The Final Reckoning [Luther]

[Rhys Bevan]

OOC: The red counter is Rhys, the green with a cross is Corporal Reid and the greens are the privates. Sorry it's taken so long. Decided to commemorate my newfound activity to IO by crushing Nathan's face into the dirt. Enjoy, now.

The dark grey squares are higher levels.

CAN YOU START ON THE OPPOSITE SIDE OF THE MAP, PLEASE, DARLING?

Staff Sergeant Rhys Bevan of the 7th Armoured Division, 2nd Infantry, 2nd Platoon was extremely pissed off. Perhaps it was the fact that the unmerciless African heat was bearing down upon him and his wary band like a vulture encircling its prey. Perhaps it was the fact that in the past twenty-four hours, he had been shot at so much that he was questioning whether it was his quite tight military shorts that seemed to be attracting the Nazi forces like midges. Perhaps it was the fact that mosqutoes had been gnawing away where no one else had ever gnawed. Or maybe it was a combination of the three. It was tricky to tell when you were fighting for survival every minute of your life. But maybe that was supposed to be the fun part...

"How's about we sing a rising song, eh, men?" said Corporal Matthew Reid optimistically, some ten feet behind Rhys. The blank looks on the four privates' faces was answer enough and Reid fell silent. Reid was not particularly popular with the men, that much was certain. He had been trying to step into Jack Diaz' shoes for some time now and they seemed to be blistering his feet so to speak. Reid was an able soldier but his roots as a proud supporter of communism had never earned him many friends. Nevertheless, war turned petty enemies into close companions and at least the men didn't throw rocks anymore. Well, not when Rhys was looking, anyway.

The privates were an interesting bunch as well, to say the least. The only one known to Rhys particlarly well was Richard Griggs, a young man from Carmarthen who was one of the most popular figures among the rabble. Taraman Rudesh and Rabdesh Abdul were cousins, firm gurkhas from Nepal who scared the shit out of most of the men which could, admittedly, be very enjoyable for the NCOs to survey. Bringing up the rear of the small party was Jude Archer, a weasel-faced private soldier who was grumbling incoherently to himself about the heat. Rhys looked at his men with a certain fondness. A Welshman, two gurkhas, a communist and, well, an arsehole. And they said they were fighting for His Majesty, the King of England. War certainly was a strange little thing.

The detatchement found themselves at a small, semi-Western village. The Staff Sergeant felt a lump in his throat. It had been practically burned to the ground; only a few wooden houses still stood. The men had also come to a halt beside their leader, staring wide eyed at the destruction before them. "Who would do this?" croaked Abdul in his thick accent. Archer shot him a spiteful look.

"Father Christmas, who d'you think?" he spat, staring eerily at the charred village gates. "Obviously, Wolfie thought it'd be a great way to pass the time. I mean, the rent boys must run out some time, eh?" He spat on the sandy floor once more for good measure.

Rhys took a step forward and shook his head. "I've seen this before," he whispered. "At Malassa, d'you remember? The SS-Ahnenerbe. They've taken the natives away for testing,"

"Shit," said Griggs, glancing behind his shoulder as if expecting to see a Nazi behind him with a big net.

Rhys nodded grimly. "Yeah," he said. "Very, very shit. And d'you know what-"

Rhys drew to a sudden stop. He could hear voices. Voices just around the corner. Instinctively, he ripped his Bren Machine Gun from his shoulderand signalled for the others to follow him cautiously towards the small house to the East. He checked behind his shoulder to check whether everyone was following and when he turned back to face the front, he found himself staring straight into the face of a German captain, who stood dumbfounded before him, flanked by a gaggle of tough-looking companions.

"Open fire!" roared Rhys instinctively, sending a bullet from his Webley straight into the face of the stunned Captain, shattering his skull and sending him crumpled to the floor. The German force seemed to surprised to discover their new company to even go for their weapons. At least, until it was too late. It was the biggest bloodbath Rhys had ever seen. And he wasn't complaining, seeing as neither he nor any of his men came out with more than a scratch on them.

"Well, that's certainly lifted the mood a bit," muttered Rhys to himself, before turning strikingly towards his own men. "There could be more around here; in fact, I'm almost certain. Get behind those tress; now!"

"You heard the Staff Sergeant, get behind the trees!" echoed Reid, driving the privates towards a large cluster of trees to the far south of the village. Taking comfortable cover behind the great trees, Rhys handed his water canteen over to Abdesh so that he could take a swig and brought his binoculars to his eyes. All there was too do now was wait.

