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volchitsa.

Kat had finished dinner and was walking back to her tent when Markus popped out of her tent asking her what she wanted. “Nothing at the moment but why haven’t you eaten dinner yet?” she asked, noticing a half eaten biscuit in the doctor’s hand. 

“Just trying to get settled in,” she replied with a shrug, looking down at the half eaten biscuit in hand, “sort of eating while I work. Kind of lost track of time. Pretty sure I’m going to have nightmares about numbers tonight.”

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elise;

Sometimes Elise missed her days working as a nurse to get by in England. It wasn’t as fulfilling as working on the mechanics of a tank, but nursing felt nice. But at the mention of coffee, she nodded quickly. “Oh, yes. I should probably grab another cup too, I keep getting tired out of nowhere. But if you haven’t set up the medic tent, I could assist. I used to be a nurse for a short time.”

The extra energy would help with getting all the supplies in order, even make the work go by much faster. And she appreciated the offer of additional help; it was great to have an extra hand to help out. “It’s mostly just getting supplies in order, but with this crate left, I could use another hand to get the work done faster. So thank you.” She glanced ahead of them, the medic tent just ahead. Her gaze returned to Elise, brow raised while she readjusted her grip, “Really? What made you change your mind from nursing?”

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ace.

“Don’t go crazy on us now, Doc.” Eva replied, the grin easyin her words, shoulders relaxed even as they heaved the crate to where itneeded to go. “Gotta stick it through to the end now– -on principle, if nothing else.”

Light humor flitting past her lips, there was nothingcommitted to the words as the wind took them away once her tongue dropped them.Small talk came easy, came as a relief even, when the obvious elephant in theroom was the war itself. She’d take easy talk over serious musings any day. Theirsteps falling in coordination easily, Eva adjusted her grip slightly beforespeaking up again.

“Didn’t think I’d miss the air as much as I did.” Shestated, the words carrying on an upward lilt, as if to convey the mild surpriseof the sentiment. Cutting through the wind in her hellcat seemed moreinstinctual than the daily get ups and sit downs of her day. “Flying in cargo’sgreat, but I think I need to take stretch my wings out some more.” The metalwings of her hellcat, that is.

“Pretty sure it’ll take more than some numbers to drive me crazy,” she assured the pilot with a grin. “Close, but no cigar.”

Doc would take up small talk any day over the heavy seriousness of war. She was sure they all had plenty of it, so the small talk was nice in the down times. And helping Eva out was better than trying to find something to do until she was needed back at the medic tent. Not that she didn’t want to do her work, but settling in didn’t require much attention there.

She glanced over at the other woman as she reminisced about being in the air. Not so much the combat aspect, perhaps, but just flying. Doc smiled at the confession, taking a moment to readjust her own grip on the opposite end of the crate. “I could only imagine. Never was a big fan of heights, but getting back into it all has to be a good feeling. Wouldn’t see why you couldn’t go out, just to get your bearings again.”

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Markus was starving. She meant to grab something to eat much earlier, but she had been busy getting things organized in the medic tent, sorting the supplies and making sure her ducks were in a row before she would leave anything or take a break. That ended up taking up most of her day and all she was running on at that point were fumes and caffeine. Not that she really stopped to get any coffee, but a mug would be placed on her desk and she would sip at it while she worked.

Now she was sitting outside her tent, tearing part of her biscuit and taking a bite. She glanced up just as someone approached the tent. “Over here,” she spoke up, leaning forward so she was seen past the entrance of the tent. “Need something?”

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ace.

If it wasn’t always the cavalry she recognized, Eva didrecognize the woman. Pilots ran their steeds up high, she didn’t always get tomeet those who covered ground fronts. Medics, though– -medics they met plenty.The pulse of the camp, they kept them alive and the alcohol kept them in goodspirits; important agents, they were, in that precarious balance.

