Reflection (Revien)

[William Luther]

Country: Algeria
Current Time: 1632
Weather Conditions: Too bloody hot!

Luther sat on the chair, a rather comfortable one at that. His fingers ran along the dogtags suspended between his fingers. For the umpteenth time that day, he ran his fingers along the engraved name. Rhys Bevan. He let a satisfied smile play on his face, as the depth of what he had committed sunk in. He was dead. Bevan was dead.

Well, one of them atleast. In his time at The Royal Welsh Fusilier’s Prison as a captive, he had learnt the names of several prominent members. Rhys Bevan, his brother David, and their cousin Rhodri Williams. An annoying little shit called Tom Edwards had made his presence known, and that was a good enough reason. They would all be dead soon enough, at Luther’s hands or not, he didn’t care, apart from one case. He had Bevan’s dogtags, and he wanted the complete collection.

He spun the dogtags so they landed in his palm. Later, he would have to find McMillan, from what he had heard, Rhys Bevan had been in his division before the soldier came over here. It would be interesting to see how they reacted. To be sure, it was a loss to the Allies, to very talented soldiers being torn away from their ranks. There would be more to fill their places, of course, but everyone killed was one less pain the arse.

He slipped the dogtags into his pocket, zipping it up. The battle hadn’t been the biggest success. The plan had been reasonably simple, have the Privates hold the main base while Luther sealed the flank, killing Bevan in the process, but, Bevan was a sly bastard. Using the flare gun to blind him, genius!

Luther reached down and picked up his StG44, pulling the brown leather strap up, and slipping it over his shoulder, hanging the gun on his back as he stood up. He stretched out his arms and legs, he’d been in the chair, reflecting for the best part of an hour, but now it was time to get outside, into the bitch of the African sun.

He pushed open the flap of the tent, and squinted into the sunlight. Reaching into another pocket on his short-sleeved tunic, he pulled out a pair of sunglasses and affixed them onto his head. Much better.

Ahead, Marlon Revien, a French soldier that had joined the SS was just stood loitering. He would make good enough conversation for now; perhaps he might join Luther for a run later, or a spot of shooting. William was due to undergo a rather arduous extended training program soon, to turn him into one of the most elite soldier out there, he couldn’t help but feel he needed it for what was going in to, the hunt for David Bevan. He began walking over, with a cheery ”Guten Tag.” It would be hard to bring the SS-man’s spirit down today.

[revien]

Marlon Revien wiped the sweat from his brow, uncomfortable in the unrelentless heat that Africa seemed intent on forcing upon him. The heat was having an affect on his concentration and Revien needed to think in peace. Away from the idiots that made up the SS and the blasted sun, scorching his back from her vantage point in the sapphire sky.

The Frenchman was not a soldier. If you stayed in the army for too long, you died, that was a given. Revien would not die. He was a survivor. That was what he was best at; surviving. Over the years, he must have switched his alleigances countless times from the Allies to the Axis forces and back again, if things got too dangerous or uncomfortable for him. The commanders were none the wiser. Perhaps he wasn't the best fighter but he was a first class lier and backstabber. He had to be if he wanted to survive the war that, whilst generally helpful for feigning deaths or fleeing from rivals, was starting to get on his nerves.

He noticed a man walking up to him, a man he knew vaguely. William Luther. He was superior to him, he knew that much, and superiority meant respect. Revien knew that at least. Disrespect to your superiors was never wise. Even those on your own side could be as deadly to you as those on the opposite. The Frenchman nodded respectfully but said nothing, waiting to recieve orders, information or just to do some...chatting. Revien rarely chatted. It didn't bide well for one of the deadliest men in Europe to spend his time in mild conversation.

[William Luther]

Luther looked at the Frenchman. The insolent little git just looked at him, nodding. No ‘Heil’, no ‘Guten Tag’, just a nod. Luther curled his lip, annoyed. ” Hören Sie hier, Frenchie. Wenn jemand meiner Reihen kommt, um Sie anzureden, ist das, und Manieren üblich, um sie zurück zu richten. Ich weiß nicht, was Sie französische Bastarde tun, aber Sie unter dem Befehl Deutschlands sind, und Sie unserem Protokoll folgen werden. Verstanden?”

With a push, he knocked the Frog to the ground. ” Wollen wir das wieder wie versuchen? Guten Morgen, Unterscharführer” He stood over him, and with a flick of his wrist, spun his Assault Rifle back around to his hands, and tapped the magazine as he looked at the Frenchman. Being part of the Waffen-SS gave you an automatic right to be a bit of an evil bastard, and Luther certainly enjoyed that right

He slipped one hand from his rifle into his tunic pocket and picked out a pair of keys, the ones to the new Halftrack he had secured. It was good fun, so perhaps if the Frenchman learnt some manners; he could come for a ride. Luther liked being evil, but he also wanted men under his command to respect him. Not so much to like him, but to respect his commands and to follow them and trust them in the battlefield.

Translations

[/u][/center]

Hören Sie hier, Frenchie. Wenn jemand meiner Reihen kommt, um Sie anzureden, ist das, und Manieren üblich, um sie zurück zu richten. Ich weiß nicht, was Sie französische Bastarde tun, aber Sie unter dem Befehl Deutschlands sind, und Sie unserem Protokoll folgen werden. Verstanden? - Listen here, Frenchie. When somebody of my ranks comes over to address you, it is customary, and manners to address them back. I don't know what you French bastards do, but you're under the command of Germany, and you will follow our protocol. Understood?

