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Hans Murray Clark

With AA guns like these Prayer is a more effective weapon against the bomber

0 · 448 views · located in Amestris

a character in “Fullmetal Alchemist: Mind and Soul”, as played by Colonel_Masters

Description

Personnel File

Image
Name: Hans Murray Clark
Age:44
Gender: Male
Rank: Corporal
Birth Date: August the third 1891
Enlistment Date: Military Reserve 1933, Mobilized at August 13, 1935
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Physical Description
The average Joe with adequately functioning eyes and a decent capacity for common sense can note Hans's Northern Origin by his pale features; His pale skin, short bright blond hair and blue eyes all designed by mother nature to compensate for lack of sunlight indicate this Northern origin
.
Hans's height stands at 6'2 feet and his weight average for his medium build and height is about 177.5ibs. Hans's body is healthy and comparatively strong however he hasn't been subject to the toughening routine of field service military life for more then a decade. Hans's right arm shows evidence of severe burning and his body has other such burning scars however only the scars to his right arm are visible to the passing eye whenever Hans isn't using a long sleeved item of clothing. Some of these burning marks seem older then others however excluding his arm Hans's body has healed well from these ordeals. Hans's Accent occasionally has a foreign pronunciation of some words however in general Hans displays a remarkable gift with the local dialect due to his natural gift with languages and voice impersonation.

Hans normally wares a gray coat which is common in the north however he wares a peculiar hat which according to Hans is his old captain's hat when he was trading on sea in far away lands. Hans keeps a pipe and a pouch of tobacco, an old military watch not of Amestrisian design ((actually Drachman)) which is both worn and scorched and seems stuck on the hour of 01:58 and twelve seconds, and a cheep looking Harmonica. Hans wares a golden ring and uses the local Northern military boots as his footwear

Personality

Personality Profile
Hans has a bitter sweet tone to his personality and world view; he is a pleasant fellow who's personal strict and proper nature can be quite charming however he distances himself from large crowds and occasionally seems to be depleted of words and matters of conversation. Hans likes to talk to younger people however not in the old bugger seeking to teach the youngsters about life type of way; Hans views younger people as those who are yet to experience the joys and miseries of life, they are just starting their lives while Hans is past that initial spark of emotion and excitement.

Hans expresses himself with ironic humor which can ether make one laugh, smile, annoyed or miserable. Hans is both positive and negative in his approach to life; no matter what joys or disasters may cross his path he will simply smile bitterly with the knowledge that its nothing new. in most events Hans's reaction would be exactly the same no matter the outcome however when an even triggers memory of past joys he will express these joys again.

Hans lives for the now and the moment and as he says lets the winds of fate carry him to the future however his past is a dominating element of his life. Hans says that living in the past is a mistake and one should always move forward however he knows he has no right to preach such words because he can't live by them; Hans is a person to whom the past holds all his joys and his sorrows and as a result governs his present life.

Hans is especially social while drinking beer or under fire and talks about personal matters he would never mention otherwise. When taking shelter during an air raid Hans will drift into memory and play a tune which is normally used in celebrating the New Year In a bitter yet sweet fashion which changes the meaning of the song from a joyful, positive and passionate tune to a slow, touching soothing one which most importantly lights a flicker of hope as the tune banishes the fear of the moment.

On nights on which the moon is nearly full Hans likes to go out and have a smoke; he will occasionally lightly sing an old Drachman war song however he will never do so when others are present.
Hans does not care much for politics and would be happy if he was simply left alone by the higher powers of state however he likes Roy for his honesty and the General for his entertaining radio station. Hans does not see the deference between a democratic state to a authoritarian one and believes that a ruler is a ruler because he has the power to be one; if he grabs power by a popularity contest or by military reputation does not change the reality of rule and to Hans it seems that the latter choice is more qualified then the democratic option.

Ideally Hans thinks that a leader owes his loyalty to the nation first and to forever forming and failing ideologies second, To Hans any action a ruler takes as long as it is made for the good of the nation is justified however he doubts even this ideal. Hans is a skeptic and holds the opinion that there is no truth and there are no answers while his main political interest to him is for the state to leave him alone; he is happy to do his bit for the state when its in danger however he wants his private life to remain private and as a result he is against both a central government and an interventionist government, Hans grows red with anger when greater taxes or anti hunting laws are mentioned and will if given the chance vote for the candidate who is the least oppressive to his life style .

Hans isn't truly frightened of anything other then his secret past as Drachman airship captain being revealed. Hans feels guilty for his actions however thinks that he has paid for those actions fully after his own similar personal loss in an air raid. Hans hopes to enjoy the rest of his life by living in his cottage on the mountain around people he both likes and knows and most importantly he seeks to be left alone and in peace. Only if some one expresses pleasure at the act of causing pain would he loss his natural calmness.

Hans when cheerful will play around with voices and impersonate superior officers to the amusement of his fellows and considers this a hobby along with:

Playing Music ether with his harmonica or by singing however the latter is only for his own enjoyment.

Dealing with the maintenance of weapons both for hunting and military purposes.

