Following Orders, Nothing More.

[∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram]

OOC: Sorry if this is long.

The young woman screamed as her body was dragged along the street, the backs of her legs scraping against the gravel and dirt beneath her, whilst two men - SS men, lugged their arms up beneath her armpits and scurried their remaining hand/s into the abominate pit of her scalp, yanking her body straight by her hair, hoping to shunt her struggling somewhat with extra force. Gerwulf and Claus soon let go off the woman, as they pushed her downwards against the wall with the other’s, perhaps several more people, all different ages - both men and woman.

Gerwulf’s eyes mercifully looked to the young woman who fell to his feet, draping her crooked fingernails against his leg, begging like a dog, whimpering further more to be let go. Claus couldn’t help but watch in sympathy either, as the two men stood idle for a moment, their rifles weakly held, almost having the urge to turn a blind eye and let her run - but Captain Wolfram was nearby, his voice bellowed out fiercely as he stepped closer, his piercing eyes switching from all several soldiers of his guarding the prisoners. “Ist das alle?” Rafael said bitterly, his posture stern and his neck straight, awaiting an answer of sorts from one of the several men under his wing…

“Ja ist Herr, das alle”[/b] Private Kurt said quietly, his hands becoming damp from clutching onto the rifle, as he watched the men and woman uneasily stand idle, a couple of them muttering a prayer to themselves, whilst Rafael’s bold deep eyes watched them, a small nod beckoning from his head, about to reveal his next order, until the young woman who clutched onto Gerwulf’s leg drew his attention. Abruptly pushing off his feet, the Captain drew close to the two men standing there, doing nothing as the woman clung for her life to Gerwulf, the soldier immediately growing grim as he realised the Captain’s close presence. “Gerwulf, Sie erlauben, dass ein Gefangener Sie berührt?” Rafael said emotionlessly, his face stern, a total different man compared to the one who they first met, many moons ago.

“Kein Hauptmann,” shrieked Gerwulf, as he pushed the young woman from off him, his rifle butt lodging against her chest and throat to wedge and pride from off his leg - his eyes closing a little as he listened to the thump she made when hitting the ground, her crying becoming hysterical all the more, the whole scene becoming somewhat dramatic; Rafael remaining merciless and dormant throughout the whole scene. These weren’t pleasant orders he was given. Heck, Rafael had heed in leading a Panzer division, ‘Das Reich’, but since they didn’t have their tanks yet - they were considered SS Infantry until then, his orders being strict in accumulating these prisoners together.

Taking a deep breath, the Captain slowly unfolded a piece of paper from inside his pocket, the document looking somewhat official. “Gefangene von Wahlbezirk zwanzig, sind Sie zu Tod auf Beachtungen des Hochverrats gegen das Vaterland, im Helfen vom jüdischen verurteilt worden... Sie haben zwei Minuten, Ihren Frieden zu machen, kann Gott mit Ihnen ist” as he finished reading out the letter, he listened to the cries of the woman screech louder, the men sobbing quietly, one of them already dropping to their knees as they begged for mercy. Rafael could do nothing for them now; he was to execute them immediately, doing otherwise would result in consequences himself, disobeying an order for starters, which alone held high penalties.

Sighing a little, he looked to the men scattered around the prisoners who had no where to run, a large canvas brick wall behind them, his men blocking any other escape. “FALLEN Sie IN -- SCHULTER, ARME!” the Captain said heartedly, not exactly having an Sergeant to do it the barking for him, as he watched the several men suddenly trot over and stand to attention, rifles at their sides. Watching the quivering prisoners turn their backs and look away, the Captain continued; not exactly giving the order for them to face the wall, no, he wanted them to look his men in the eyes, harden them up. “Nehmen Sie ZIEL!” as the men raised their weapons, doing as they were told, the Captain quickly shouted without anymore delay “FEUER!”

The prisoner’s jerked their bodies as several rifle-shots beckoned into their torso’s, falling like dominos, a few of them moaning in sheer agony - one of them crawling frantically along the ground to try and escape. The men watched in ore as they witnessed their wrath on several unarmed people take the fall, the Captain’s boots clicking against the cobbles firmly as he approached the line of men, who ever so slowly lowered their rifles, not knowing whether they should reload and shoot again? As the survivors whined in agony on the ground, their prayers were answered as a clunk emitted from their left flank, the Captain himself training his MP40 waist height on the sprawled out bodies on the ground - Before the inevitable chain of firing began, his SMG finishing them off cleanly, his face remaining emotionless and cold as his body softly jotted a little to the remerging of his machinegun…


Translations:[/b]

Ist das alle?
- Is that all of them?