Wollen wir das wieder wie versuchen? Guten Morgen, Unterscharführer - Let's try that again, eh? Good Morning, Unterscharführer

[revien]

Revien looked up from the grating floor, an eyebrow raised, a half-hidden look of smugness on his face. Apparently displays of brute strength were all the rage now, he mused. From the looks of the Sturmscharführer, he could use a few slivers of brain to even himself out a bit. No matter. If the man crossed him again, perhaps the contents of his cranium would be displayed to him more publicly. He smirked to himself. He would look forward to that day.

The Frenchman rose to his feet lithely and dusted himself down with as much indifference as he could muster. Of course he knew the man. William Luther. The Sturmscharführer who had managed to get an entire double detatchement annhillated by an enemy half the size and had even failed to retrieve intelligence about the nearby Allied enbankement from the crushed foe. That had caused something of a shitstorm from high command and no mistake. Revien wouldn't have liked to been in Luther's position when he had returned to the camp. But then, he thought darkly, he would never want to be in Luther's position, the ugly, braindead bastard...

Revien was not a charitable man when insulted...

He would not speak up of course; he had no intention of giving reason for the superior NCO to take another pop at him. This didn't mean, however, that he would respect him one iota.

"Ich entschuldige mich, Sturmscharführer, aber ich kann nicht sprechen Deutsch," he said simply.

Translation
Ich entschuldige mich, Herr Sturmscharführer, aber ich kann nicht sprechen Deutsch
- Apologies, Herr Sturmscharführer, but I cannot speak German.

[William Luther]

As the Frenchman rose to his feet, Luther couldn’t help but smirk slightly. The soldier had spirit! It reminded Luther a bit of when he was younger, a new entrant into the army of Nazi Germany, angry, resilient, and ready to take a swing at anybody that looked at him the wrong way.

Luther took a step backwards and looked the man up and down. He appeared strong, and a good fighter. Luther churned things over in his mind. Perhaps. The French did have a history with this sort of thing. ” Warum glaube ich das nicht? Hören Sie jetzt. Sie Französisch, Sie mögen die Briten, ein bestimmtes Hundert Jahr-Krieg nicht, wenn ich verwechselt werde? Und der Waliser war einige der zähsten dort mit ihren Langbögen?” He didn’t wait for an answer, simply raising his blond eyebrows, ” Ich erlege eine bestimmte Gruppe von Welshmen, Ex-Mitglieder des Königlichen walisischen Fussiliers. Ich brauche einen stellvertretenden. Jemand ich kann truse, aber weiß ich ist dabei, Hölle dem Feind zu geben. Wenn das ist, wie Sie zum Gefährten Nazi handeln, dann werde ich mich für das Sehen interessieren, wie Sie zu Ihren Feinden leisten.”

He indicated for the man to follow on as he began walking along the dirt track towards where the LAV’s were parked, and the Halftrack Luther used. ” Würden Sie sich für das Sehen von mir interessieren, und meine Männer arbeiten zusammen, sehen, ob Sie ein Teil davon sein wollen? Ich habe eine bestimmte Gruppe von Leuten, die ich persönlich töten will, und ich brauche jemanden anderen, dem ich vertrauen kann, um auf die anderen aufmerksam zu beobachten, die mit dem Körper des Feinds kämpfen. Es gibt etwas über Sie ich, mag Revien.”

Translations[/u]

Warum glaube ich das nicht? Hören Sie jetzt. Sie Französisch, Sie mögen die Briten, ein bestimmtes Hundert Jahr-Krieg nicht, wenn ich verwechselt werde? Und der Waliser war einige der zähsten dort mit ihren Langbögen? - Why don't I believe that? Now listen. You French, you don't like the British, a certain Hundred Years War, unless I'm mistaken? And the Welsh were some of the toughest out there with their longbows?

Ich erlege eine bestimmte Gruppe von Welshmen, Ex-Mitglieder des Königlichen walisischen Fussiliers. Ich brauche einen stellvertretenden. Jemand ich kann truse, aber weiß ich ist dabei, Hölle dem Feind zu geben. Wenn das ist, wie Sie zum Gefährten Nazi handeln, dann werde ich mich für das Sehen interessieren, wie Sie zu Ihren Feinden leisten. - I am hunting down a certain group of Welshmen, ex-members of the Royal Welsh Fussiliers. I need a second in command. Somebody I can truse, but I know is going to be giving hell to the enemy. If this is how you act towards fellow Nazi's, then I'll be interested in seeing how you perform towards your enemies.

Würden Sie sich für das Sehen von mir interessieren, und meine Männer arbeiten zusammen, sehen, ob Sie ein Teil davon sein wollen? Ich habe eine bestimmte Gruppe von Leuten, die ich persönlich töten will, und ich brauche jemanden anderen, dem ich vertrauen kann, um auf die anderen aufmerksam zu beobachten, die mit dem Körper des Feinds kämpfen. Es gibt etwas über Sie ich, mag Revien. - Would you be interested in seeing me and my men work together, see if you want to be part of this? I have a certain group of people I want to kill personally, and I need somebody else who I can trust to keep an eye on the others fighting the body of the enemy. There's something about you I like, Revien.