Hunting bears, stags and other such beasts is one of his favorite hobbies since he lives in a secluded mountain village in the north.

Brewing beer is also quite a hobby; he isn't very skilled in this labor however he improves by trial and error.

Writing poems used to be his greatest joy when he was young however as he witnessed battle after battle and death after death music soon replaced this last shred of his idealistic and adventurous youth however he occasionally especially in lonely stormy nights in the north returns to this old passion.

Carpentry has always fascinated Hans even more so then the products of the industrial age, he has never made anything other then rough works designed for practical use rather then artistic but fine woodwork will always touch his heart.

Hans's truest joy is the joy of flight or so it was once when he flew both as a child and later as a soldier however these days Hans prefers to keep his legs on the ground even if his sweetest of dreams are ones in which he is flying on one of his fathers gliders. Hans was also a capable aircraft designer and a business man in that trade however he has since left aviation and does not want to deal with it again.

    Likes
    *smoking during night time and remembering better days
    *drinking with company and talking
    *peace and quite

    Dislikes
    *weak rulers
    *military marches and parades
    *bombs and fire not in its tamed place such as a fireplace

(OOC: I may update his personality as I play)

History

Military Record
Hans was involved in military aviation however he abandoned this role after the raid and instead served in the resave as an anti aircraft gunner. After the temporary cease fire Hans was left on the military reserve and was trained in the handling of weapons in a number of courses after his refusal to have anything to do with flight.

With the situation in the capital getting worse Hans has been assigned to the garrison to act as the quartermaster to a newly formed unit and to also supervise rescue efforts after air raid attacks and when needed command the anti air craft gun in the vicinity of the base. Hans is officially registered as civilian expert however due to his refusal to work on aircraft he has been "demoted" to this bizarre multitask.


Personal History
Hans was born in Drachma in a small mountain village overlooking the Amestiran border at the briggs mountain range. His mother was one of the two teachers in the local schoolhouse while his father was a carpenter by trade who now worked in the village after he had been driven out of business in the cities as a result of industrial mass production.

Hans was for most of his life the only child in his parents house since both his older brothers where much older then him and left to find adventure. His father began to develop a hobby as a flight pioneer when Hans was about 6 and the gliders his father built where a revolution in Hans's childhood sparking a passion for flight that did not go away until he was finally shot down years later. when Hans was 16 one of his brothers returned and offered him a job on the ship he was working on, Hans left with his brother and spent the next four years sailing and trading in distant lands until the coming of flight hit him like a brick.

Hans was awestricken by the sight of these first flimsy yet beautiful machines of powered flight and wanted to learn to fly them. It took a number of years before Hans followed his dream which he spent working and helping his now elderly parents, by 1912 Hans began to fly the first airplanes and survived to tell the tale and soon became a test pilot for one of the many newly established aircraft companies in which he later took a role in production, maintenance and design. In the war of 1914 aircraft where deemed unsuitable for military operation by conservative generals of the Drachman military however it was soon decided after the disastrous turn of the war to begin development of both aircraft capable of dealing with the new threat called the tank and airships capable of bombing the enemy's industry's.

Hans recognized the opportunity's military support would bring to aviation and decided to join the military and offer his experience. Airplanes where still looked upon with suspicion by the old generals and so development shifted towards the airships which already displayed greater promise then the airplane during those early years of aviation and it was to this that Hans shifted his attention seeking to increase his own field of knowledge. In 1919 war again broke out with the now traditional foe of Drachma; Amestris, and Hans gained the rank of an airship captain within the first month of the war due to his experience.

What began as a victorious war for Drachma after a year of bloody fighting became another stalemate in which air war was the only maneuverable means of warfare, Hans was a capable captain and well loved by his crew however in 1922 they where finally shot down after numerous infamous bombing raids on central city. Hans spent the next two years in Amestris in a number of prison camps and labor camps;in one of his first duties as a prisoner of war he and other airship crew members where sent to clear the rubbles of central city and witness the results of their actions.

It was there that Hans was broken when he saw the body of a child in the rubble of an apartment building which seemed like him when he was young; Hans soon came to think that he had betrayed the joy of flight to the horrors of war and swore that he would never fly again. When the war ended and both nations exchanged their prisoners Hans unlike the rest of the prisoners remained in Amestris; The reason for this was that Hans fell in love with a woman a few years younger then him on his way home. Her name was Helen and she lived in a little village near the Briggs mountain range making lamps since electricity was at best unreliable in the area.

She also liked hunting and it was in this way that she and Hans met. Hans who had lost his way in a storm when the blinding hail caused him to loss track of the prisoners transport convoy lodged at Helen's house while the blizzard raged, they both fell in love during this time and where married a few weeks later. Hans who had by then mastered the Amestrian language and dialect of the region pretended to have been a sailor in distant lands during the war and soon became a member of the small community.

