The French Resistance...

[☠ Kyle Steinbeck]

Country:[/b] Occupied France, Paris.
Time:[/b] 1845hrs
Weather:[/b] Raining, heavy downpour.

OOC: Open for one or two members to join. No more. Thank you!


France had been under German rule for a while now and yet the sign of war was worse than before, when the pesky French and British put up a stiff resistance, the scars of Dunkirk were nothing compared to what was left within it’s wake and SS-Obersturmführer Steinbeck found himself cringing from within, by merely walking the narrow streets where officers alike himself befell to the French resistance. Those damned partisans incurred more wealthy casualties than the French and British had ever rejoiced in achieving throughout the first few years of the war; Already, French newspapers slurred the dirty slogans of higher anarchy of the Reich being assassinated in restaurants and bars; Thankfully, those dim-wits meant nothing to the war effort, figure heads with pockets of gold, no, their loss meant nothing.

Turning a narrow corner, SS-Obersturmführer Steinbeck adjusted his MP40 hanging against his front, becoming a little cautious as he noticed a slouched woman dead ahead, towards the end of the narrow street he was wandering down. Her hair was in thick clumps, cascaded about her body and her sobbing cries were eerie, as the vague noises she made echoed along the silent street, where only the pattering of the rain sounded against the cobbled pavement and parked automobiles.

Kyle’s blue eyes shimmered in the dying daylight, as he continued to walk, dragging his leather over-coat tightly across his torso, shedding a concealed shiver from beneath the garments of his clothing and uniform. “Sie, französische Frau, sprechen Deutsch?” Kyle inquired with a firm tone, keeping his distance, yet trying to see her face through the downpour and dim lighting. The young woman merely snapped a look and fell back from off her knees, scooting against the curb and gutter, almost frightened to death - SS-Obersturmführer Steinbeck couldn’t blame her, the black officer’s hat with the TotenKopf (Death’s head) embellished at the front, along with the daunting collar-tabs and long black leather coat. Who wouldn’t be scared?

The partially bald woman glared at the officer, her eyelids twitching as the rain beat down against her face. SS-Obersturmführer Steinbeck felt sorry for her, particularly when he noticed she’d been tattooed with a swastika across her forehead. He’d heard stories of the French wreaking justice of their own upon those connected with any German - mainly whores or rape victims, either way, it was only meant to be talk and a rumour, that the French abandoned their own in such a way. Quite obviously, it was not and before him laid one of those victims.

Standing there, SS-Obersturmführer Steinbeck would not have hesitated to hand the poor woman his coat and ferry her to shelter, but now, the SS Officer found himself re-thinking of his options. He was not a soldier and neither was he anyway inclined to be thoughtless, non-human, but something had changed in Kyle’s heart, the peaceful researcher into the Aryan race was gradually losing himself to the deepest trait most begrudged Germans bore amongst themselves; Hatred. Slowly, his hand arose to his hip and his nimble fingers unlatched the holster to his Lugar, gradually drawing it out, his eyes laid bare upon the tattered woman before him, almost shrieking as she noticed the sidearm being slithered from out of the leather confines of it’s holster.

“Shhh… Shhhh….” he murmured stiffly, as if it would shut the woman up from making such cowardice noises from the gutter. Raising his arm slowly, he felt the rain lisp about the Lugar and trail across the soft fabric to his leather jacket, before; Bang! he pulled the trigger and watched the French woman slump within her spot almost instantly. There was nothing no-one could do for her now, the French had abandoned her, the Germans would have abused her even more, her life was practically over and Kyle had no option, other than to put her out of her misery. If the chill of death from the rain didn’t claim her by nightfall, someone else certainly would have and granted, it would not have been a quick one.

Suddenly, a pattering of footsteps echoed from nearby in the street and SS-Obersturmführer Steinbeck swivelled upon the heels of his jackboots to fetch a glance off into the general direction of where it was coming from. The street lamps had not lit up yet and worse still, the rain made things harder to sought a sight through. Being safe than sorry, SS-Obersturmführer Steinbeck holstered his Lugar and hurriedly moved behind a nearby skirting of wall, no taller than three foot. Dragging his MP40 up to rest against the rugged wet plain of the wall, he awaited patiently for whomever it was approaching the noise of his gunshot to appear through the fog of dark and rain; It was known that the French Resistance usually reacted to situations like this, as if to prevent anymore of their beloved brethren’s deaths or better still, nap a good kill, as most of the time, the person doing the shooting was primarily a wealthy ranked person.


