Name: Marc Jean-Phillipe Lemieux, "Jean".
Gender: Male.
Date of Birth: 10 August, 1913.
Nationality: Canadian.
Appearance:
Photograph taken London '56.
Jean is exceptionally handsome and stands 5 feet 10 inches with light brown hair and blue eyes. Although slightly thin, he keeps himself in good shape and maintains a regimen of physical activity the same way he did while training for war. He sports a trimmed beard and grooms himself accordingly, regarding his appearance almost zealously. For attire, dress shirts and slacks make up the majority of his wardrobe with a number of suits and formal wear readily available, tailored to his dimensions.
Curriculum Vitae: Jean speaks French (Canadian, speaking formally there is only subtle differences between Canada and France), English (slight accent) and German (Swabian accent as his teacher originated from Stuttgart). As a mechanical engineer, Jean has a broad understanding of machinery though he did not have much work experience prior to the breakout of war. As a member of the Canadian Active Service Force (CASF), Jean trained in hand-to-hand combat, infantry tactics and weapon & ordinance handling. He ranked with the Enfield rifle, Thompson sub-machine gun and Bren light machine gun, scoring favorably.
Personality: There are two sides to a coin and then there are two sides of Jean; polite, charismatic and in a good humor. If there is a social gathering, Jean makes for a lively host and leaves no guest feeling unwelcome. Sharp and quick-witted, there is always laughter and smiles trailing in his wake. However, alone, Jean seems to brood on troubled thoughts and fights the demons of his past. The war left so many questions unanswered, at times it is just an afterthought and then there are times he finds himself waking up in a cold sweat. It had been a decade since Stalag VIII-C and yet Jean remembers it as if it were just yesterday. As of late, he uses his personal time to scour over old clippings of newspaper searching for something, one name... and that name has become his sole obsession.
Personal History:1913 - 1939: Jean was born in Sherbrooke, Quebec to Roman Catholic parents and attended
St. Michael's where he learned to speak English fluently and became proficient in Latin, as well. Throughout primary and secondary school, Jean played in junior hockey leagues until graduation and in 1931 enrolled at
Bishop's University where he would earn a degree in mechanical engineering while studying German.
1939 - 1942: Canada declares war on Germany a week after Britain and France. With the entire nation mobilizing, Jean answers the call-to-arms and enlists in Montreal with
Les Fusiliers Mont-Royal. On 1 July, 1940, the regiment embarked from Halifax and sailed for Iceland for garrison duty, fearing the Germans might try to seize the island and use it as a naval base to harass shipping lanes. While stationed in Iceland, Jean became deeply fascinated with the Nordic culture and it's rich heritage. On the last day of October, the regiment was transferred to Britain to begin infantry training for the eventual invasion of Fortress Europa. For almost two years, the regiment went through rigorous training in Scotland honing their battle skills. When granted leave, Jean joined his fellow brothers-in-arms in terrorizing the English countryside and earning them sneers of contempt from the locals who were unaccustomed to the sight of young Canadian men. To be sure, the young English women took note of the ribald antics and were not so partial when it came to courting the men of the Fusiliers. Companionship was found in a nation that had sent it's own young men off to fight for king and country, Jean was so fortunate to have his fair share of companionship.
1942 - 1945: On 19 August, 1942, "Operation: Jubilee" commenced.
At 05:00, the Royal Navy's guns opened fire on the coastal village of Dieppe as a force of 5,000 Canadian soldiers, aided by 1,000 British Commandos and 50 U.S Rangers, were making their way to the beaches aboard landing craft. RAF Hurricanes swept the area with strafing fire and dropped bomb payloads on targets, to Jean and the Fusiliers waiting aboard in reserve it was an awesome sight to behold. Their awe turned to dismay when the German positions began to return a deadly barrage on the men landing on the beaches, machine gun nests sprayed those still wading through waist-deep water. Jean knew something was wrong, the village was supposed to be lightly defended by a token force. When elements of Wehrmacht 302nd Division were sighted moving along the east and western flanks of the village; the situation changed drastically. An alarm sounded, an officer emerged and ordered the Fusiliers to prepare to board the landing craft; they were being called up to join their embattled brethren. The officer giving the order was Lieutenant Colonel Dollard Ménard, who was in full-kit and joined his men in assaulting the beach.
When the LCAs disembarked at 07:00, through the swell of the waves and a thick smoke screen, Jean could see the extent of the chaos and carnage that awaited him and his comrades on the beaches. The advance of the Canadians had been brought to a crawl as machine guns raked the sand and mortar fire rained on those who sought cover, washing up on the shore were the bodies of the dead before their feet could touch dry ground. "Incoming!" Cried the boatswain, seconds later a geyser rose up from the waves thirty feet and rocked the boat so hard that Jean was sure it would capsize. The shoreline was growing closer by the second, suddenly the landing craft came to a screeching halt and half of the men lurched forward with it. The hull had found a rock and wouldn't budge once it became snagged. "Get ready! Down ramps! Go, go, go!" The boatswain shouted and before Jean knew it he was shuffling toward the water at the edge of the ramp. Moments later, bullets began to ricochet off the metal and some found their target. There was no time to see who fell as his body plunged through the surface of the water, weighed down by many pounds of gear. If the water had been a few feet deeper, he would have drowned. When Jean was able to reach the shore, the situation had become almost surreal. Only a handful of tanks had made it ashore, providing limited cover against the wall of lead and fire that intensified by the minute. Worse yet, the skies above where the RAF had been earlier were now dominated by the Luftwaffe. It was a slaughter.
At 10:50 the order to retreat was given but only a handful would manage to escape, the rest were left to die or be taken prisoner. Jean was among the almost 2,000 Canadian soldiers taken prisoner and on the beaches lay 907 men who would never leave. From Dieppe there was a train that would take them across France and Belgium where they would finally reach their destination in September, 1942. Stalag VIII-C Sagan, adjacent to Stalag Luft III, in Germany. Those who had been taken prisoner at Dieppe had been shackled in manacles after British documents of the battle had been found buried in the sand which had instructions to "shackle any German prisoners taken.", Hitler had personally saw to it that the prisoners were chained in retaliation.
For the rest of the war, Jean would spend his days in the POW camp, while treated for the most part fairly, he noted several acts of brutality that would stay with him after the war. Any man who attempted to escape was executed, those believed to have aided the escapees were beaten savagely and starved. After Germany surrendered in early May, 1945, most of the Allied prisoners were released to their respective countries. Jean would return with those who survived imprisonment to England and receive medical rehabilitation from a malnourished diet inside the camp.
1946 - 1956: Jean was asked to stand as a witness at Nuremberg but declined and rather than return to Canada remained in England, finding a job as a French teacher and living a quiet, peaceful life.
Also, I would like to note that I am currently in
UTC-0:500 Eastern Time, my schedule for work is 4-5 days and during the morning and afternoon I will not be able to post unless it is at lunch or if it isn't too busy. Evenings are my best time, so long as energy and motivation have not escaped me.