As their family grew to four (them and two children) Hans and his wife Helen along with the children moved to Central as Hans began a business in aviation hoping to both contribute for the peaceful use of aviation as a means of transportation and live up to his promise to Helen and grant her wings upon which she could experience flight. Hans's business was remarkably successful however it remained small due to his refusal to construct military aircraft however things soon changed. In 1933 war again broke out and Hans agreed under pressure to collaborate with the State Military in the construction of night fighters to counter the bombing raids however any such innovation which may have come as a result of this research was meaningless when Hans's apartment block was directly hit by a bomb 38 minutes after the sound of the all clear alarm sounded.

Hans was wounded but not severely however Helen and the children where killed in the explosion. Hans had been burned when his airship exploded and was burned again in the bombing raid however this time Hans lost the will to create a future for himself and soon left the aviation business after he discovered the plans for a new fast attack night bomber using his design and joined the military reserves on the anti aircraft guns until a temporary cease fire was signed between Drachma and Amestris.

Hans returned to his wife's village and buried her and their children in the land of their birth, for the next two years Hanz lived alone in his cottage until he received his call up papers.

So begins...

Hans Murray Clark's Story

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Character Portrait: Hans Murray Clark
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"Captain ! our engines have been heavily damaged! we.. we are on fire sir! "

"Drop those damned bombs lieutenant! Helmsmen steer us clear of the city!"

"Sir they are coming around! Enemy fighters at our 6 O'clock!"

"Order all gunners to concentrate their fire at the lead fighter, some one get that fire out!"

"Bombs away captain! "

"They are coming in sir!"

"We are clearing the city sir!"

"Acknowledged helmsmen, Captain Clark calling formation commander requesting immediate assistance"

"rear section damaged sir! Number 4,5 and 6 gunners not responding... fire at engine room out of control!!"

"Where is our bloody air support?! "

"Calm down Corporal! Get me the formation commander on the double!"

"Radio is not operational sir.... SIR! Enemy fighters at our 12O'clock ... they are opening fire!"

"Evade! Evade!"

"Too late! Brace yourselves!! "

Hans woke up, his hands where shaking and his old burns felt like they where once again hosting the flames.

"are you alright... ?”.

"the Airship!” exclaimed Hans still not fully recovered from his dream.

"Its allright understand.."

Hans now turned to face the speaker; it was a young women barley out of her teens.... but old enough to die for her country thought Hans now clear minded and able to think properly.

As she spoke those last two words she grabbed her right leg which Hans identified as automail or one of its cheaper variants. So here was another victim of the flying terror, those demons of the night and those child maiming horrors. Was she so crippled by one if his own bombs? No that was not the question, in fact there was no question involved; this was his doing no matter if the bomb was one dropped from his own airship or another's.

Hans had faced this before... many times however no matter how many such miseries he witnessed each one seemed like the first once; like a nightmare, The nightmare counless people suffered daily in this war including his own.

"I am sorry... truly sorry” Said Hans who naturally wanted to avoid the young girl's eyes however forced himself to directly stare at them; a coward was someone who could not face the results of his actions and Hans while a killer, a deserter and maybe even a traitor was no coward.

"for what? Don't worry about it sir i am used to it and besides its not like it was your fault.”

Hans nodded, but not at her words; it was his fault, his responsibility and his crime.

"are you an officer?” asked the girl staring at Hans's uniform and noticing the corporal markings”

Hans smiled slightly, he had to give Amestris's state military the credit; their uniforms where both far more practical and stylish then those he had once had when serving under a different flag.

"Not the brave never fearing young and dashing type am i?”

the girl was about to most likely protest Hans's comment however Hans cut in before she could speak:

"it was a joke and to answer your question i am a corporal which means i am a low ranking low ranking officer, i am a draftee just like you only i am on the reserve which means i am part of the military but i get to get on with my life unless the military needs me for something. "

The girl nodded slightly still thinking about Hans's words however she had no time to ask the one thousand questions she had on her mind.

A man came into the compartment dressed at the railway uniform and like nearly all railway personal carrying an aura of confidence.

"Last stop, Central City Maes Hughes Square"

"isn't this train planed to stop at the military Garrison sectors ?” asked Hans

"sorry sir but the recent raid has damaged the rail to the military sector ... normally there are transports here ready to pick you soldiers up and take you to your posting when this happens but the drivers have been striking for the past few days”

Hans nodded, he had heard a number of stories about the growing dissent and had expected it to cause inefficiencies.
As Hans left the train he noticed how different central city was from when he had last seen it two years ago; election leaflets and signs not to mention a number of military ones and even a few bits of graffiti such as “Abolish the Fuhrer” and “Support our troops! By only Amestrisan products, Aerugoan's go HOME!”

Hans walked out of the station and stopped at the city map at its exit; even this was covered with a number of posters however Hans was able to make out his own location and the route he would have to take to reach his posting. It wasn't a long way to go actually and Hans still had some time before he was ordered to report to base; Hans noted that there was a market near by and began waling towards it.

On his way Hans saw a large crowd gathered in the square and heard a lot of shouting coming for that direction, as he neared the crowd many different signs most of them demanding something from Fuhrer Mustang and others asking for a more aggressive war. Hans did not want to look like he was a member of the mob and remained outside the main body of people however he remained near it deciding the protest may give him more information about the discontent in central.