Translations:[/b]

Sie, französische Frau, sprechen German?
- You, French woman, speak German?

[fredlebel]

It had been a day of celebration for Fred Lebel and his family. 2 days ago he had been in Berlin, finishing the contract to have all of Lebel Instruments D'agriculture’s European factories to begin working completely for the German War Machine. He had received flak from a few foreign subsidiaries on this, but he was lucky enough that the Germans hadn’t already taken complete control of his business and left him to rot away in one of his few remaining chateaus before they turn that into another officer retreat. Yes, it was a day for celebration indeed.
But the day was over and so was the party, the war rationed coffee was drank and the guests had to leave the Lebels’ Paris apartment before they were caught out after curfew. One of the partygoers, the German Erwin Stempf, was in no state to drive or even walk himself home, so Fred took it upon himself to drive him to his own apartment.

The red Mercedes-Benz 170 slid into the empty parking space outside of Erwin’s apartment. Fred parked and partly opened his door to let him unfold an umbrella. He then stepped out onto the sidewalk and moved to open the back door, but Erwin quickly popped out of the sedan and flopped underneath Fred’s umbrella, holding onto Fred’s tuxedo to steady his drunken legs. Slowly Fred maneuvered him to the apartment’s doorway. Erwin got out his key and stuck it in the lock, making it after a few tries. The rain had done him some good and it looked like he could stand on his own feet so Fred stepped back and turned to his still running car.

“Can you manage it?” Fred asked Erwin as he shut the Mercedes’ back door and started to get in the front, “I should really be getting back to Hilda, before I get caught after the curfew.” Although they both knew each other’s maiden languages, Fred thought German was an ugly, brutish speak, and Erwin thought French was for limp wrists, so usually they spoke English to each other.
Erwin sluggishly replied to the question, “Vas? Ja… yah. Give sis a kiss for me.”He entered his apartment and slammed the door, but Fred did not notice this as he shut his door and continued to speak, “On second thought I should stay here, I wouldn’t want to get caught by a patrol, I’m not a card carrying Na…”

Fred instantly ducked as a single shot echoed from a nearby alleyway. He looked up at the alley, then back at the apartment, Erwin was already inside, and he would have been too drunk to hear it. For a moment Fred juggled in his mind whether or not to investigate. His stance of minding his own business had helped him survive a Depression and 2 World Wars, but curiosity and the brandy from earlier helped tip the balance the other way, and he slowly walked towards the alley, holding his umbrella with a stiff grip, in case he needed to use it as a weapon.

“N'importe qui en bas là?” Fred called out from the street. He couldn’t see any thing beyond a meter, it was getting dark and then there was rain, so he slowly stepped off the sidewalk and moved into the alleyway. He saw something, a body.
“Vous sont bien ?” Fred rushed over it and bent down as best as his aging back could. It was a woman, and by the looks of her butchered hair and the swastikas carved into her flesh she had been with a German, possibly even had his child. She was dead, a single bullet wound to the chest.

Fred thought about this. Someone had just killed a Collaborator. Fred was a Collaborator, and with his dozens of factories now using labor from the prison camps to produce weapons of war for Germany, he was a much better target then a loose woman.
Quickly Fred started to back away, back into the street, his eyes darting out from the umbrella for any sign that soon he would end up just like that whore.

-Translations-
“N'importe qui en bas là?”
“Anyone down here?”

“Vous sont bien?”
“Are you alright?”

[☠ Kyle Steinbeck]

Closing his eyes momentarily, SS-Obersturmführer Steinbeck ran one of his gloved hands across the plain of his face, wiping a few droplets of spattered rain away from his pale skin; His legs shifting beneath his body a little, as the tight jackboots he was wearing cut into the calves of his legs from crouching behind such a low enforcement of wall. Peering over the short-wall cautiously, with his silver MP40 barrel resting against the top of the damp wall, he readied himself for the worse, as his pearly blue eyes narrowed into slits and his body shuffled closer to the blunt hard stock of his MP40, with his shoulder pushing into it for reinforcement to steady the kickback.

As the SS-Officer laid dormant behind the dank and dark skirting of wall, concealed merely by the dark and heavy downpour, the only noticeable factor that gave him away, was the soft pattering of rain that beat against the flat surface of his officer’s hat and leather coat. Otherwise, he was grimly concealed, a predator more than capable of snagging it’s prey within a breath’s instant from out of nowhere.