“Armory.” Eva replied, short and sweet as they heaved thecrate up and started a long-paced path to the tent. “Got misplaced in the firstround.” She offered in explanation for why it was staggered so far off fromwhere it needed to be.

“Been about a day or two playing house, and it’s alreadygetting old.” Eva commented off-offhandedly, something short of small talk toaccompany their trek. She was waiting for her next assignment eagerly, never one for practiced patience in sitting steady of disuse.

“Pretty misplaced,” she murmured, heaving the crate up at the same time the pilot had, walking with her toward the armory. Then again, even when she had been going through the inventory at her tent, a few items of hers had been misplaced and she had to track them down, too.

“I’ve had about enough of paperwork and staring at numbers,” she replied, “I get it, keeping track of our shit is important, but if I have to recount syringes and iodine swabs, I might lose it.” She could have easily handed off the work to any of the other medics, but Doc was particular about making sure she knew what she had and where it all was. Still, didn’t mean it didn’t give her a migraine. 

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scotch.

It’s a familiar voice that meets her ears and while she’d never apologise for what she said when anyone would have gotten the same greeting, the mechanic already knows her next reply will be far less harsh than the words that had left her lips previously. There were perhaps only a handful of people that she bothered to curb her tongue for and the field medic that the voice belonged to was one of them.

When they first met, Len had found herself laughing in spite of herself when she’d finally met someone with a callsign that was even less inventive than her own. As someone who had a habit of calling anyone she didn’t know properly some nickname involving their profession, she’d been shocked to discover that her playful name calling had been proven accurate.

“I gotta say, Doc, it makes a change to see you on my turf for once.” Her voice carries out from under the tank, a dryness to it to show that she’s simply teasing. They both knew that Len often had far more cause to find herself in the medic’s tent than Doc ever did to come and seek out any help from the mechanics.

Sliding herself out from underneath the vehicle, the Scot shrugs slightly at the offer. “I always have some with me but it would be rude to turn it down.” There’s something of a smile on her lips as she talks to the other woman, the thought of acquiring more of the liquor that she drinks so much of immediately making her warm towards the conversation. “Just make sure it’s a proper Scotch and not that Bourbon shite that the Yanks are all so fond of for some unknown reason.”

Markus didn’t expect an apology from the mechanic, nor did she feel like one was needed. This wasn’t a time for pointless conversation, Len was busy working, and Doc knew better than to interrupt. But she did admire how intricate and focused she-- or any of the mechanics-- were in their work. It was like when she had been learning how to be a medic all over again, only they were working on machines instead of people.

“Can’t have you stopping in the medic tents too often, people might start talking,” she teased, “besides, I needed to step out of there for a minute. If I looked at any more numbers, I might go insane.”

She stepped back to give Len more room to stand, a small hint of a smirk curling at the corner of her lips. “If you turned down any free scotch, Scotch, I might have to schedule an appointment for you.” She returned the banter just as well. It was what she did best, far better than any personal talk. At least, personal talk that involved her.

“Noted,” she replied with a mock two-fingered salute. “I’ll pick up an extra bottle for myself, too. Not sure why we like the watered down shit, either.” She shrugged, brushing off the fact her mind almost went to 'they' as well.

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elise.

Elise caught the crate that had nearly slipped from the other woman and nodded with a relieved hint of a smile since the box hadn’t fallen. “Of course,” she responded, her eyes glancing up to find that medic tent before heading over with her. “You need gloves, miss. I’m sure a doctor would need them,” Elise said with a joking half-grin although the sentiment was pretty true. 

She cocked her head to the side, “You’d think I would have brought them with just in case, but I thought this would be a fast trip. Should have known better.” They were exactly where they were least useful: in the tent on her desk. She knew she should have grabbed them before heading out, but she misjudged how fast the temperature would have dropped and how slow her trek with the crate would have been. “Might not be a bad idea to get some coffee to warm up with, too.”

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elise.