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Character Portrait: Hans Murray Clark Character Portrait: Svetlana Rhada
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Svetlana leaned back in her seat, straining to keep as much of the Amestrian countryside in sight as she could as the head of the train began to disappear into the stone station. She’d spent much of her journey—nearly a week, if she included the trip from her north-western village of Lundene to West City—simply taking in the sights from her car window, barely speaking but to transfer onto the /next/ train. At first, Svetlana had found the train’s smooth, snaking motion unsettling, but by the end of her second day, it had created a lulling sense of weightlessness, like they were all in flight just above the ground. The feeling had served as a decent source of distraction when she’d felt the first pangs in her right arm. It had slowly built to an echoing, hollow pain, set off by any motion of her arm or chink in the train’s tracks. As quickly as it had come, though, it had gone.

As Svetlana reached out to touch the pane of glass between her and the outside, all she felt was a buzz of numbness.

And you should expect to, she reasoned. You can’t expect to be used to it already, not after having your other arm for so long.

Her metallic fingers, a mix of second and third hand copper and steel parts, and yet still the most advanced automail she had ever worn, scraped quietly against the glass as she closed her hand against it. She wanted to take one of those windswept trees, a bit of plain grass, with her into Central.

They’re nothing like the ones at home, not nearly as tall and old and bare, but at least they’d be something.

The train car dove into the tunnel ahead, and the scene went black.

Shaking her head, Svetlana forced herself to turn from the window. She ran her flesh hand down her long, dark braid. It wouldn’t do her any good to stare at darkness, and even less to think of home. Daniil, one of her younger brothers, was on his way to a military station as well—he had been drafted to Fort Briggs. Daniil was strong, and he would be a good soldier, but Svetlana had no right to be mourning her own departure when someone she loved so dearly was on his way to the front lines.

Holding in a sigh, Svetlana braced herself against the slowing of the train, and pulled her military issue duffle bag out from beneath her seat. It was somewhat lighter than it could’ve been, she hadn’t brought many things with her, but it did hold her uniform. Svetlana had tried it on once with Daniil before leaving West City, but she’d decided to travel in civilian clothes—she just couldn’t help but laugh at herself in such a stiff, formal getup. She wore a green cloth dress now, something simple and well worn she had put to use on the Rhada ranch at home.

The hemline brushed against Svetlana’s shins as she stood and her eyes connecting with those of a girl a few seats over. She was sitting with an older man in a military uniform and she too had automail. Svetlana could tell from the way she carried herself, though, the manner in which she stood and glanced around at any that might be staring at her prosthetic leg, that it was the result of tragedy rather birth. The girl was still self-conscious of her leg, the tool with which she got through the world, but for Svetlana, there was nothing to be conscious of. Her arm had simply never been there.

Just then, a railway worker stepped into the cabin.

"Last stop, Central City, Maes Hughes Square." All at once, the passengers began to pour into the aisle. Over the sound of conversation, and children crying out, and so many footsteps in such a small space, Svetlana thought she heard the older man across the aisle the “military garrison sector” and the railworker respond that “drivers have been on strike”, but she wasn’t entirely sure. She gathered, at least, that she would need to make her way to the garrison herself, and that way fine by her. Svetlana didn’t like cars anyway, carriages were much more her style.

Smiling quietly through the crowd at the girl, Svetlana gave her a slight wave and slipped into the crowd of unloading passengers. There was polite elbowing and the stepping on of toes, as Svetlana had come accustomed to in her days of travel, but in the end of it all they poured out into the stunning light of Maes Hughes Station. The sheer number of people in the place was astounding, and yet Svetlana had to assume that there would somehow have been more if all of Central was not now under martial law.

As Svetlana was swept toward the exit by the flow of the crowd, she slipped her blue duffle bag over her left shoulder and fished her draft papers out of a pocket on the side. They were creased and fairly rumpled, but she was able to discern her destination easily enough. The military garrisons were located just a few blocks over from Central Command, a towering, walled in structure she could see even now through the station windows.
Detaching herself from the crowd—and with some ease, as this particular group of Amestrians did not appear used to a woman of her size—Svetlana strode toward the towering exit of Maes Hughes Station, her future nearly in sight.

On the station steps, Svetlana saw graffiti and a growing crowd. She heard shouting.

Her future, it seemed, was closer than she’d dared to think.

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Character Portrait: Hans Murray Clark Character Portrait: Svetlana Rhada
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"Friends! Neighbors! Country men and women! Hear me!" said a short but dominating man standing on a stage at the center of the crowd, as he spoke people cheered and national flags where raised in the air.

"We are at war as every man women and child of our nation knows, in fact how many of us remember a time of peace?

Why has this war, this constant never ending war been made possible? Why have our young men and women fought and died so bravely for their Fatherland with no progress towards the victory we all deserve? Why have our leaders who control the most powerful nation on Terra let our land reach such a pitiful state?"


The man paused but it seemed like every one in the crowd knew what he was about to say, they where all focused on the speaker and did not notice an approaching crowd which Hans noted with familiarity was very different from this band of Ultranationalists.

"INCOMPITENCE! We put our trust, our faith in half wits and cowards!

