal instinct to keep moving.

He crawled towards the enemy line, dragging his left leg behind him: he must have landed on it wrong. He paused and brought his Thompson up to bear on an MG nest still very far away. His burst of fire, however, brought the attention of the gunner on him. He closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable but first covered his ears when he heard the roar of a low-passing fighter that was trailing smoke from the engine strafe past. In anycase, the gunner's attention was elsewhere and he took that oppurtunity to scoop himself and limp out of the way, throwing himself into another crater to hide in.

James was staring blankly out towards the sea, now, trying to form his own battle plan as to how the Hell to get off of this carnage alive, if that ws even possible. The Flak 88s were reaching far and continued to blast the Higgins boats straight to Hell as they either advanced or began to retreat. The whole situation seemed hopeless at this point.

He cringed as the shockwaves of another bomb shell landed nearby his shelter. He cringed when he saw the helmeted disembodied head of a soldier rendered unidentifiable from the blast roll into his crater. He looked away and turned to the sky. It was then that he saw a fighter plane streak across the sky, its engine trailing smoke but still attempting to gain altitude. So much for that, he though cynically as he saw a trail of AA shell bursts catch it in the tail, sending it into a barrel roll downwards towards the water. It wasn't long until it seemed that the pilot lost control and the plane exploded into the water.

What happened after that, he couldn't tell as the crater blocked the rest of his view, but all he could do was mutter a half-hearted prayer for the pilot.