The air was crisp and only growing colder by the hour as it did as the sun sunk below the horizon. The dying glow from the sun illuminated the small area Elise had occupied for nearly half an hour now as she wiped off her tools with a wax coated cloth and read her worn down copy of Napoleon le Petit which laid flat on it’s spine on the table beside her. The girl took occasional sips from her canteen filled with coffee instead of water and soon noticed someone carrying quite a load of cargo. It was nearly an immediate reaction- her getting up from the table and quickly heading over. “Here, let me help-” Elise spoke with her French lilt.

It had been the last crate she had to move to the medical tent, just some extra supplies that had gotten mixed with some of the other supplies. The crate had been heavier than she thought it was going to be, making the trip a little longer than intended. She had a jacket on to keep herself warm, but lacking gloves made hanging onto the crate tricky since she couldn’t feel her fingertips. But before the crate had the chance to slip from her grasp, someone came and offered some help. Doc couldn’t help the sigh that escaped from her, the puff of air floating to the crisp air. 

“Thank you. I can’t feel my fingers anymore,” she chuckled. “I was bringing this to the medic tents.”

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ace.

There was no home to be made in war. They moved as they werecalled to, and they took their entire assembly with it. It was an impressiveoperation; the extra handiwork was a good distraction, if nothing more for themoment. ( Her last mission had taken her and her hellcat out east fartherthan the winds carried. The hellcat had taken hits but it had gotten her homelike it always did– -now the plane was lying on the mechanics’ floor with its insides spilling as they patched her plane back up to the glory its wings sung.)

So yes, what were a few boxes to kill the time?

Moving over towards the stack of crates still standing toher left, Eva turned to throw a look over her shoulder to the soldier closestto her. “You gonna lend me a hand, or what?”

Markus needed a change of scenery from the medic tent. Instead of looking at crates of supplies in the tent, though, she was met with crates of supplies outside of the tents. Well, at least it wasn’t anything she had to inventory or keep track of, unless they had to go to a certain spot. Besides, she didn’t mind helping out if someone needed a hand. 

So when the pilot asked, Markus was quick to step in and grab the other end of the crate, “Sure. Where are we taking it to?”

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scotch.

Her feet had barely touched the Belarus soil for more than thirty second before long strides had quickly taken her back to the mechanics to critique the work that they had done in her absence. The suggestion of leave had been met with dragging feet and a clenched jaw with the brunette so unwilling to return home. Back in Glasgow it didn’t matter that dozens had turned to her when her father had been unwell or how dozens more had flocked to her when her brother had been called to war. Back home she was just a girl with a talent for cars but here she got to make a real difference and that was why she always had more time for the machines that she worked on rather than the people that made up the rest of the unit she was a part of.

The whisky that she always had on her person and her penchant for dishing it out every now and again meant that she was never short of company when she wanted it but right now the various tanks and trucks that she’d poured all her energy and effort into were calling out to her. So Len had taken the quickest route she could to the mechanics’ tent, immediately sliding herself under the nearest tank to start working again right way. Hearing footsteps approach not even mintues in, the brunette sighs before speaking without hesitation or a softening of tone. “Unless you’re bringing me more work or appeasing me with some scotch or even both, I don’t want to know.” There’s a little pause given as she tightens a bolt before she speaks again with her accent thick and harsh over her words. “If it’s not mechanics related go take yourself on a nice fucking long walk because otherwise I don’t want to know.”

Doc had been stuck in the medic tent for a good amount of the day, double and triple checking inventory until all she could see were numbers. It almost drove her mad. But it was a neccessary evil; they didn't need to be in the heat of things and find out they were short on anything.

But she was finally able to step away and take a break, wandering as far away from the supply tent as she could get. Usually when she had smaller tasks on her plate-- there was always something to be done-- and she had some downtime, she would check on the other Commandos. She knew some of them could be stubborn when it came to talking with the others, but she at least tried to talk with them for the sake of making sure they were still their usual selves. At least until the horrors of war got to them. She was all too familiar with that.

