the infirmary man may count me dead.
Member No.: 11
Joined: 25-June 10
AS PORTRAYED BY EDUARDO VERASTEGUI
Dob: 17th of February, 1925
Pob: San Josť, Buenos Aires, Argentina
Location: Old Quarry Road
Occupation: Fighter pilot
Heritage: 1/2 German, 1/2 Argentine
I KNOW I'VE DREAMT YOU A SIN AND A LIE
AND I HAVE MY FREEDOM BUT I DON'T HAVE MUCH TIME
Eyes: Aquamarine beryl
Likes: Motorcycles, planes, the military, his family, solitude, music, mechanicals, dancing, fireflies, telling stories
Dislikes:: Hotshots, stale cigarette smoke, street racing, arrogance, overly religious people, the local police force, sitting idly, heavy makeup on women
Mother: Catherine "Cate" Rose (born Consuela de Mendoza), age 42
Father: Robert "Robbie' Rose (born Guntram von Rossenthaler), age 47
Sister: Devon Rose-Scott (born Dietricha Rossenthaler), age 20
Nephew: Benjamin Scott, age 1
FATE HAS BEEN SUFFERED AND TEARS MUST BE CRIED
SO LET'S DO SOME LIVING AFTER WE DIE
Guntram von Rossenthaler, a German aristocrat and apparent Kriegsmarine Officer under the Third Reich, was stationed in Argentina in the early fall of '23. There was where he met my mother, a woman a little over five years his junior but he fell in love with her all the same. The feelings were not mutual. Her name was Consuela de Mendoza, and she despised all of the Germans who used her homeland as a port, and especially those who answered to Adolf Hitler. He pursued her for months, this woman whose beauty had bewitched him; all she would do was curse at him in her native Espanol, pretending not to understand him.
Then in the spring of '24, he overheard her speaking to a German nurse. Not in Espanol, not in English, but German. He then realised that she had been able to understand him all along, just like most other Argentine people who had learned years ago. That was when he followed her, not knowing what he was going to say but he would be damned if she did not listen. He followed her in secret, right to her home where he knocked on her door. It was her father who answered, looking very disconcerted at the realisation that it was a German officer on his step, thinking he was in trouble. Instead, Guntram asked to see Consuela.
I know you can understand me, he began, addressing both she and her father. I also know why you think you don't want to, but I need you to hear me and this is the only place I can speak without getting us all in trouble. He paused, taking off his officer's cap. My name is Guntram von Rossenthaler, and before that has the opportunity to upset you, I have to assure you that many of the stories you hear that go along with my name are strictly propaganda and I bring you no harm. He took his pistol out of it's holster and slid it across the table towards her father, rendering himself visibly harmless. They were still on edge, but he could see them relax just a little. He turned his attention fully to Consuela. I am not a Nazi. I am an undercover agent for the Office of Strategic Services in America. I need you to know this because I have to leave this place and may never return, but if the fates had allowed it I would have wanted to make you my wife. You are radiant and beautiful, Consuela.
You can probably see that I have heard that story a dozen times before. But, where did I come into it? The night before Guntram was scheduled to leave, Consuela sought him out and apologised, expressing her love for him. You can connect the dots from there. So I was born to her alone in the winter of' 1925 and was raised for the first four years of my life by her alone. She knew Guntram was still alive by the way the officers stationed in Argentina would talk about him, but also knew why she did not expect to ever see him again. But, to honour him she had given me his name and I was Volker Rossenthaler. I grew knowing my father was a war hero, but not the one everybody talked about. He was a hero because he was helping to bring the Third Reich down.
Some time after my fourth birthday in '29 he returned and I met the man I would call my father. As the fall closed in on the winter of 1930, my sister was born and they named her Dietricha. My mother, sister and I remained in Argentina for four more years until Guntram sent us on a boat to the United States of America. It was only in 1939, the beginning of World War II, that he was finally able to join us; his work with the OSS finished. Our names were changed and Americanised, and we aboded a large plot of land in Abilene, Kansas; a remote little town where we would be able to live peacefully. Our surname was changed from Rossenthaler to Rose. My father became Robert, I became Victor, and my sister became Devon. In short time our neighbour became the family of a friend of my father's from those four years away; the Scotts. Their eldest was Zachary and he was my best friend and still remains so to this day.
I took my turn in the cockpit of a fighter plane during World War II and became a hero. I use the term loosely because I do not believe it so, but I was glad to have spent my time in the skies with Zachary, who in 1948 married my young sister. There could never have been a man better to love her, and I was finally able to call him my brother.
As time goes on, the world seems only to grow darker. War is once more on the horizon and I will not hesitate to offer my services again for this country that has been my home and a refuge for my family. But, this time, I think I may not make it back.
WILD HORSES COULDN'T DRAG ME AWAY
WILD, WILD HORSES; WE'LL RIDE THEM SOMEDAY
ready, aim, misfire.
Member No.: 1
Joined: 13-June 10
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