Ja ist Herr, das alle
- Yes Sir, that is all of them.

Gerwulf, Sie erlauben, dass ein Gefangener Sie berührt?
- Gerwulf, you allow a prisoner to touch you?

Kein Hauptmann,
- No Captain,

Gefangene von Wahlbezirk zwanzig, sind Sie zu Tod auf Beachtungen des Hochverrats gegen das Vaterland, im Helfen vom jüdischen verurteilt worden... Sie haben zwei Minuten, Ihren Frieden zu machen, kann Gott mit Ihnen ist.
- Prisoners of precinct twenty, you have been condemned to death on regards of high treason against the fatherland, in helping the Jewish... You have two minutes to make your peace, may god be with you.

FALLEN Sie IN -- SCHULTER, ARME!
- FALL IN -- SHOULDER, ARMS!

Nehmen Sie ZIEL!
- Take, AIM!

FEUER!
- FIRE!

[monty]

Gero was also shaking. Not because of the wretchedness of the situation: smells, crying, injuries, but of the sheer thrill of being able to install some sort of order and fear into the hearts of the populace. Public examples were his favorite, especially when he was one of the men holding the guns. In his mind, it was their fault he was not allowed to return home. By refusing to surrender to the staggering might of Germany, the minority was forcing the ,master nation to seize their cities. Life would be so much more simple, for everybody, if they just accepted the inevitability.

As it was, they all neglected to comply, and so Gero and his comrades were forced to make life difficult. Not that they really did deserve any better then this, hnn.
The Stormtrooper waited eagerly, but uncomfortably, for the captain to stop with his inspection. Gero had been on his feet for at least seven hours, and that would not normally bother him any other day. But Poland was a filthy little slum, and with mud, slush from snow, and exhaustion from tracking fleeting Pols Gero had trouble feeling any thing more then sharp tingling in the souls of his lumpy boots, and just wanted this over and done with so he might get a small rest.

The soldier stood by, glaring into the mass of bodies that his unit had rounded up, dragging some into the streets and quietly beating into submission. This job did not require quite a lot of bravado, and simplicity was the best answer. Gero ignored the nausea in his tummy, trying to alienate the pity and shame he felt by twisting it around until it was replaced with malice. They brought this upon themselves and their families, it was not his fault they did not comply. Surely they must be disciplined. The sickness did not go away, however, and he was happy when a pair of soldiers brought one last woman into the group. The Captain should be satisfied with this.

The two soldiers he recognized very well, and noticed that they both seemed a little weary and green while the woman writhed on the ground at their feet.
Gero nodded, and waited for his orders be announced. He gave a nervous jitter when his captain spoke, telling the prisoners why they were under such brutality. Gero closed his eyes, not literally, to their faces of terrible pain, and pretended his was deft when sharp wails broke out among the ranks. Women shrieked and sobbed, whilst men shouted. It reminded him of little lambs one the way to slaughter, and the need to be sick grew stronger. His face hallowed and drained of color as he raised his firearm on the Captain's command.

Fire.
And he did so, stying to stay focused on where his bullets were flying. He say the face of a young man as he was blown back, chest split open and running, and committed it to memory for a short term span.

[∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram]

As the Captain stood abrupt and silently still, his MP40 gripped between his palms and rugged fingers, concealed beneath leather gloves, Rafael’s piercing blue eyes skimmed over the dormant strewn bodies along the cobbled path. A dead end in which no man or woman had escaped the wrath of his men’s rifles, nor’ his Submachine gun, that’d finished them off in their half pant of trying to struggle away - a couple of blooded slither marks spanning off from the slaughtered mass of bodies, the convicted men and woman’s last struggle for redemption - freedom.