Noticing a silhouette emerge from fogged midst of dying daylight and rain, the SS-Obersturmführer ever so slowly reached outwards to clunk back the bolt upon the stock of his MP40, loading the chamber silently with a simple Click. Slithering his gloved hand back down the frame of his MP40 resting against the brick wall, he stabilized a rough grip against the weaponry and slanted his cheekbone down to rest against the cold steel; His baby blue eye lining up with the iron-sights, whilst his hands subliminally inched the weaponry into the general direction of the moving target that quickly approached - by now, SS-Obersturmführer Steinbeck could make out a umbrella and more casual coloured pigments of clothing through the dark, rather than the musk uniform colours or tattered waistcoats the damned French resistance seemed to adore wearing. It was ironically taught in a small briefing to the German armed forces who allocated into Paris or central France, that most French Resistance fighters and partisans wore loose waistcoats for their pockets. In other words, a civilian means of webbing for their equipment, such as; Grenades, ammunition and tools. Ironic really.

As the person stumbled to a halt a few mere yards before him, SS-Obersturmführer Steinbeck glared intensely through the shadows, trying to fathom out whether the male was of any stature or authority. He didn’t seem to look like a French policeman, neither was he in any fit shape or form of a soldier; Even more crudely, he didn’t seem to be the type of rebellious French fighter from their damned resistance. No, the man before him must have been nothing but a bystander, a curious being who overheard the gunshot - as the SS-Obersturmführer noted the man’s inquisitive look over the daunting dead body strewn across the cobbled street.

All of a sudden, the male became apparent to the dangers and worriedly phased looks about himself, before attempting to turn tail and escape the crime-scene unnoticed. Springing up from out of the shadows and behind the wall, SS-Obersturmführer Steinbeck darted out from behind the low-rise wall and strafed his cumbersome weaponry outwards from against his stomach and hip, pointing the barrel off towards the gentleman. “Halten Sie AN! Bewegen Sie sich nicht!” he bellowed out in a hardened tone, his baby blue eyes looking almost merciless from behind the SS-hat’s low visor, oozing droplets of rain in their dozens from the heavy downpour. “Behalten Sie Ihre Hände, wo ich sie sehen und mir ins Gesicht sehen kann! Sind Sie französisch? Sprechen Sie German!? Oder sind ich, meinen Atem vergeudend…” he said in a hardened tone once again, trying to seem intimidating, but in all fairness, Kyle was far from being a war mongrel or soldier - to those who knew him, if they witnessed him acting in such a manner as he was now, they would have laughed and taken it all in gest’ of a joke.

Cautiously, the SS-Officer took a few steps closer, his weaponry gripped tightly between his two hands, firmly staying pointed upon the gentleman before him, awaiting for a response to his questions. Kyle was just being very uptight about the matter; It wasn’t every day you had someone stumble across a murder you committed - out of kindness? Neither did it seem logical to be off-guard in such a reported hostile place, late in the evening. No, he was being cautious for a reason and Kyle never judged a book by it’s cover, so whether the man before him was nothing but a child or elderly woman, he’d always have aroused suspicions.


Translations:[/b]

Halten Sie AN! Bewegen Sie sich nicht!
- STOP! Don’t move!

Behalten Sie Ihre Hände, wo ich sie sehen und mir ins Gesicht sehen kann! Sind Sie französisch? Sprechen Sie German!? Oder sind ich, meinen Atem vergeudend…
- Keep your hands where I can see them and face me! Are you French? Speak German!? Or am I wasting my breath...

[fredlebel]

((Sorry for the delay, last week myself and my computer were assaulted with viruses.))

As he sped towards the street, Fred hoped that whoever had shot the woman was long gone, but tonight he was not that lucky.

“Halten Sie AN! Bewegen Sie sich nicht!” An unseen voiced shouted from behind Fred. He froze and thought about what sort of man could be behind the voice. He had spoken in German, but why? Why would a German shoot a collaborator? Did some German officer have loose lips while in the arms of his French lover and after the Resistance attacked her he needed to dispose of her before she talked? If that was the case he’ll have no issue with doing the same to Fred, so the Frenchman would have to tread lightly.

