The Dark Light of Perverted Science
Master Sergeant Thunder in the Valley
ST 14 (45)
DX 13 (30)
IQ 12 (20)
HT 13 (30)
Rank 2: Master Sergeant (10)
Reputation +5 (Unstoppable, Medal of Honor etc. Winner, Pre-War US Army personnel, All the time) (8)
High Pain Threshhold (10)
Toughness (DR2) (25)
Extremely Hazardous Duty (-20)
Vow: Clear Stain on Family Honor (-15)
Guns (Shotgun)-14 (0.5)
Guns (Rifle)-16 (2)
Guns (Pistol)-16 (2)
Guns (Light Automatic)-16 (2)
Guns (Light Anti-Tank)-15 (1)
Survival (Forest)-14 (6)
The half-Amerindian master sergeant is a mystery to the rest of the team. Refusing to wear rank stripes and terse in the extreme when forced to speak at all, his presence unsettles the unit. When he does speak, few understand it, as he prefers to use his native Sioux to his less-skilled English. Rumors speak of punitive measures instituted against the then sergeant-major for excessive brutality against the Japs in the Pacific campaign. Some say he is the man most responsible for getting MacArthur to the evacuation boats when the Jap invasion hit earlier than expected. Others speak of his forest and jungle fighting prowess, how without camouflage of any kind he can disappear into woodlands without a trace, cover miles of terrain faster than an unladen man in full flight and slaughter entire companies of the enemy without a sound.
He can be seen fingering a medicine pouch about his neck and silently mouthing words, eyes closed, head rocking back and forth during downtime. He responds to orders with a lazy gaze and a shrug most of the time, garnering accusations of cowardice and insubordination. At least one officer in England learned the hard way that the former accusation was false. The officer is expected to regain full use of his arm, but not for several more months at least. None in the team know why he was not court-martialed for the incident. Other rumors say that he has earned some favoritism for his heroism in this war and past conflicts. Some say he has a death wish, others that he inspires one amongst the enemy. In extreme cold, he has been known to exhibit a slight limp due, as it is said, to a lingering wound from an enemy whom he killed with his bare hands.
The Master Sergeant literally bristles with weaponry. One will not find non-essential equipment about his person at any time. No shovels, typewriters, radios, pencils; nothing that he cannot use to kill the enemy personally takes up space in his pack or pockets. Expert in all Allied small arms, he carries a matched pair of nickel-plated Colt 1911 .45-caliber pistols. Knives of more sorts than most were aware existed are secreted about his body, few in plain sight. From a deadly machete to throwing knives, to a strange multi-bladed army of Swiss manufacture, he is never without blades to use. His muscles are impressive, but they are the hard iron of a working man, not that of a pretty boy gym-goer. His hands are a deeper red than the rest of his skin, supposedly from the blood of his enemies.
Some say he seeks to atone for some sin of the past. They say that is what drives him to exterminate the enemy without mercy. He often disappears from sight and the vicinity of friendlies, returning many times with scalps or ears from the enemy he has sought and killed; the trophies are strung about the perimeter of camps and bivouacs, as offerings or messages no one is sure. When the enemy is near, especially if in sight, only his own hand can stay him from seeking battle; no order to restrain himself has ever succeeded to prevent him killing the enemy. At the same time, sometimes he simply ignores the enemy, despite the apparent ease with which he might dispatch them; when this elicits questions, his reply is a silent and cold stare, one containing the promise of unadulterated rage and violence, contained for unknown reasons but waiting to escape and savage the enemy.