Softly lowering his arms, Rafael felt the warm steel of his MP40 fall against his waist, the leather strap hauled over his shoulder taking the burden of the heavy weapon, whilst his hands clasped one another to softly rub. The air was thick with gunpowder and the smell of death had already began to protrude beneath his nostrils, as their eyes weakly began to fall dim and the blood began to fall from their wounds, rather than spurt to every thumping heartbeat; the next step wasn’t as nice, yet necessary, as the Captain twisted on his polished leather boots to gaze amongst his own men and those put beneath his command to help with the execution. A public act.

Softly draping his lips open, Rafael glared amongst the men with his fierce pearly blues “Zögern Sie nie wieder, das Ungeziefer zu schießen, Sie sind die wahren Nachkommen vom Vaterland - ist nie beschämt” he said aloud, a hot bellow of air exceeding from his breath as he spoke amongst the chill breeze gusting their way, his long coat draped across his shoulders softly shimmering against his physic and posture. “Ziehen Sie jetzt diese Körper von irgendeinem Eigentum ab - Sie dürfen irgendeine Wertsachen behalten, werden sie auf Ausstellung für diese polnischen Kapitalisten gestellt werden, zu sehen. Ich werde solchen incompliance nicht dulden, während ich hier bin. Erhalten Sie jetzt auch es” the Waffen SS Captain uttered out not so short after his first complimentary speak towards the Fatherland, his jaw tightening to the pride.

Captain Wolfram was never a forceful, nor’ hating person, but he was needed to be firm handed for these orders. Heck’ Rafael was a Panzer Division commander, but his men had no tanks for the time being, which meant they were now used as Infantry - if these simple executions kept his beloved men off the field of fire, in which they wasn’t particularly trained, then he’d so do it well, to keep his superiors happy and further more, to get his tanks quicker.

Taking a stride off a step away from the slaughtered bodies, Rafael coiled his hand up towards one of his young Waffen SS men, Gerwulf, who hesitantly jittered within his spot on where to go - to the bodies or the Captain!? Eventually, Gerwulf made quick haste in trotting over to the Captain with a sharp “Herr Hauptmann”[/b], his back straight and his eyes darting off upwards. Rafael sighed slightly, looking upon his young cadet, soldier to speak quietly. “Gerwulf, Sie kennen mich gut Soldat, aber wenn ich je sehe, dass Sie erlaubt, dass solch Ungeziefer Ihr Bein wieder begreift, werde ich Sie haben geschossen mich selbst haben. Ein Durcheinander auf, Nur Ein und mein Hals wird dafür bespannt werden -- lässt nicht es wieder geschehen.”, Gerwulf’s expression glumly posed, before a nod succumbed to his head with a nod of agreement, before watching as Rafael tapped on the arm to get back to work…

Translations:[/b]

Zögern Sie nie wieder, das Ungeziefer zu schießen, Sie sind die wahren Nachkommen vom Vaterland - ist nie beschämt.
~ Never hesitate again to shoot the vermin, you are the Fatherland's true descendants - never be ashamed.

Ziehen Sie jetzt diese Körper von irgendeinem Eigentum ab - Sie dürfen irgendeine Wertsachen behalten, werden sie auf Ausstellung für diese polnischen Kapitalisten gestellt werden, zu sehen. Ich werde solchen incompliance nicht dulden, während ich hier bin. Erhalten Sie jetzt auch es.
~ Now, strip these bodies from any belongings - you may keep any valuables, they will be put on display for these Polish capitalists to see. I will not tolerate such incompliance whilst i am here. Now get too it.

Gerwulf, Sie kennen mich gut Soldat, aber wenn ich je sehe, dass Sie erlaubt, dass solch Ungeziefer Ihr Bein wieder begreift, werde ich Sie haben geschossen mich selbst haben. Ein Durcheinander auf, Nur Ein und mein Hals wird dafür bespannt werden -- lässt nicht es wieder geschehen.
~ Gerwulf, you know me well soldier, but if i ever see you allowing such vermin to grasp your leg again, i shall have you shot myself. One mess up, just one and my neck will be strung for it -- do not let it happen again.

[monty]

Gero stayed where he was while the men moved slowly towards the mass of bodies, each being careful not to look eachother in the eyes. The guilt for them was not as strong as the fear they had for being marked as a coward. Cowards never lasted long, not in the German army, and each of them still figured they had a chance to make it back in tact. Once back home, they would be able to pretend they were able to live a normal life. They could forget that any of this would ever happen. It made Gero's brain twitch, and he hoped he would be allowed to die here. Or there. Just not now. Not wanting to be singled out, Gero did move towards the mass with a clumsy stride.