But they alone are not responsible for our losses those traitors within are to blame for this, the foreigners which threaten the purity or our society!"


As the man spoke and his crowd cheered the other crowd began to charge at them, they held red flags baring the words "workers of the world unite!"

The leader of these reds ahead of the crowd screamed the normal routine of the totalitarian socialists including the words "Workers of Drachma and Amestris refuse to be enemies! United we are strong!" and then both crowds turned to face each other preparing for the clash

Hans recognized the situation and knew that now was the time to leave, when Ultranationalists and the reds clashed no matter in what nation it would develop into a riot. Hans prepared to leave when he saw a young woman he recognized from the train near by; approaching her he whispered in her ear:

"I strongly recommend leaving this area now before this gets out of hand.
I assume you are a draftee since the train we traveled on was requisitioned by the state military; it would be unwise to get involved in a riot before assuming your duties.

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Character Portrait: Desmond Ruler Character Portrait: Hans Murray Clark Character Portrait: Svetlana Rhada
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Svetlana eyed the crowd guardedly as she descended the steps of Maes Hughes Station, pulling her draft papers from the side pocket of her duffle bag as she hit the street. The August heat of Central began to play on her psych as soon as she stepped from the shadows. More than that, though, the pure force of the speaker’s personality brought a flush to her cheeks.

"INCOMPETENCE! We put our trust, our faith, in half wits and cowards! But they alone are not responsible for our losses, those traitors within are to blame for this, the foreigners which threaten the purity of our society!”

A wave of heat, like a slap on the face, passed over Svetlana’s skin as the crowd surrounding the speaker threw up their hands and cried out in support of his words. A volley of slurs and insults—some on the genetic impurity of “outsiders” like the Ishvalan and Drachman people of Amestris, others on the mental capacity of those who would make such accusations—began on both sides and Svetlana too wanted to slap back. If they were so naturally superior, then why were they out shouting in the streets, hoping to intimidate their rivals, the so called traitorous foreigners, like animals?

Svetlana gripped her draft orders in her automail hand, questioning, not for the first time, why she had bothered to respond to the Amestrian draft. Out in the Rhada’s north-western home, she and her siblings had often fancied the land a country of their own. Would they really have come looking for her and Daniil, two measly military drones, if they had chosen to maintain the illusion?

It was then that a vaguely familiar man, a uniformed soldier from the very train she had just left behind, approached Svetlana from the side and whispered in her ear.

"I strongly recommend leaving this area now before this gets out of hand. I assume you are a draftee since the train we travelled on was requisitioned by the state military; it would be unwise to get involved in a riot before assuming your duties.”

Svetlana only nodded in response. She didn’t trust herself to speak now and, until she did, she wouldn’t.

With a steady release of breath, Svetlana turned away from the crowd. It was as she took her first step toward the distant intersection, the road that led to the Central Draft Office, that a man’s triumphant laughter caught in her mind.

“She knows better than to mess with true Amestrian blood! And yet Drachma sends their degenerate youth to infiltrate our country, our military!” Svetlana froze mid-step, his words ringing in her ears as she turned fractionally to face him. A blonde haired, blue eyed Amestrian man had stepped slightly apart from the crowd. He glared at Svetlana, eyes blazing wildly as he took in her state issued duffle bag and military draft papers. “What’s your plan? Poison our water, bomb our city?”

Svetlana turned no further, tilting her head forward to hide her burning cheeks in the shadow of her bangs. The solider was right. She should go. As she struggled to hold her tongue, to breathe, her charcoal blue eyes fell on the recipient address of her draft papers.

Lundene. Her home, the home of everyone in the world she had ever cared about. Not one of them was fully Amestrian, and every one of them was worth more than this man.

As the opposing mobs grew in volume and agitation, parting only slightly for a dark haired man in uniform, Svetlana’s better judgement evaporated like so much water.

“I wouldn’t be here at all if you true Amestrians were capable of winning your own war.” Her voice was restrained, quietly aloof. The heat had drained from Svetlana’s face, and her eyes were as cold as the north. “I was drafted, not planted.” She straightened her posture, and approached the man in three long strides. Holding out her automail hand, Svetlana offered the man her draft papers. Her voice softened as she spoke.

“If you don’t believe me, why don’t you go enlist yourself?”

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Character Portrait: Hans Murray Clark
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Hans could not help but smile as the alchemist dispersed the crowd; he knew little of alchemy and to date had only been able to improve the quality of his soup by the limited and frustrating studies he made of that art. Hans had dedicated his life to aviation and its development but that was in another time and another life.

As one of the red militias began to march away Hans noticed a familiar face even if that familiar face was now covered with an unfamiliar beard.

Hans smiled; so the old bugger was still alive after all and as they both passed each other Hans made his presence clear.

"Hello sir; still alive are we?"

The man turned and faced Hans at first with suspicion then with disbelief until finally with a hint of joy. Both then went separate ways before meeting again in the near by café For the Revolution! Or as it was known on the street For Red; or "Fred's"

As they entered Hans covered his uniform with his northern coat and they both sat down near a isolated table.