She had made her approach on the mechanics tent, just passing by to see what they had been up to. Had she not been so fascinated with medicine and helping people, fixing machines and finding out what made them tick probably would have been Doc's second choice of work. She always admired what anybody could do with a box of tools and some nuts and bolts.

As she was making her way by, though, she heard someone speak up, giving quite the warning: leave me the hell alone unless it's important. Markus stopped in her tracks, hands raised in mock surrender. She didn't take offense to the outburst, she was used to a lot worse. "Just passing through. Didn't mean to bother you. But if you want some scotch I can try and sneak some your way."

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I’m a very private person. You don’t ask, I don’t tell.

Unknown (via wordsnquotes)

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Elisebeth Ackerman Markus “Doc” Stone Moodboard [1/?]

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TECHNICAL SERGEANT MARKUS “DOC” STONE · 30 · FIELD MEDIC · SHADOWED COMMANDO · TAKEN

"We can't choose where we come from, but we can choose where we go from there.”

ORIGIN:

Berlin, Germany

TRAITS:

+ Beneficial, Protective, Earnest

- Insecure, Perilous, Rigid

BIOGRAPHY:

THERE IS A WAR OUTSIDE, COME SEE THE BULLETS FLY.

Markus was born Elisebeth Anne Ackerman into a strict household in Berlin. While her father’s rules were stern, her family was still quite loving. Elise played with her sisters often as a child, having grown close to them. But the closest bond she had with anyone in her family was with her mother. She worked as a nurse and Elise had wanted to follow in her mother’s footsteps in the medical field. Elise was always fascinated to hear stories about her experiences and never flinched or felt queasy whenever they were told. Her mother was one of the most skilled nurses, her focus unparalleled and she kept steady hands and a cool head even in the most tense of situations. She definitely would have made a great doctor if she had been allowed the chance.

Elise always had a fascination with the medical field. Even when her sisters skinned their knees, she stepped up to take care of them when her mother was busy with other things. Blood never made her queasy and she found herself studying anatomy books and other medical books that her mother had kept from her own studies. Her mother was very proud of her work and was more than happy to share her skills with Elise. Her parents helped her through school, as long as she made the most of her education. Elise was the top of her class and would have made a terrific doctor, her mother told her. It filled Elise with pride to hear that from her parents, and she hoped to continue to make them proud.

Of all the things her and her parents agreed on, there was one thing Elise couldn’t get behind, and that was any support for Hitler and the regime he had built for himself. Her father was the most bullheaded on the topic and her mother followed her father’s lead, even though had she not been married chances are she still would have supported The Third Reich. And they intended on passing those beliefs onto their children. But Elise wasn’t having any of it, especially when it came to their views on race. Even when she and her sisters were little, they weren’t allowed to play with the neighbors’ kids because of the fact that they were Jewish. A lot of unfavorable things had been said about them, when Elise had thought of them to be nothing but a kind and loving family, just as her own could be.

So when Hitler’s power rose in Germany, Elise couldn’t stay. She felt she was old enough to make that decision on her own, but her parents kept a firm hand over the family and were very proud Germans. But she simply couldn’t stay, couldn’t stand living under such a power hungry, cruel leader that her parents so blindly followed. And it was a very disheartening thought to leave her sisters behind, but she didn’t have a choice. If she was caught she didn’t want any of them to be at risk not just from her parents, but from any of the authorities. Late one night, after taking some of her parents’ money, Elise snuck out of her home. But she didn’t leave right away; she had stopped next door and offered an out for her neighbors, determined to help them escape and live a better life than they could if they stayed in Germany. And she was hoping the same for herself.

DO YOU HEAR THE BATTLE CRY?

