WWII is a subject near and dear to me, as l'm both Polish and German.  

Name: Karl Zimmer

Age: 21

Position (if applicable): Private in the German army. 

Appearance: Sandy blonde hair, blue eyes, somewhat short and stocky.  

Personality: He's rather timd, and tends to stay in the shadows. He's rather selfish in the fact that he looks out for himself above everything else, meek, wouldn't deal with anything unless it's his problem, somewhat corwardly, more of a follow, not a leader. He simply doesn't care about other people's problems, and in his eyes the he has nothing to do with the war. 

Bakcground: He lived on a farm in Nazi-controlled Germany, avoiding getting drafted into the army for several years before he finally was. 

Hobbies/skills: He's good with firearms, following orders and just generally not being noticed. 

What other people think of character: They think he's a corward, unable to take action when it is needed, and not brave enough to fight for his country in a time of peril. They dislike his shyness. 

I shall begin! My first part:

Jerry~ Early May, 1944

Southern England has become one huge arsenal. Piles of ammunition are hidden in the forests. Tanks and jeeps and ambulances stretch in long lines across moors and mortar and antiaircraft guns are hidden in fields under cover of the tall stalks of grass. There are warehouses and depot filled with medical supplies, food, and clothing.

All throughout the last month, men and supplies have been moving towards southern England, through tiny seaside villages that no one’s heard of, leaving could of dust and anxious civilians behind them. The air is always filled with the sound of humming or coughing motors, tanks clacking away, and propellers whirring as helicopters hover over fields full of calmly grazing cows.

The soldiers sleep in huts or tents—cities of them—set up in fields near quaint little costal towns that we are planning to embark from. When I look around at the rows and rows of white tents and soldiers everywhere, it amazes me that there can be so many people in one place.

Danny Ricci, a friend of mine in the same regiment, is always up to date on everything that goes on with planning this invasion, and everyone flocks to him when there’s news to hear. He explains to us that the invasion, called D-Day, has to be scheduled at a very specific time.

“The tide’s gotta be low early in the morning,” he said, “because we’ll be coming in on landing craft and a low tide will make it easy. And the night before that’s gotta have a full moon, for the paratroopers landing behind the German forts before we get onto the beaches.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crinkled calendar. “Look here. The only days in June that fit the bill are the fourth, fifth, and sixth. If we don’t choose one of those days, everything’ll be postponed ‘till July. And if ya ask me, we’ve already been delayed long enough.”

“Yeah, so why not choose one of those days?” I asked.

“Weather,” Danny said. “Bad weather on all of those days. That’s why we still haven’t decided on any day yet.”

It seemed like quite a paradox to me, but Danny said that Eisenhower would come up with something soon enough, all we had to do was wait and see. We all trusted Danny, so we waited to see.

Meanwhile we griped about the food and the waiting and the drilling and the boredom. We griped about the weather. We griped about the Germans. After all, that’s what we always did—gripe. We formed friendships because we had things in common to gripe about. Of course, not everything was bad. There were plenty of fun times, playing games and singing songs and having animated discussions about the war’s progress.

There are lots of jokes and tomfoolery. One well-known, well-liked, and often-repeated joke is about Danny, who’s Italian, though he was born and raised in New England. The Italians switched sides in both this war and the first World War. Amazing! They just switched sides right in the middle. Danny has a reputation for being indecisive, and whenever there’s an argument or a decision to be made, we ask Danny “You sure you agree with that? You’re not going to change your mind halfway through?” He takes everything very good-naturedly and joins in with the teasing himself sometimes.

But even though we have good times and generally enjoy ourselves, I’m getting pretty sick of not moving and not knowing what we’ll be doing next. The invasion had better come quickly or we’ll be waiting here ‘till the war’s long over. 

Yaaays!!! We are starting!!!!

~:Soliel:~ I shake my head at the German soldier who just passed my father's shop, parchemin Délavé. I wish they would leave! And take their language with them!

It sounds as harsh as they are! Their word for book (which is one of the few I've bothered with learning) is buch. The French pronunciation even sounds better! Liv-ra. With an accent on the 'r' of course. 

The German's sounds like boosh. Rather silly sounding, don't you think?

~:~:~:~

Sorry, I have to go. 

Is this everyone? I'm super sorry if I forgot anybody!

Jerry Meade (Private in the U.S. Army) 

Rudy Kloberdanz (Private in the German Army)

Jeanne Battant (French Spy)

Alice B. Watson (Allied Nurse)

Soleil Sylvestre (French Civil)

Karl Zimmer (Private in the German Army)

TOP!!!

Terribly sorry for the shortness, l do not have much time right now.  

Karl~

It's quiet here, the days blending into one another, each the same as the last. The other German soldiers complain about the lack of action, but honestly, I don't mind.

I can imagine that this little French town used to be buzzing with life, the countryside rolling all around it, before the war came to their doorstep. And now….it's empty. The people are still here, somewhere, it's that they simply stay away…hidden, out of sight. They're afraid. Afraid of us, of the Germans, of the Nazis, of the war coming to their homeland. Afraid of the soldiers that occupy their town. They keep out of our way, scurrying away like insects. I almost felt…sorry for them, although frankly it was their fault that they lived in fear. Yes, there is a war going on, but we aren't very well going to kill you, just as long as you get along with us. No one ever seemed to realize that.

The German soldiers have taken up residence in an small hotel. The owner graciously provided us shelter……at gun point.

There are about fifty men in my regiment; we were posted here to keep watch over the citizens and the surrounding countryside, and to alert the Nazis of any uprising, any movement looking like military action. There had been none. The other soldiers are bored, they want to be on the front lines, battling the Allied Forces. But alas, we are stuck in a little French town of no importance. I'm happy staying here, just as long I don't get….killed.

It's late May, but still somewhat cold and cloudy. I'm technically not on duty, but l'm still out, wandering around. None of the citizens bother me, but as I pass, I see a few of them giving me glares, muttering under their breaths in French. I, of course, a German farm boy, understand next to nothing of French. But I don't need to to know what they say. They hate us here. However, being here means not being in a battle, which means very greatly increased chances of living.                   

Is it too late? Is there a spot? I'm sorry if it seems like I'm butting in, but I LOVE WWII. I mean, I don't love all the horrible things that happened during this war, but I guess you could say I'm a bit of a history freak! If there's not a spot, that's okay.

Sincerly,

Will(FINE. My real name is Willow) 

PLEASE TOP!!!!!!!!!

PLEASE TOP!!!!!

Ellie says "whou" or who u.

Who, me? 

PLEASE TOP!!!!!!!!!!

PLEASE TOP!!!!!!!!!!

PLEASE TOP!!!!!!!!!!

PLEASE TOP!!!!!!!!!!

PLEASE TOP!!!!!!!!!!

PLEASE TOP!!!!!!!!!!

PLEASE TOP!!!!!!!!!!

PLEASE TOP!!!!!!!!!!

PLEASE TOP!!!!!!!!!!

PLEASE TOP!!!!!!!!!!

PLEASE TOP!!!!!!!!!!

PLEASE TOP!!!!!!!!!!

PLEASE TOP!!!!!!!!!!