Some more eager men kicked at the bodies, displaying their victory with sick, shaky pride. This really was a treat. It was not normal to be allowed to keep the possessions they repossessed from the dead. Usually anything of value was melted down, and anything sentimental was burned. The clothing, he figured, would be dueled out among the few men that either had no problem with wearing dirty Pol clothing or were in great need. Some were bound to find a nice pair of socks, or gloves, or even a scarf. Things to keep warm without interfering. The rest would be torched, just one more symbol for the surviving curs to remember.

The bystanders cried and begged as the soldier's stripped their family members of their clothing, leaving their naked and battered bodies in wild, unnatural positions. Gero bent over a young man, one of the victims his bullets had pierced. The puncture wound was almost invisible, a neat hole to the forehead, and his face was fixed into an almost peaceful repose. Turning his head away slightly, not focusing on the young face, he removed the clothing from his body. The heat had all but vacated the fleshy white form, and he was stiffening. Guilt welled inside him. He was so young, so so young. Back home, Gero would not have even shot a dog, or a pony of such beauty that this man had once had. For he was a cute one. It mad no logical sense, then, to have to shoot a human, no matter how inferior they were.

Gero drew back quickly, sour tingling spreading around his gums and a think glaze layering his tongue. Around the boy's neck was a locket, very similar to the one he wore around his own neck. His fingers clenched, and he bent over like he would take it from his neck. But he didn't touch it, and quite suddenly, he felt dizzy all over again. The soldier stumbled backwards, blindly stepping over bodies as his knees wobbled. The crowd noticed, and the screams turned into high-pitched shouting. Some of the watchers began to move closer, as one, murder infecting every essence of their mass.

[∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram]

Rubbing his hands together, Captain Wolfram tried to reframe some of the warmth he was unabatedly losing fast - sure, he had more clothing than the soldiers around him, but Rafael truly didn’t like the cold, no matter how cold blooded he was remarked for being from the locals; he was proud to be off the SS, even if his division were an armour division, he still had responsibility none the less for doing his job. Pointing fingers, shouting at people to do it, following regulations -- it wasn’t so bad at the moment, the worse scenarios were to come, when his superiors saw better use for him and his men on the field of fire. Something he wasn’t sure his men were ready for yet.

Taking a couple of slow steps past a few of the scurrying men, who yanked and pulled at the bodies last possessions, Rafael couldn’t help but grin to himself, watching as one of the men slipped his bayonet out, slicing at the flesh around one of the fingers, trying to pride off a wedding ring. These were the instinctive strengths he wanted to see, cast iron stomachs, men of the cloth who could follow their jobs straight forwardly - particularly when a small crowd of people began to differ about their presence, watching, their toiled cries and tears begging to be contested by his temper. No, they had to watch what happens to incompliant imbeciles, men and woman alike who turned their noses up to the Nazi regime.

Coughing into his fist, the Captain observed the undertaking orders he’d given, as if making extra sure no one messed up. He wanted to keep his record clean, the war was becoming forever complicated and fingers were always being pointed at scapegoats who couldn’t do their jobs well; staggering, a soldier staggering, soon caught his devilish sight, followed by the toiling citizens who drew closer like a murder of crows. A weakling? A sheep amongst the lions? The Captain glared onwards towards the man, knowing fully well his low guard was attracting attention, unwanted revenge perhaps.

Quickly taking a step forwards, he yanked his cold metal plated weaponry up from his hip, tugging on the large cumbersome bolt sticking out from the side to stray outwards towards the crowd who bellowed backwards, an old man tripping over a flailed dead body on the ground - they certainly had gotten close. “Werden Sie zurück! Wünschen Sie bestraft zu werden!?” Rafael shouted from the pit of his gullet, drawing attention from his own men, two of them quickly trotting over with their rifles beckoned onwards towards the crowd, their brandished fingers glistening in the dim light of the street from their new rings and bracelets.

“Sie sind Schmutz! Mörder!”[/b] one of the young woman screeched out, her face full of anger, her lips spattering spit from sheer temper. Rafael’s eyes narrowed daringly as he grasped the weak man (Gero) by the arm, pulling him forwards to say “Soldat, erhält jene Frau, werden wir sie, die strafrechtlich jetzt gleich für ihre fowel Zunge verfolgt wird!” the Captain said loudly and angrily, giving a firm order towards Gero, Rafael’s deep blue eyes glaring towards him, as if testing him after watching the staggering.