[William Luther]

OOC: I’m assuming the dark grey is above the light grey, and it fits perfectly. If I’m wrong, tough luck, Welshie

Luther was flat against the ground of the first floor building. His rifle was gripped tightly in his hands as he slowly, methodically breathed. The African desert could take an awful lot out of a man. The ten men spread around the building all bore rosy complexions from spending too much time out in the open.

Ferdinand Frankfurter dropped down fully below the window again. He had been spying out on the proceedings. He crawled over to his commander and whispered into his ear, so close that William could feel the moisture in his breath in the parched conditions. ”Six of them, herr Sturmscharführer, and one has a Bren Machine gun.”
Luther gave a brief nod, sliding a small notepad out of his pocket. He pulled out a pen and pulled the lid off with his teeth. He winced then as a burst of firing came out. It would off been Captain Hermann and his team. So much for capturing the enemy. Luther put pen to paper and scribbled a quick note.

Six targets. One shot then take cover. Aim at the Bren (Machine) gunner. On my mark.

Not exactly pure poetry, but it got the job done. No hidden messages, for sure. He passed it around the three men on this floor with him. Each in turn gave him a brief nod before the pad was dropped down the stairs. A murmured “jawohl” came up from below as the senior soldier crawled over to the window, the others close behind him.

Luther took another brief look over the window ledge, surveying the scene for hisself. His blonde hair, plastered to his forehead would be the only thing visible, and it wasn't much. He reached round the back of his uniform. He brought them up to his eyes, and focused on the arm of the Staff Sergeant he saw, the tell-tale insignia rising up his hopes. Looking for the small name tag that was worn there.

Yes. It was him. Luthers number one enemy. Bevan. The Welsh bastard who had imprisoned him. The person who's testicle William had taken before hand. He reached round for his knife. He always finished the jobs he started.
OOC: I'm orange, blue is NPC PVT. Where you see three around me, another three is directly underneath us, all firing at yo' ass Enjoy!

[Rhys Bevan]

OOC: Assuming my attack is succesful, any live but badly injured enemy will be taken captive. Diolch, Nathan.



Rhys felt a horrific sensation rift through his body electrically, like icy water being dripped over his body. The sensation that he was being watched. He ran a hand through his raven-like hair absent-mindedly as he scanned the small village stoically for any unwanted company. It looked like they were alone. For the time being at least.

"Sarge!" hissed Griggs suddenly, jolting Rhys from his thoughts. "Up there. I see movement on the upper floor," Rhys swallowed hoarsely and glanced up at the roof of a half-demolished building a few feet away and suddenly felt ice cold, as if he had been pierced by a thousand icicles at once. Four of the enemy were stoically manning the upper floor, their black uniforms comfirming that they were members of the dreaded Waffen SS; there were presumably more on lower levels. It didn't look like they had seen the Brits - yet. But, standing in the open, barely cloaked by the ugly trees...it would only be a matter of time before they were pounced upon like sitting ducks.

"OK, men," said Rhys, keeping his voice low, perhaps unneccasarily. "We are outnumbered and outgunned. On the other hand, we are British and they are Germans, so we have one advantage at least," A few of the men smiled wanly at this although Archer only scowled. "The other advantage," continued Rhys, licking his dry lips airily. "Is, of course, the fact that we are going to drive these murdering bastards out of Africa once and for all, understood?"

Rhys didn't wait for a reply but instead turned to Griggs and Reid, the most senior of the Staff Sergeant's five subordinates. "We need to capture that building on the enemy's flank, directly before us. That shall be our primary target," Griggs and Reid both nodded silently, keeping both eyes glued on their leader. "Griggs, you're coming with me. Slow crawl to start with and then a charge when we reach the road; we shall go round the side of the building and storm it ourselves; it's likely that it's guarded so be alert. Reid," he said, turning on the corporal. "It's unlikely that the enemy will be able to hit us but I don't really have any intention of being proved wrong on that front, so it's up to you to make sure the enemy don't have the chance to try it out for size. Keep the garrisoned building under pressure; pin them down, kill if remotely possible. And remember that there may be men on the lower floor. When we reach the building, take cover in the building to our flank and maintain guard positions. Have you both got that?"

Both men nodded frantically and Reid instantly hurried over to the privates' side to issue them with their orders. Griggs looked slightly pale.

