A Knife in Sheep's Clothing (Gustav)

[⊕ Edzard Crimm]

Crimm strolled through the front door of the still somewhat fancy restaurant. The sun was beginning to sink below the trees in the distance and would have created a quaint pink and orange glow if anyone in the area had cared enough to think about it that way. Thing was that since the German forces had occupied the city of Paris they didn't pull any punches. They had roadblocks at every major intersection, even the shortest of drives through town now had at least an extra hour added to them. Squads of SS troops patrolled almost at their own leisure and no one was stubborn enough to mess with them. On top of all that there were now curfews in the city, as with all other towns now occupied by German forces. Paris was different though, given the significance of the place there were far higher numbers of resistance guerrilla run-ins and it seemed that for every example they made, five more fanatics would step up to take the responsibility of wasting Nazi ammunition. Edzard was one of the few exceptions there.

Crimm slumped his pack and ghillie suit off of his left shoulder onto the chair closest to him at the table in the back. There was a nice window that over looked a confined rolling hillside, one that would normally be occupied by civilians on picnic or lovers getting in a bit of PDA. Today it was a staging area for supply lines feeding into the city and looking out over them Edzard knew why he was told to keep an eye one it. The set up was to organized, the stockpiles were too tall and the perimeter was just too under manned. "One would think that with all of the soldiers happy to walk around this city you could get a few to stand still long enough to unload artillery rounds without having to keep your eyes on the wood-line." he muttered to himself as he waved one of his men to watch the door to the street.

His superiors had tasked him with this when they caught wind of a pending attack in the area, they felt the supply depot would be the most logical target, so they sent the Scharführer and his small group of highly trained men to watch over the unloading procedures. Crimm's scope was more than enough to look out over the area, but within an hour it would be too dark and he would have to take his men into the clearing for foot patrol. For right now they were sitting pretty with a roof over their head and all the fancy food they could stomach without bursting.

[Anton Maas]

“And then I tell him I’ll hide the bomb in a safe place. So I hid it under the engine of his car. And I must had hid it well, no one ever did find it. Or the car. Or that commie bastard!”

The bar patrons burst into laughter. The bartender, on the other hand, only chuckled uncomfortably as he watched his remaining customers, a small group of Gestapo officers, laugh and joke between drinks, and try to manhandle his daughter every time she gave them refills. He would only take his eyes off them for a second to check the door, in fear of uniformed German soldiers showing up to report him for being open after curfew. His customers said they would take care of it if he was caught. But he didn’t trust them. Their reputation and their actions tonight gave him no reason to.

Although Messer laughed right along with his comrades, he was finding it increasingly harder to do so. While the other three had alcohol to help them understand the humor in their incoherent stories, Gus did not have that luxury. Somehow their inspection of the businesses around the staging area turned into a bar hop, and he was the one chosen to be sober.

Suddenly a misguided pat on the bottom from Inspector Hai caused the barmaid’s tray to smash onto the floor, and Messer decided it was time to move on. Löwe agreed with him, and crossed off the bar from the list of addresses they had to check. They weren’t even half done, by the time they finished, Gus was sure at least Klaue would be dead of liver failure.
As Messer helped the waitress pick up the broken glasses, Hai and Klaue quickly dragged each other out and onto the street, while the bartender gave Löwe the bill.

“PAY ALL THIS? WHEN WE HAVE BEEN COMPASSINATE ENOUGH TO NOT ARREST YOU FOR BEING OPEN AFTER CURFEW!?” He dramatically ripped up the check and stormed out, giving Gus a chance to pass the barmaid a few bills before leaving himself. And when he emerged onto the street, his comrades were already ahead of him, staggering into the next restaurant, singing out the German anthem, but without coherent words, or the right tune.