Translations:[/b]

Werden Sie zurück! Wünschen Sie bestraft zu werden!?
~ Get back! Do you wish to be punished!?

Sie sind Schmutz! Mörder!
~ You're filth! Murderers!

Soldat, erhält jene Frau, werden wir sie, die strafrechtlich jetzt gleich für ihre fowel Zunge verfolgt wird!
~ Soldier, get that woman, she'll be prosecuted right now for her fowel tongue!

[monty]

Gero turned around to face the crowd as they drew closer to him, seeming to rise up in their anger as the fell around him. He glared back at them, raising his weapon when he found he was greatly out numbered. Gero took a step back, slipping on a sleek pool of blood. He wobbled, but managed to regain his stance. This did not look good, and the initial anger at their incompetence began to be replaced with fear. The shouting quickly attracted the attention of the other's, who came to his rescue with angry snarls.

Humiliation burned into his face when he realized the captain was singling him out as a weaker soldier. Had Gero not proved himself, time and again, that he was far from being a yellow coward? He had been recently transferred to this division, a short-termed thing, he had thought, but surely his superiors had had nothing less then a decent report on him. Annoyance merged with the obsession to be thought of as a dignified figure, and he looked into the captain's eyes with as much iron as he could muster in this situation. Abandoning all thoughts of sympathy, Gero strode forward, moving out of the protected pod his comrades had created, and picked the woman out of the crowd, using the end of his gun to herd the people as he needed, until she stood alone.

The woman stood, unsure of what to do, her breath coming ragged, while Gero stood frozen. Excitement burned inside his belly, but terror suffocated him. The woman looked far younger standing by herself, and he figured her at maybe 19. There was no time for him to pause. Gero could feel the burning of the Captain's hard gaze piercing the back of his scalp, and imagined the punishment he would receive should he fail to do as ordered. It would be a humiliating scar on the good name of Germany.
She was inferior. He only needed to remember that, and she still held the murderous look in her eyes. Not enough anger for her to not panic while being singled out. With the primal instincts her kind had not yet ironed out, she ignored his shouts to freeze and tried to claw her way back into the safety of her group. They avoided her as if she carried the plague.

Was he supposed to shoot her? Not time to question.
Without closing his eyes, he took one shot. The woman staggered, her messy dark hair parting as the slug punched through the back of her hair in a blossom of red and gray.

[∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram]

Toiled cries continued to beckon from the patrons of the Polish street, men and woman throwing their arms around like they could do some good against the Nazis without weaponry, Rafael found it typical and ironic the citizens would now intervene when the damage is done - when bodies lay strewn across the cold cobbled ground and people they once knew being stripped from head to toe off their belongings; people thought the belongings were used for the Nazi’s welfare, like extra coats, scarves, boots perhaps? No, The Captain saw it as a quicker way to humiliate and mess with the minds of other’s and when saving fuel for the tanks, it was also a quick method of decomposing the bodies, a great feast for the nocturnal creatures.

After tugging the weary male forwards a little and giving him a strict vocal order to grab the woman that dared to protest, the man looked eagerly and aggressively towards Rafael, who couldn’t help but grin. His hands idly sliding along the metal grasps to his MP40, he patiently watched as the soldier suddenly pushed off his feet, breaking from the mould of the other SS soldiers who waved their rifles outwards towards the crowd, causing the locals to stagger back every now and again, holding their hands up with another onslaught of rants and raves towards the men; like his men were listening…

Slowly taking a step forwards, the Captain narrowed his eyes as the woman began to in comply with the soldier’s order to freeze, to do as she was told, until suddenly, a brisk run took to her stride and the crowd parted like the heavenly seas, a few people falling backwards in the process as if they knew what was coming next - CRACK!, the soldier had fired his rifle, blood spattering amongst a couple of nearby children that stayed towards the back of the crowd, in an effort to not get squashed, their cries screeching like wildfire amongst the shock stricken and angry adults who hesitantly stood within their place, debating on whether to attack or back down.