"Just do as I say and you'll do fine, Richard," said the Staff Sergeant expressionlessly, accustomising himself with his brand new weapon. "There should be no more than five men in the building - if any - and, what's more, I doubt they can take on a Bren machinegun and a couple of brave milwyr, do you?" Griggs smiled and nodded grimly.

"Gwell angau na chywilydd," he whispered to Griggs, sinking to the floor as Reid gave them the signal that the privates were ready to offer them the covering fire that could potentially save their lives. The two companions began at a steady crawl as Reid, Archer, Rudesh and Abdul opened fire. Seconds later, the two had leaped to their feet and charged, their heads down, their hearts beating into the relative cover of a single tree, bulkier than the ones that Reid and the privates were currently holding their own behind. At this position, it was clear that there were men within the four walls of the building. The tell-tale sounds of wary soldiers were all too clear and painfully close.

Rhys held his position and held up three fingers, mouthing "Three...Two...One," as he did so. When the final finger had disappeared, the two walked as stealthily as possible around the back of the house and as they approached the door...

The Staff Sergeant opened fire with his machine gun, knowing full well that the enemy stood little chance with their bolt-action rifles. Their attack, he hoped, had come as a surprise to the three men before him and, as the Welshmen sent bullet after bullet into the enemy's forms, at last they could breathe easy.

"What next?" rasped Griggs.

Rhys grinned. "Trust me, Griggsy," he said breathlessly, training his Bren on the doorway to his right. "I'm just making it up as I go along. Stay alert and on guard. Let's let them make the next move..."

[Daniel Brennan]

Moderation Post

I was in a nice mood, so I marked it.
Nathan, sorry if you think this mod-mark is a little harsh, but you have to remember Rhys does have a cert. :/



The following actions have been made;

Staff Sergeant R. Bevan:

• Corporal Reid and co's rifle fire did successfully deter the Germans from firing back to an extent. They also inflicted a casualty on the Germans; a private on the lower floor took a bullet in his arm above the elbow. While it isn't a life-threatening injury, it will stop him from wielding a weapon that requires two hands, for the rest of the battle. AKA, a rifle.
  
  
• While the SS men didn't dare stick their heads out the front windows which were being fired at, one of the soldiers upstairs looked out a side window to the delightful site of Private Griggs and Rhys lying down near the road. He took a couple of shots, one of which struck Griggs in the upper thigh. The bullet didn't hit any major arteries, but moving around will be nigh on impossible without help and he is an easy target in the open.
  
  
• The covering fire masked the sound of Rhys Bevan approaching the building alone, so the first the three privates inside new of it was when they were being gunned down by multiple bullets. Two of them died instantly, but another of them is still alive, whimpering in pain, with three bullets caught in his right arm.
  
  
• Luther and his remaining men do know where Rhys is and they know that he is alone.
  

~Dan

[Rhys Bevan]

New map.

[William Luther]

Luther gripped his MP44 Assault Rifle even more tightly as the machine gun fire chattered the air. The cold metal had a certain calming effect, and Luther waited for the firing to stop. He crawled away from the window, towards the ladder down to the ground floor.

Frankfurter stood himself up, and looked out of the upper floor window. He grimly smiled as he pulled his rifle up to his cheek and squinted down the sights towards the Brit on the ground, a wound in his leg bleeding profusely. He squeezed the trigger, the round aimed at the head of his target. He pulled the bolt and fired again, at the same target. It was almost an act of compassion, putting his foe out of his misery, but every soldier is a threat, no matter there state…

”Don’t shoot!” The weak call came from Kortig, the wounded private on the ground. He could only feel an unbelievable pain in his right arm, but another burning sensation was in his heart. Was he going to fail in his job for the Fuhrer?
”I will pass my gun over. Don’t shoot.!” Lying on the ground, he reached outwards with his left arm, awkwardly gripping the butt of his rifle. He began pushing it towards his foe, before he made a move, unusually quick for one in his situation. His hand shot up, the finger folding into the trigger hole, and he moved the rifle, roughly aiming along the ground at the leg of his target, all he could get, and squeezed. He could see the corpses of Liebknecht and Dresner. He would either be joining them very soon, or he would be hero. He was in fate’s hands now.

Kirsch whimpered slightly at the wound in his arm, before screaming at himself within his head, demanding that he get on with his job. He crawled infront of the window as the enemy soldiers made a mad dash. He made a quick count, four of them. Easily manageable. He looked at the fellow SS men infront of him, and raised an eyebrow, indicating with a nod of his head the arm that he held limply at his side. One crawled over, reaching for the button on the bottom of the folded sleeve of the uniform. He tightened it as much as possible, to try and stop the blood flow to the injury and stabilise his partner.