The German shouted again “Behalten Sie Ihre Hände, wo ich sie sehen und mir ins Gesicht sehen kann! Sind Sie französisch? Sprechen Sie German!? Oder sind ich, meinen Atem vergeudend…”

Fred did as he was told and slowly stuck his free out from the umbrella and slowly turned around. His assaulter was a German, and although it was too dark and dreary in this alley to see his exact rank, his black uniform was obviously SS. An SS officer with an MP-40 trained on the unlucky Frenchman. Perhaps Fred was wrong, he had heard a single shot, and that would be difficult with a machinegun. Fred was sure they could only fire in bursts, so that gun must not have killed the woman. Perhaps this German had heard the shot too, and when he investigated he found the Frenchman standing over the body.
Fred was somewhat relieved, at least now the German wouldn’t just shoot him here on the street, at worst he’ll take him into custody, but once they learn that he has no gun and everything Lebel Instruments D'agriculture has began to do for the German war effort he’ll probably be left go.
Hopefully.

Fred gave the man a stiff salute and a “Heil Hitler, monsieur,” before answering the soldier’s questions in rushed German, “Ich bin französisch, und ja ich spreche Deutsch, Herr….” The man had stepped closer, and Fred could now see that he was an Obersturmführer. “Herr Obersturmführer. Ich bin froh Sie sind erschienen deshalb dieses hat gefoltert Frau des Mörders könnte gefunden werden und könnte zu Gerechtigkeit gebracht werden.” As Fred quickly sputtered off his desperate speech he noticed the holster for a side arm around the Obersturmführer’s waist. With that, he could have sent a single bullet through the woman’s heart.

This made Fred got a lot more nervous and he almost choked as he continued, “Jetzt… er jetzt, ich habe nichts gesehen, aber ich müsste der am meisten bestimmt es war die Schweine in La Widerstand sagen. Ich verstehe nicht, wie sie glauben können, dass das Foltern von einer unschuldigen Frau in ihrem gedrehten Kampf helfen kann, unsere vernünftige Regierung in Vichy für einen Allied Beruf zu ersetzen, Herr Obersturmführer.”

Fred made sure the German knew where his loyalties were as he watched the MP-40 cautiously, waiting for the soldier to tire of Fred’s chattering and let the gun scream and fire, ending Fred’s promising career as manufacturer for the Reich’s War Machine before it even properly started.

Translations-----------------------

“Ich bin französisch, und ja ich spreche Deutsch,”I am French, and yes I do speak German.

Ich bin froh Sie sind erschienen deshalb dieses hat gefoltert Frau des Mörders könnte gefunden werden und könnte zu Gerechtigkeit gebracht werden”I’m glad you showed up so this tortured woman’s murderer’s could be found and brought to justice

“Jetzt… er jetzt, ich habe nichts gesehen, aber ich müsste der am meisten bestimmt es war die Schweine in La Widerstand sagen. Ich verstehe nicht, wie sie glauben können, dass das Foltern von einer unschuldigen Frau in ihrem gedrehten Kampf helfen kann, unsere vernünftige Regierung in Vichy für einen Allied Beruf zu ersetzen, Herr Obersturmführer.”
Now… er now, I did not see anything, but I would have to say most definitely it was those swine in La Resistance. I do not understand how they can believe torturing an innocent woman can help in their twisted fight to replace our sensible government in Vichy for an Allied occupation, Herr Obersturmführer.”

[☠ Kyle Steinbeck]

OOC: Sorry if I god-modded a little, but I just wanted to spice things up and technically you are allowed to shove/push people without fault. If you want me to change anything however, just say.


The SS-Obersturmführer’s fingers coiled tightly around the wet cold steel to his weaponry, his nimble fingertips squeezing against the damp wet surface to his gunnery, as if subliminally preparing for the worst case scenario; A fleeing witness. As the Frenchman cautiously turned to face the SS-Officer through the fog of darkness and dreary rain, the SS-Obersturmführer’s body tensed up from beneath the heavy leather coat defensively, almost expecting the male to spin around with a pistol pointing at him – regardless to the fact he could see the man’s hand protruding out from under the umbrella.