Glancing around slowly, the Captain began to feel a little eerie about the situation, as more and more random people began to approach the scene, before his attention faced onwards towards the man he’d ordered to retrieve the woman, but rather prosecuted her himself. “Dort! Sie sehen Leute, haben Ihre Zungen dies auf sich gebracht. Hat Sie keine Schande!?” the blue sparkly eyed captain said aloud, his throat a little hoarse from the roused voice he’d been using, his gloved hand slowly taking off his Officer’s hat to wipe clean vaguely, before twisting back down against his skull to turn sideways to a few of his men dragging the bodies into a pile. “Verbrennen Sie sie schon, bevor wir landen, schießend mehr” he said more softer, yet still firmly towards a few of his men, who nodded and quickly darted off towards a truck nearby, holding some fuel.

Looking over towards the man that’d shot the woman, he grinned widely and uttered out with a gesture of his hand for the man to approach him “Sie - Soldat. Was ist Ihr Name? Sie sind von meiner Einrichtung nicht auseinander, nicht wahr?” he asked curiously, his eyes venturing off towards the crowd slightly as he watched them glare evilly towards them, just about restraining themselves from making anymore trouble.


Translations:[/b]

Dort! Sie sehen Leute, haben Ihre Zungen dies auf sich gebracht. Hat Sie keine Schande!?
~ There! You see people, your tongues have brought this upon yourself. Have you no shame!?

Verbrennen Sie sie schon, bevor wir landen, schießend mehr.
~ Burn them already, before we end up shooting more.

Sie - Soldat. Was ist Ihr Name? Sie sind von meiner Einrichtung nicht auseinander, nicht wahr?
~ You - Soldier. What is your name? You aren't apart of my establishment, are you?

[monty]

The soldier eyes the bodies with distaste, his face frozen for a moment, before she -and the other bodies- were tossed into a pile ontop of eachother like fire logs. The crowd was humming violently, but their enraged calling had died into a beaten murmur. The riot mind was splitting up, creating individual, lost Polish citizens rather then one mob out for vendetta. Individuals crumbled into themselves, weeping openly.

"Soldat Gero Ansgar, herr. Ich habe gerade erst zugewiesen wurde unter Ihrem Kommando." Gero found it strange that the Captain had not been informed of this yet. It was possible that in the confusion of trying to quell the rioting that he had forgotten, or that maybe Gero wasn't supposed to be here. Why hadn’t he been introduced? Doubt started to stab at his belly, and behind him he could hear the crowd start to disagree again, followed by the pungent smell of damp cloths and burning flesh. His internal body, once again, started to disagree with him, and Gero tried to breath out of the corners of his mouth. Sour smoke wafted in, and the corners of his jaw-line went green. Gero closed his eyes as his heart-beat dramatically increased and the pressure flooded into his head, threatening to split it open down the middle. But he must not act so, not in front of this Captain, who had already noticed how squeamish he had become.

God!
Why did it have to be this way today? His increasing repulsion to the carnage and public examples he had once so loved was worrying him. Rather then the months of repetition making him stronger, they had instead slowly creating a weak spot in his mind. Gero was unsure how much more he could take.

Gero put on a hard face, the best he could manage without passing out, and waited to be dismissed. Or verbally punished. And humiliated.

Translations. Love: Google

-Soldat Gero Ansgar, herr. Ich habe gerade erst zugewiesen wurde unter Ihrem Kommando
-Private Gero Ansgar, sir. I have only just been assigned under your command

[∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram]

OOC: If you wish to join my division, you’re more than welcome too. =]

Standing quite waywardly for a moment, the Captain couldn’t help but drift off into a slight daydream, his posture beckoning slightly and his body relaxing. It was a strange a moment; a motley crowd of blood thirsty locals, rebelling against the regime a mere stone’s throw away - with not to mention burning carcasses choking the senses, yet Captain Wolfram remained prosper and calm for a brief moment. His lavish eyelashes fluttered and the smug grin he’d been so keen to keep stamped across his face momentarily faded, it was almost like he’d left his body temporarily, to seek a better place within the back of his mind? Away from the filth and vermin surrounding his every sense and physical demeanour.