"I might say the same Alex, where have you been all these years?! I could have used you here!" exclaimed Reno as the two sat down.

Hans exchanged a hand shake and barley stopped himself from saluting his former formation commander; in this country the drachman military salute was infamous and well known.

"Its not Alex any more, I am Hans now and it is about time you learned to address me by that name… no disrespect intended to you however one such proverbial slip of the tongue may release the full fury of the gathering storm"

Laughing silently to avoid attracting attention Commander Reno poured to cups of some drink the Reds invented… Hans dared not ask what it was and suspected that their flame bomb bottles where made of similar stuff as he tasted it.

"I see you are still reading the classics, well down here we tend to abolish all that… Pah! Those youngsters who now run this party do not know how to appreciate art or culture but I guess I should not complain; the rising of the proletariat was always driven by the young who have the passion to endure the hardships of the long winter ahead of them in the constant war for change"

Hans chuckled, "who is quoting the classics now old friend?"

The two drank again, totalitarian socialism was a hard drink to swallow and Hans gave up trying after his second taste to Reno's Amusement.

"So Ale… Hans, what brings you to central? Did you change your mind about using that ingenious mind of yours to help end this war or will you warm an old man's heart and say that you have reconsidered my proposal?"

Hans lit a cigar, he normally liked to have a pipe but around Reno a cigar always seemed more adequate.

"Nether sorry to disappoint you, if you must know I have been assigned here"

"To the garrison?" asked Reno with a hint of alarm

"It seems the most likely posting I will gain here, it seems that they finally had enough and researched the definition of the word no. My guess would be that this is their way of keeping me in central to see the air raids and whomever they may harm and try to convince me to collaborate with them again on the M33 program"

Reno looked down and then faced him, Hans knew that look well; it was the look Reno displayed when he was about to begin an unpleasant by necessary conversation.

"I understand why you refuse to join the party; it was never your calling… to much of the long live the king spirit in you
But why do you insist on this matter? What harm can it bring?"


"you know my reasons, I will never again work on that project again; that craft is dead to me" said Hans, he had said this to him before but these days they did not have anything to talk about other then that matter.

Reno hammered his hand on the table and made both cups and bottles fly monetarily into the air and spoke with a frustrated tone.

"Alex, we are fighting a war here! I am not talking about the war me and my comrades are fighting I am talking about this war which we here in central can never forget about even for a moment. You can help end that war; we both know that Amestris while not as technologically advanced has a far greater industrial capacity then Drachma but with these air raids continuing unchecked and unchallenged that potential will never become a reality"

Seeing that the words made no impression on Hans Reno began to grow angry

"Ok so the military used your last creation in a way that you did not agree with but can't you stop thinking about yourself? If you do not want to do it for the military then do it for the defenseless people who get killed every night!


Hans got up on his feet and tossed a number of coins on the counter

" I am late for my assignment please excuse me"

Reno also on his feet shouted as Hans left the café "remember the child in the rubble Alex! Remember what you said to me back then!"

Reno was the commander of that fateful raid above central fifteen years ago and was a survivor of the 1915 failed revolution who managed to evade the inquisition.
however even being shot down and imprisoned did not change his views and when he was released he began the long process of joining the Reds into one great international body.
Succeeding in his task to bring unity to the party he remained in Amestris as one of their secret leaders and helped the Red organizations in the country unite into a powerful force in Amestrisan politics which now controlled according to the poles 23% of the votes.

Reno and Hans or by his old name Alex remained friends even with their differences however as the political tensions grew so did their friendship. Hans cursed, he knew exactly what Reno wanted; this was not about the people being harmed and was more about expanding the factories and thus the working Proletariat .
as the stalemate of the war progressed it would lead to poorer quality of work conditions and living conditions especially to the poor and without the air raid's there to disturb them give the already poorly treated workers only one way by which to vent their frustrations; by joining the reds.

Hans lit another cigar and wondered the street before finding his way again, after a few moments of walk he arrived at last at the Garrison and prepared to report in removing his jacket and made ready his papers.

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Character Portrait: Andrew Halken Character Portrait: Hans Murray Clark
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"Corporal Hans Murray Clark reporting to Barracks 13 of the Central Garrison sector C from North reserve, here are my papers; I trust everything is in order?" said Hans as he entered the sector's draft center, Hans had proceeded to the area faster then he needed to however he did not want to have suspicions cast on him for spending a significant amount of time in the red quarter. The office was manned by only a young woman and a guard which to Hans made the reality of the state military's growing lack of manpower all too clear.

The secretary examined the papers which included a citizenship which Hans had acquired not entirely with the consent of the law however there was nothing to suggest forgery and the recent bombings of the main central state archive would make a search of such forgeries impossible. Along with that citizenship there was also a curfew pass which let Hans bypass some of the restrictions while the state of martial law was in effect, a military reserve card and file which had all the details of his military service in Amestris, the letter of mobilizations, a military pass which let him enter the closed military zone of the Garrison in the first place and Gods knew what other papers the state came up with.