Leaving Berlin, Elise had felt torn about leaving her family behind. While they did support Hitler and The Third Reich, she couldn’t just leave them without feeling like she could do something. While it was a dangerous thought, Elise had wanted to help in the fight any way that she could, intent on aiding the ‘enemy’ as her father would call them. But she felt if she could help give Germany a better future, then maybe she would be able to go back home. Not to her family, but back to Berlin. Elise knew that would not be for a very long time, especially when she was on a boat on the way with the family she had smuggled out of Berlin, all the way to America.

It was such a strange feeling being away from home, away from anyone who spoke a lick of German. But being around other people that knew other languages made it easier for Elise to pick up on the dialects. English was a slight challenge to pick up, but Elise was quick to learn. And she did learn fast, practiced often, and her German accent was almost unrecognizeable. But her best skills had always been shared with her mother’s in the medical field. And there was always a need for doctors in the military, so what a perfect combination for her to join in the fight, right?

Elisebeth Ackerman’s name was quickly changed to Markus Stone, and her German accent was hidden for the sake of keeping her past and heritage buried. Had anyone realized she was German, she would never hear the end of it, maybe being called a double agent or constantly being told to go back home. She would be a joke and Markus refused to be laughed at or not be taken seriously. And with her medical skills even in the heat of the battles, Markus kept a level head, focused on each of her patients even when soldiers were screaming in her ear or shots were being fired. Training was grueling, but Markus more than proved herself useful and she quickly became a valued doctor in the ranks.

Her skill was noticed by the commander of The Shadowed Commandos, the only man that knew of her entire history. Knew that her name wasn’t Markus Stone and knew that she was German. But her loyalties were not with The Third Reich and she had made that clear, especially after saving as many lives as she had. The only way she knew she could keep her word was to prove herself, and Markus was more than determined to do so. Even after being taken in as a technical sergeant within The Shadowed Commandos, Markus constantly felt she had to prove herself. Prove she had the capabilities, prove her loyalty, anything to keep anyone from questioning who she was as well as her worth among their ranks. Her worth soon became less of a concern, since she was more than capable, but she still found herself wary of giving any information about herself, opting to hear more about her comrades versus talking about herself. The last thing she wants is any of the friends she’s made and anyone that has accepted her to turn on her and label her as a double agent. No one else could know about Elisebeth Anne Ackerman.

FACECLAIM: Olivia Wilde

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deadshotvasile:

“Pretty image,” he mused, “still not as bad as what we actually see around here. I’m serious, Markus.” As he often was when he withdrew her first name. “Give me a favorite. It’s the least I can do with you having to deal with my head.”

Her gaze lifted to meet his again once he said her name. It caught her slightly off guard, since he didn’t use it often. “It’s part of what I do. And the last thing I want is you having to be alone with all that going on in your head.” It was the best way she could tell him she cared. War took a toll on everyone, even the strongest of them. “Have you ever had apple pancakes?”

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sovietati:

“It’s adifferent kind of courage, however, to exert one’s field in such… adversecircumstance”, she said, holding out her hand for a handshake. “TatianaVolkova.”

Doc nodded in agreement, “Same could be said for a lot of people here. Pleasure to meet you.” She reached out to take the woman’s hand in greeting. “At least we’re meeting like this and not in the medical tent.”

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apollovalenti:

“I do not envy you, I won’t lie.” Marco laughed, glad his job did not require so much paperwork as his higher ranking superior’s did. What little he was required to do was still too much, in his opinion. “I am fine. Just keeping busy, working hard - sai, the usual.” Always just fine. Never too comfortable to be especially good, but never not optimistic enough to be completely bad - that was always Marco. 

“Not many people do.” And they were right not to. Not just because of the paperwork, either. But the stress of doing whatever it took to keep a soldier alive while shots were fired at you and people were screaming in your ear? Not one of the better jobs on the front lines. But Doc was good at keeping herself calm and together despite all the distractions. But when off the field, it was indeed, mostly paperwork to deal with-- fortunately. “Good, good. Better than having nothing to do. Otherwise the higher ups tend to find you something to do, and that's not always the best.”