Perhaps the Captain had enough? That was most likely one of the questions that could be raised to his temporarily disarray and negligence to the current surroundings, seeming nothing more than a half interested kitten to what a bath-full of water felt like, but the strange demeanour didn’t last long, as the male he questioned spoke and broke the dazzled spell in which the Captain had been lured beneath, a hardy cough bellowing from his throat as he began to realise the pungent smell and smoke dwelling around them, his eyes watering ever so slightly to the stinging sensation of the fumes burning his eyelids; where had the Captain gone for a few minutes?

Glaring upon the soldier before him, as if he’d just awoken him from a deep sleep, Rafael’s eyes made a keen note of the man’s face, feeling a little conspicuous to the man’s presence. As far as he was informed, he hadn’t any new recruits beneath his growing foundation of the “Das Reich!” division, sure, his newly appointed Sergeant had earned the division a healthy in-trail of extra soldiers, but they’d all met him and Captain Wolfram had a knack’ for remembering faces. He didn’t dare raise the quarry that he could be wrong, in Rafael’s eyes, he was never wrong -- more so admitting such a theory to a mere soldier.

“Hmm, ist jenes so?” the Captain said quietly, as his nimble gloved fingers pulled out a handkerchief from one of his inside pockets, softly holding it up against his nostrils and mouth, vaguely turning to look onwards towards the erupting fire. A beautiful sight none the less. “Lassen Sie mich Sie ein Ding, fragen,” Rafael uttered out beneath the clean soft rag clutched against his mouth, only letting a small gap appear between the two as he spoke, facing the man once again with that narrow brow and the stern perk to his cheekbones. “Sind Sie Mann oder Deutsch? Es gibt einen bedeutsamen Unterschied, Soldat” said the Captain quite calmly, yet piercingly, as he stared upon the man who stood somewhat queasily, yet had the passion to murder a young woman who dared to detest their ways.

Watching the man quietly for any repose of an answer, Rafael’s grin slowly raised beneath he concealment of the rag against his face. Shrugging slightly, he twisted upon his heels to reel his gaze off wards onto the busy patrons beneath his division, their succulent dark uniforms distinguishing their SS superiority. “Wenn Ihr Magen die mannigfaltige Arbeit nicht nehmen kann, die wir machen, würde ich eine Änderung in Uniform vorschlagen. Wir sind nicht der Gestapo, aber es gibt kleinen Unterschied sowieso” and with that, the Captain dropped the hankerchief away from his mouth to smirk, a few curious stares from the fellow soldiers spiralling off their way, it wasn’t every day the Captain made time to talk to a subordinate - a soldier.


Translations:[/b]

Hmm, ist jenes so?
~ Hmm, is that so?

Lassen Sie mich Sie ein Ding, fragen
~ Let me ask you one thing,

Sind Sie Mann oder Deutsch? Es gibt einen bedeutsamen Unterschied, Soldat.
~ Are you man or German? There is a significant difference, soldier.

Wenn Ihr Magen die mannigfaltige Arbeit nicht nehmen kann, die wir machen, würde ich eine Änderung in Uniform vorschlagen. Wir sind nicht der Gestapo, aber es gibt kleinen Unterschied sowieso.
~ If your stomach can not take the diverse work we do, i'd suggest a change in uniform. We aren't the Gestapo, but there is little difference anyway.

[monty]

[ooc]Sure, Gero will join. He dun really like Mr. Wolfram, though Dx

Gero went ridged at the other man's accusations, and his nose wrinkled very quickly.

How dare he? Gero had more then proved many times over that he was fit to wear the dingy but dignified uniform. Gero, along with many others like himself, preformed with unmarked honor and bravery under the most stressful conditions. It wasn't really brave when he was made to act as an executioner, but that was another duty he did with humble knowledge of what must be done. It was the dauntless repetition, the continuous slaughter and disease he faced every day that made his stomach cloudy.

And then, comparing him to the Gestapo! Gero was a Stormtrooper, a soldier to the mighty German army, not a mindless nazi, who have it easy in the privileges of der Führer and the homeland. The soldier stood there, allowing the smoke to billow around him with the sour smell that he could no longer describe, and wondered if he should confront the captain.
He figured that would just made it all the more worse; don't want to belligerent. And transfers were out of the question. So Gero watched, as the arrogant Captain moved off, harboring no compassion for a new recruit or his comrades, but worrying more about how he himself might be presented before the other military heads.