The secretary spent a few minutes reading the papers and writing on them with a pen or on other sheets of paper by using her typing machine when needed until she came across a brown card:

"I see that you are a member of a local party, may I ask for additional details on this political activity?" She asked with a tone which suggested that she was well accustomed to asking the question.

Hans smiled and removed his hat " yes I am a member of a political party however as you can see in its registration it is not a state party but a local party; the party is a minor party which takes care of its members and occasionally preforms cultural events" Hans was surprised that the secretary need ask since in small village communities nearly every craftsman or woman was a member of such guild parties and suspected it was a test of identity.

The secretary remained silent for a few moments as she wrote a few pages with her typing machine, after a minute or so she added a few more papers to Hans's file before returning his papers.

"I shall be keeping your pass card and your citizen card until you are confirmed by command, you will find a temporary pass card in your file. I am sorry for this inconvenience but we have recently been having problems with military reserve files so we must make doubly sure"

Hans nodded and proceeded to the door, there the guard opened the door and pointed towards the barracks.

As Hans neared the barracks he became aware of another lady near its entrance, as he approached she soon came towards him holding a sheet of paper.

"Hello there soldier" she said trying to catch his attention "I am representing interests for peace in Amestris, could you sign here in support of this noble cause?"

Hans hoped his expression was not clear; he despised defeatists of all kinds and barley tolerated this one however he decided it would be fun to see her reaction.

"No I will not sign, a peace must be won; gaining peace in any other way is only temporary and worthlessly so"

Hans left the woman before she could respond, in Drachma defeatists where executed as traitors and while he did not support this ideal he was still disgusted by the arrogance of these people. Only one signature was important in Amestris; Roy Mustang.

As Hans entered the barracks he saw that two people where already in it, placing his bag on the bunk nearest to the observation tower ladder Hans then turned to the nearest person in the room.

He seemed young and Hans suspected newly drafted, Hans hoped the boy would not be a burden as many of his over eager young flyers where... in his previous life.
Hans remained still waiting for the young man to notice his presents; by a long surviving military tradition the lesser in rank had to salute first before a soldier of a senior rank responded.

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Character Portrait: Andrew Halken Character Portrait: Saben Edevane Character Portrait: Hans Murray Clark
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Hans was about to decide to begin conversation with the young draftee first realizing that age old military traditions of standing professional armies where hardly to be expected from a young man dragged out of his childhood and expected to ether live or die for his country.

However as Hans exchanged a few words of greeting with the young man he was suddenly startled by the entrance of another draftee, the second draftee was also a young man of roughly the same age as the other one however he had one special quality; the unmistakable features of an Ishvalan.

Hans was momentarily taken aback by those features and especially the seemingly menacing red eyes however he made great efforts into sustaining his seemingly clam and uninterested persona whishing to avoid a negative first impression with the Ishvalan, no matter how infamous his people where for their primitive culture, outdated and misplaced fanatic faith in their religion and their some times cruel savage ways.

Hans again attempted to control his thoughts fearing that those would display themselves on his body language, Hans didn't like Ishvalan's but nether did he hate them like many people did however he was unaccustomed to dealing with them even after years of sailing and meeting many other cultures. .
.

Hans nodded to him and then saluted just as he had done with the other draftee however he chose not to exchange words with the Ishvalan just yet. Reaching for his bag Hans took out from it a rolled up sheet of paper and unrolled it while strapping it to the wall with tape. The poster held images and information of a variety of Drachman aircraft and their Amestrisan counterparts, however it was also accompanied with a number of edits made by Hans himself which included the rubbing out of a number of modern looking Amestrian aircraft which in fact did not exist at all and where merely a piece of propaganda by which the state military tried to give the impression that Amestris was fielding modern aircraft designs; the truth was the opposite.

Hans would normally have not removed such propaganda however the poster was meant to be used for aircraft identification and since the propaganda planes resembled Drachman designs Hans felt that there was no point in confusing ground gunners and aircrew in such a way.

Hans now feeling more at home turned to the two men and sighed half in annoyance and half in sadness that here he was addressing new recruits nearly twenty years later.

"Well then as I am currently the only officer here who has seen a number of years of military service I feel it is my duty to help you adapt yourselves to these new surroundings and new life styles as you will soon discover

I am Corporal Hans Murray Clark, Northern Army, and Local National Craftsman union party reserve. Don’t worry about that last bit; all our far flung village reserves are handled by local parties now since the military no longer has the people to herd them when they need them."

Hans hoped he wasn't boring the two young lads but continued in case they actually gave a damn.

"Well lets pass all the formalities; the approaching elections have made our already anxious society rather exited and the more exited people tend to make life difficult for You, for me, for that other chap down the road and generally for our entire war effort. While these elections take place and the victors of that election whomever they are establish themselves and the security of the new administration and by doing the security of the state young men like you and old men like me have been sent here to do a number of things:

Counter, apprehend and dispose of all traitors, collaborators, spies and generally other threats to the state in a verity of methods such as prison, work camps and execution. If we do start having riots or even civil wars in the country you should be prepared for that last option.

Preserve the peace in central city and the surrounding area

Man the defenses of the city in case of an enemy attack and hold out until the army can take over; fighting to the last bullet is the army's job however we might have to do that if the war goes terribly wrong.