Luther hopped down the stairway, running over to his three subordinate. ”Well?”, he asked rather impatiently.
”Four, over the road, and one in the building next door. You’re call, boss.”
Luther ignored the informality in this, he would have to bring it up later. If they survived.
”I’ll deal with next door. Keep an eye across the road, if anyone moves in there, shoot.” He turned before adding. ”Wait for shooting, then two of you follow on ten seconds after that.”

He slowly walked through the door, the butt of his weapon firmly in his shoulder. He stopped, just short of the next entrance, making sure that his gun wasn’t showing past the frame. He counted down quietly to himself, psyching himself up, before spinning around. His eyes straight away came onto the Bren-toting Bevan infront of him. He squeezed the trigger, letting out three five-round bursts at the target. He stood his ground. It was now a stalemate. If Bevan went for his gun, he would fire, but equally, if Bevan was alive, then Luther was in a bad position. Hopefully, reinforcements would arrive before he got completely destroyed.

OOC: The Blue ‘X’ is the ladder. Enjoy

[Daniel Brennan]

Moderation Post

[/b][/u]

Ok, First of all I have to ask, Rhys did you delete my above post with the map?
Because if you did I'm a wee bit annoyed with you. Not only did it take out my markings on which of Nathan's guys was injured, but the wrong guy is left alive in the building. Sorry If it wasn't you.


The following actions have been made;

Sturmscharfuhrer Luther:

• Private Frankfurter (What sort of a name is that!? ): Heroicly defending the village by bravely firing upon the crippled enemy soldier, one of his shots hit the target, splattering (Not much) brians and blood onto the ground around the recently deceased Private Griggs.
  
  
• Private Kortig tried to muster up enough strength to raise his rifle and fire, but was unable to, due to his pain. However, the effort of even trying to attack Mr Bevan has led him to scream out in pain and then pass out. The unit will die in just a few more turns.
  
  
• Luther managed to get right up to the door into Bevan's house, but his feet scuffling just outside the door cause Bevan to look up and raise his rifle at the doorway. Luther still had much the element of surprise for the first few shots.
  
  
  
• 4 of the bullets hit Bevan. 2 bullets have gone right through Bevans left arm, leaving it almost useless, one bullet went through the edge of his left side, however it didn't come close to the center of Bevan's mass and so hit no major organs. The last shot hit Bevan's chest, shattering 2 or 3 ribs, but not doing anymore damage.
  
  
• Bevan would have been killed if it wasn't for the fact that he was able to fire a short burst when he realised what was happening and a bullet did impact into Luther's upper thigh. He fired quite quickly, making sure that Luther was only able to make the first few shots count.
  
  
• Bevan is seriously injured and will most likely die from blood less in 3 or 4 turns. The situation is bad for the Allies, with their commander making an idiotic mistake.
  

~Dan[/colour]

[Rhys Bevan]

Dan, you do know I've got a Bren, don't you? It's just you described ot as a rifle and I dunno if that'd change the mod-mark. (Kinda clutching at straws here ;D).

I'll try and post tomorrow.
Rhys.

[Daniel Brennan]

Dec 3, 2008 21:38:37 GMT S.SGT David Bevan said:

Sorry for coming into this thread but.....
He means an Automatic rifle. The bren could be described as an Auto rifle or an LMG. If he thought it were a rifle you would have fired a single shot at Natty's thigh and not a burst.

Yep, I said you fired a short burst, not a single shot., Rhys.

[PuNk! ™]

Just to notify you all, OOC complaints or issues made towards staff/mod-marks will be taken seriously in some forth-coming rules ready to be added; Complaints or issues you wish to make must be appointed through PM. It's getting a little silly now that Staff Mod-Marks are being scrutinized every time, in some minor hope it will change everything.

So from here on, remember that OOC complaints or issues made must be forwarded through PM - this will be a main rule enforced real soon, to stop incidents such as this happening and many other incidents prior from happening. I just find it ironic that David still has a OOC say in this thread, when it's not initially his battle.
~Danny

[Rhys Bevan]

I have a genuine reason that the mod-mark should be changed.

Luther had a rifle during his first post and an MP44 during his second.

[Daniel Brennan]

Ok, sorry about the wait. The Mod-mark still stands as Luther never stated what weapon he was using in the first posts. Sorry Rhys.

[Rhys Bevan]

OOC: I've added a tiny bit of ground to the West of the map, simply so Rhys can fit outside of the building. The yellow line indicates the flare.