Gero twitched back into reality, another burst of sorrow breaking into his thoughts, and quickly the man scuttled back into his division. There would surely be other times to prove himself to this new captain of his. He was not particularly starved for the respect of the character he thought he saw in Wolfram, so for now, Gero would do as he always did. Head up. Arms ready. And jaw clenched.

[∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram]

OOC: Ah - Wolfram’s just stubborn, he never shows compassion or respect to the men, unless they truly deserve it. Makes him all the more powerful, when people try to earn it… He’s just a tough guy, mainly a demeanour he sustains.

Um - Also, I really don’t know what to write. Gero sort off didn’t answer and walked away, lol. So if you wanted to start another RP, just say. Seems pretty much finished now.

IC:
The male’s cringe, distaste for such words the Captain spoke repelled like a bad insecticide repellent he’d once smelt when he was younger; Goat’s urine, decaying milk, oh his fellow farm-land neighbours tried anything to keep slugs and insects from eating the crops, but ironically enough, the fowl stench stopped the local petty thieves from nabbing a cabbage or two. Now the man before him repelled a persona to be reckoned with, something Captain Wolfram couldn’t help but smugly grin about.

New recruits were never faired well beneath his wing to start with, Rafael always had a distrust in new people, but alike time healing all wounds, he knew he’d either earn their trust later or spell a few words to a quick burial of their’s - followed up a signature on a sheet of paper stating they died in valour for the fatherland. No, Rafael was the man who found no respect to try and find in those who didn’t look like they’d last long, for that man would be a chink in his armour, a mistake he’d fallen too prior a good few times. Scars, mental wounds, for such a divine face Rafael looked innocent to the hand of war, but in true honesty still sewed the wounds of his mistakes… Befriended people he’d lost… To trusting those unworthy.

Softly, his fingers relished the feeling of the cloth against his skin, before cascading it to the ground; his eyes slithering off towards the male who reluctantly stood within the Captain’s presence, before hastily running off without answer to the Captain’s question. A small grin slid across his face and the Captain beckoned a shrug from his shoulders, full hardily bellowing out a sigh to glance around himself. He would soon see if the man lasted the test of time, as his thoughts trailed off towards the back of his mind, taking another twist upon his fine polished heels to briskly walk, watching as the men finished up the job.

[monty]

[ooc] Yeah...totally read that post wrong. Thought Wolfram turned his back and stalked off xD
Tee hee.
And I would love to post more w/ these two. It's fun to post when my characters don't like the characters he's playing with, especially if they are insulting him like Wolfie is. Would you like more neutral posting or maybe something where there might be conflict w/ the Allies?

[bic]

Gero did soldier things until his poorly-kept hair was plastered to the side of his face, grimy with smoke and sweat. His eyes watered and his nose ran as his mucus membranes flooded in an attempt to guard against the terrible smells and black char he was working with.

Soon the fire was dead, and Gero's comrades were starting to fall back, disappearing into the cities to make sure all was well before regrouping. The last remains of ask and smoke rose slowly from the mangled mass of unrecognizable bodies, the black mixing with the drying blood of the gods in the sky. Gero snuffled his nose and suppressed a shiver, quietly following suite and returning to the belly of the small village.

[∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram]

OOC: Awwh don't take Wolfram the wrong way, he's not insulting Gero. Wolfram just finds little trust in those he doesn't know, but it does make it more interesting when they're both voids.

I'm sure they'll be good pal's soon enough. Fancy planning something? I'm happy with either Hostile or Neutral. Feel free to start something, if not, i'm sure i'll find the time to make a thread - thrilling either way.

Sorry if this is spam staff.

[monty]

[ooc]Well, Gero finds every little thing insulting, you know.

So sure, let's do something^^ Let me know if you're going to join a thread that Gero can involve himself with, or we could create one if our own. Something hostile, prolly so others can get involved. You wanna start or shall I? Where, when, why...? hehe

[∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram]

OOC: We can create one of our own. You're more than welcome to start it, i'm not online long, otherwise i'll try and make something soon for us.

Ideally, I think it should be Neutral, considering i may be dragged into an occuring hostile thread very soon and after that, i'm planning on making one of my own. So I think something Neutral; yet VERY thrilling is called for? Not sure i can be in two hostile threads at once, due to inconsistancy.

So you can make something when you're ready or wait for me.