Aid the populace of central in any way we are tasked with; the local services have been overburdened with concerns and drained of their manpower so it is up to us to clean up some of the mess left over by the bombing raids.

Keep moral up"

"but for now just tuck in and wait for the Co"

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Character Portrait: Andrew Halken Character Portrait: Saben Edevane Character Portrait: Hans Murray Clark
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Saben saluted the officer at the correct time, doing his best to avoid a bad impression. He did not care too much what others thought of him, but why make life any more difficult than it had to be? The military was a long career, he had not been enlisted long enough to have the pleasure of making any enemies yet. Not unless he wanted to end up peeling potatoes and guarding latrines.

As Hans went on educating the two recruits to the situation, Saben found himself appalled at the prospect of executing people. Fighting in battle was one thing, regardless of where he ended up, he would be fighting for his life and the lives of his unit. Executing people was not something he had intended on signing up for, not unless he was sure they were guilty. Best to cross that road when the time came.

"Thank you, sir." Saben said when the Corporal finished. He seemed to be a fair man, not reacting too harshly when he saw there was an Ishvalan on the unit. Any Amestrian with prejudice best get used to the idea, with the Ishvalan's slowly re-establishing over the years and interracial couples rising, there would be a fair share of recruits with Ishvalan blood in them. Still facing the Corporal he spoke, "I was up North as well, at Briggs. I wasn't officially part of the military or anything . . . but I'm glad to be a part of it now." He looked to the other recruit, waiting for him to introduce himself.

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Character Portrait: Andrew Halken Character Portrait: Saben Edevane Character Portrait: Hans Murray Clark
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Hans was quite impressed with the Ishvalan, maybe the racial differences where not as far reaching as Hans originally believed. Culturally the Ishvalan's where still inferior, this was merely the natural order of nature; some creatures developed in better circumstances then the other just as some are born into wealthy families and others are born to the unemployed poor. The Ishvalan had also clearly developed a northerner's spirit; only a northerner from the Briggs area could tell that some one originated specifically from that area. Even if Hans came from a village a few kilometers to the north of the Briggs range there was not much difference between the people from these two areas since the land around the Briggs mountains had passed hands between the two nations a number of times centuries ago before the borders where finally decided upon..

The Briggs mountain range was the infamous line of defense which had survived every attempted artillery strikes, bombing raids, tank attacks, mass assaults, sabotage attempts and countless sieges. Hans had the great fortune never to have been sent to fight in that front of the war but the rumors from the Briggs front where the greatest single concern for national moral for the leadership in Drachma.


Hans let himself smile slightly for a moment at the Ishvalan; at least one of these recruits received a proper education and would avoid crying to his mother when introduced to the bombs of the Drachman raiders.

"Well its always good to be optimistic about military service especially when most people treat it as a way to get a good insurance policy, some decent food on the table and funeral service paid for by the government. I imagine you will find your tasks here both far easier and unexpectedly harder then what you are used too; I did"

Hans paused for a moment before noting an important detail

"I think I did not catch your name, what was it soldier?"

Hans heard the hesitation and defiance in the second recruit, he had expected as much from at least some of the recruits which was why he had brought up the matter now rather then later; if he let any doubts develop in their minds as to the realities of their mission it could spell disaster to the entire garrison so it was better to address the problem now rather then later.

"Recruit Halken you are absolutely correct, if we start shooting people in the street for just marching around with signs and shouting about this or that we deliver a crippling blow to the sovereignty of our nation. One crack in our calmness and dedication to the state and we may slowly loss our sense of duty and begin to dispose of those we ourselves consider threats and thus become an even greater threat to the people. This has always been the problem with deploying a fully armed military force inside a city but in these times and especially the upcoming elections we have no choice but to police this once proud capital as if it was an occupied territory.

This city was once united and indeed our news services do try to make it look that way but now this city has become the ideological battle ground of the people and we the central garrison are right in the middle of it all. Our job is to make sure the Ultra nationalists do not start rioting with the Red's or to deal the Militarists who riot with the globalists... stuff like that.

It's because of our interference that all these groups share one common trait; they hate us, they hate us for denying them the chance to crack flesh and brake bones and thus their anger and frustrations are directed at you my young comrades who have nothing to do with this predicament. If they could they would drag you out of your bed and skin you alive.

You could argue that there are those who are not like that at all and you would be correct however these are ether the by standers who just want to get on with their lives and avoid trouble and the victims we are tasked to protect against the mobs. Nether are of much use which is why all garrison troops are expected to carry a weapon at all times and if leaving the military sector travel in groups for added security.

You should not worry about protestors with signs private Halken… worry about them when they take out the guns. Worry about them when they rush you screaming for your blood, worry about them when a small flame or a large one finally ignites the massive ammunition and explosives warehouse this city has become… and quite literally so!"


Hans had gone too far but at least he had delivered the point, Hans had seen the results of revolution in his home land. One day it was the red's who where in charge, the other it was the ultra nationalists and before long the people wanted the iron hand of order only a king could produce.