Rhys was thrown to the floor in agony, crumpled and pathetic. He gritted his teeth in the pain, closed his eyes and began to breath steadily; he needed to stay calm. He had evidently been caught unawares by the enemy and was paying the price. He had no idea how many of the foe were in the building alongside him, but he reckoned he was safer dead than alive. In the shadows rather than in the dim light of the enemy. Rhys twitched as he had seen many a man twitch before and fell still, disguising his shallow breathing as best he could.

In the split second of the shoot-out, Rhys had recognised the man. William Luther, the feeble-minded yet horrifically dedicated SS NCO he had met less than a year earlier in the forests of Poland. Luther hated him, he knew that much. He would want to take him prisoner, rather than kill him - he would not issue the fatal blow yet. That, he hoped, would be his salvation.

Rhys allowed himself to open one eye slightly and could evidently see the man Luther standing at the doorway, although only the lower half of his body was visible from the Staff Sergeant's position. Slowly - so, slowly - Rhys moved his good hand to his side and his fingers brushed at the handle of his flare gun. He collected himself and drowned out the pain in a few scant second of meditation. Unhealthy mentally, of course, to spend such little time to collect himself but better than nothing.

He counted to three in his head and in a split second, withdrew the flare gun from its holster and sent a shot spiralling towards the man at the door. At such close proximity, it could potentially blind the man temporarily but even if it did not succeed in that venture, it would hopefully gain Rhys a distraction. Jumping to his feet - and barely escaping staggering instantly to the floor in pain - Rhys charged out of the building, sending a series of shots from his pistol behind him as we went.

Rhys dived behind the building and wasted no time in attacking his medical pack. He withdrew a large coil of bandages and wrapped them around most of his body, halting the blood flow as best he could. Rhys reckoned Nazis were like sharks; they were attracted to the smell of blood.

The body of Private Griggs had emptied the pain from his body. In its place was anger. A kind of anger so intense, it made your whole body numb. A kind of anger that took control of your entire body, leaving no space for such trivial things as pain and disillusionment.

The Welshman considered his position. He was obscured completely from the men in the uppermost floor by the building itself and he was confident that his men would act accordingly if those manning the lower floor launched an attack. But what of Luther? Rhys trained the Browning Hi-Power on the doorway, ready to open fire on the German bastard if he came anywhere near him. He had plenty of ammunition left; at least, enough to deal with scum like "Silly Willy" as the men called the Sturmscharführer. If he was going down, then he would take Luther down with him.

***

Almost simultaneously...

Reid watched in horror as the defenceless Griggs was unmercilessly slashed into the shadows by the enemy. The Germans seemed set to begin a slaughter. Reid may only have been a Junior NCO but he wasn't going to let that happen. He couldn't.

"Men," he ordered. "With me. Get into the other buidling; it's not secure here," His companions nodded and charged into the second stronghold, barely a metre away from the doors of their previous location. The men of the lower floor of the enemy-controlled building seemed to be in general disarray, the wounded man among them seeming to be something of a nuisance. Reid made the most of this.

"Archer, Rudesh," he whispered. "Stay here, keep firing on those bastards. And if you see that poncy German Sergeant leave the Sarge's building, take him down as well. Abdul," he added, turning to the taller of the Ghurkas. "With me. Into the trees. We'll take them down from there. Give us covering fire, you two," he finished awkwardly. The other men nodded simply; there was nothing else to say.

Three seconds later, Reid and Abdul charged into the smattering of trees, under heavy covering fire from the other two, who instantly turned their attack on the enemy, interchanging between the vital building to the North West and the enemy hold and moving into absolute cover to wait for return fire. With a two-pronged attack they hoped to both pin the enemy down effectively and to distract them from Rhys so that he could fight on.

If he was still alive.

[Daniel Brennan]

Moderation Post

The following actions have been made;

Staff Sergeant R. Bevan:

• Luther was fooled by the 'dead person' act Bevan put on and so it came as a great surprise to him when a bright flare flew at him and narrowly missed his head. Luther has lost his eyesight for the next two turns and will be useless in combat.
  
  
• Luther's immediate thoughts were on his own burning eyes and he made no attempt to stop Rhys Bevan from slowly hobbling away from him. Rhys' pistol shots didn't come close to hitting Luther and if anything, the recoil from the pistol hindered him more than it helped him.
  
  
• Rhys' hurried bandaging of his wounds didn't work out too well. Although he has sort of stopped the blood flowing in some places the bandages are all over the place and will hinder him if he tries to move anywhere.
  
  
• The NPC's firing at the other side of the village has done some good. They have killed one Axis soldier on the lower floor and injured another. The injured one has a serious bullet wound in his upper thigh. The bullet hit the main artery and he is bleeding out very quickly.
  

~Dan

[William Luther]

Luther started as Bevan pulled the flare gun out. Realising what was about to happen, he tried roughly aiming at his enemy before pulling the trigger on his StG44, and emptying the rest of the magazine, about 15 rounds.

As his world burst into an unbelievably brilliant light, he stumbled backwards, out of the door, and feeling the wall, around the corner before collapsing to the floor. Even though he couldn’t see, he went through the well practised motion of releasing the empty magazine, and, feeling with his fingers for the brass cases at the top of the magazine, reloaded and cocked. He heard more firing, and he couldn’t help but wonder what the result was.

The result, was carnage. The wounded Kirsch was killed, and Pvt Abt was wounded. This left Ebersbach to follow out his Commanders orders. Grabbing Abt and pulling him back a bit, dumping him below the window, he shouted up the ladder for help before steeling himself.

Before he could move, he heard a yell, from Luther. ” Halt stellt ein! Ignorieren Sie Bevan!” He did a double take, almost diving out the window, but he stopped. He considered enquiring, but there were other, more pressing matters to deal with, least of all, the fact they were under heavy fire.

Upstairs, Frankfurter moved across the room. He peered out the window, towards the enemy soldier. ” Ein von Ihnen, wird über hier!” As he said that, he was pulling his rifle up into the crook of his shoulder, aiming down the scope towards the soldier in his target. He dropped to one knee, resting the barrel of his rifle on the window frame. He fired a single shot at the chest of his enemy. With the multitude of organs there, surely it was inevitable it did some serious damage. To make sure, he cocked again and fired another shot at the same target. He realised there was only one round left in his rifle and it seemed a shame to waste. He aimed a third time at the chest of the enemy, and squeezed, before dropping below the window frame and reloading, popping back up and taking aim at the form of his pincushion.

Behind him, he felt the large presence of Finkel, a well-muscled ideal SS soldier. He remained standing, aiming at the other soldier. He let off two shots with resounding cracks before stopping, and taking a look. The target was still there, so he carried on, one shot at the chest, another at the head, and a final at the chest again. He stepped back again, out of the line of fire and placed another charger in his rifle. He looked out again, not shooting immediately. He waited, the second he saw movement down there, he would zero in and shoot.

Ebersbach collapsed next to the wall. He grabbed the torso of Kirsch and ripped a large length of fabric from his shirt. He grabbed Abt, and, as gently as the circumstances allowed, yet very quickly, bandaged the wound with the dead mans shirt. He was quite sure that neither of the two parties would mind. He crawled forwards, aiming out towards where the mass of fire had come from. He squinted down the barrel of his weapon, towards the enemy private. He saw a few streaks of tracer towards him, and he joined in, letting out a shot at the head of the target. He re-cocked, and twisted around slightly, aiming into the building across the road. He didn’t know if anyone was in there, but he was going to make damn sure there wasn’t.

Luther spoke up, his voice surprisingly powerful and rising over the fire. ” Jemand. Hier!” A quick scuffle from the ladder, and Keuster was crouched next to him, back to the wall.
”Ja?”
” Beginnen Sie, um um das hintere vom Gebäude zu bewegen. Bewegen Sie auf Bevan nicht bis Sie hier mein Signal, oder, bewegt jemand anders. Versteht?”
”Jawhol.”

Picking himself up, he moved around the rear of the building, slowly taking care with each step. It wasn’t like he was rushed. He stopped a meter and a half away from the edge of the building and lowered himself onto the ground, and aimed along the gun.

Luther took a moment to himself. He was utterly helpless, everything was in the hands of his men. If they got through this, he would put every single one of them forward for a promotion.



Translations[/u]

Halt stellt ein! Ignorieren Sie Bevan! – Hold positions! Ignore Bevan!

Ein von Ihnen, wird über hier! – One of you, get over here!

Jemand. Hier! – Somebody. Here!

Beginnen Sie, um um das hintere vom Gebäude zu bewegen. Bewegen Sie auf Bevan nicht bis Sie hier mein Signal, oder, bewegt jemand anders. Versteht? - Begin moving around the back of the building. Don't move upon Bevan until you here my signal, or, somebody else moves. Understand?