Then the Frenchman spoke, nervous words befalling from his mouth, the man’s eyes forever switching between his side-arm and piece of weaponry clasped between his two wet hands. As the Frenchman stepped closer, SS-Obersturmführer Steinbeck ever so slightly raised his MP40; silently suggesting the man paced no closer. Then the Frenchman made an accusation, babbling on about the French Resistance and how Germany was more or less, the light at the end of the tunnel. SS-Obersturmführer Steinbeck cringed inside; the Nazis were nothing but power-hungry buffoons, most of which were completely blind-folded to Germany’s true ambitions. Being a member of the forsaken SS enabled dear old Steinbeck to unravel a few mysteries, the common soldier hadn’t a clue what he was fighting for, a saddening prospect, but reality.

Glancing between the deceased woman slumped within the gutter and the Frenchman before himself, SS-Obersturmführer Steinbeck perked his lips to suddenly say “Papiere... Ich will etwas Identifizierung sehen”, his eyes narrowing into a fine glare, awaiting for the Frenchman to provide some identification. “ Was säubern Sie das spät irgendwie? Tat Sie kennen diese Frau!?” the SS- Obersturmführer questioned heatedly, trying to take the alluding fog of guilt from off himself, no-one would understand as to why he shot the woman; How could you justify it as being out of courtesy and kindness? Some may believe he did end her suffering, others, well – they could fathom their stories into being something more devious and grim. Another Nazi rape victim, only this time, the perpetrator was caught in the act, maybe? Discarding of his soiled evidence, unfortunately, that story would be more commonly foreseen than his initial reasoning for the murder.

Swallowing a firm mouthful of spit, the SS- Obersturmführer awaited for some papers to be produced, a slight nervousness inching into his posture, as he wearily glanced about himself, hoping no one else approached the situation to question any further. “Kommen Sie heran, lassen Sie mich Ihre Papiere sehen” he etched out a little impatiently, before noticing something behind the Frenchman within the near distance, his eyes lisping over the man’s head before himself, distractedly watching something or someone linger along the alleyway. The SS- Obersturmführer’s pearly blue eyes slithered back onto the Frenchman momentarily, stuttering out a quick “Vergessen Sie die Papiere, kommen Sie, wir müssen dieses Gebiet verlassen, die Mörder können noch sein...” but as those fateful words left the confines of his mouth, a loud crackling and piercing bang emerged from within the narrow alley.

Instinctively, SS- Obersturmführer Steinbeck grabbed at the Frenchman’s bodily garments and tugged him forwards. “Scheißen Sie! Folgen Sie mir schnell!” he spat out in a rush, ducking a little as yet another crackling bang pierced the fine air, only this time, a louder crackle passed over their heads, narrowly missing. Pulling at the Frenchman’s coat, SS- Obersturmführer Steinbeck hurried the man forwards, pushing him into what seemed to be another very narrow alley to their left, branching off from their current roadway. Collapsing his back against the brick wall, SS- Obersturmführer Steinbeck panted for a breath, darting his eyes between the road they’d just escaped from and the Frenchman – vague voices in the distance, as what seemed to be a few people calling out to one another in French.

“... Es war eine Falle” SS- Obersturmführer Steinbeck mumbled to himself quickly, feeling like a fool that he had fallen into such a cobweb. The Frenchwoman was just bait, purely for a Nazi to come strolling by, who’d endure in a quick bit of pleasure maybe? Either way, they were now trapped and Kyle looked to the Frenchman quickly, worriedly. “Tun Sie Sie wissen diese Straßen!? Wir müssen hier herauskommen!” he barked somewhat, unclipping the holster to his Lugar pistol hurriedly, shoving the pistol into the Frenchman’s chest, merely giving him a look that stated – You help me, I’ll help you.


Translations:
Papiere... Ich will etwas Identifizierung sehen.
- Papers... I want to see some Identification.

Was säubern Sie das spät irgendwie? Tat Sie kennen diese Frau!?
- What are you doing out this late, anyway? Did you know this woman!?

Kommen Sie heran, lassen Sie mich Ihre Papiere sehen.
- Come on, let me see your papers.

Vergessen Sie die Papiere, kommen Sie, wir müssen dieses Gebiet verlassen, die Mörder können noch sein...
- Forget the papers, come we must leave this area, the murderers may still be...

Scheißen Sie! Folgen Sie mir schnell!
- Shit! Quickly, follow me!

... Es war eine Falle.
- ... It was a trap.

Tun Sie Sie wissen diese Straßen!? Wir müssen hier herauskommen!
- Do you know these roads!? We must get out of here!

[fredlebel]

“Papiere... Ich will etwas Identifizierung sehen.”

“Sicher, Herr Obersturmführer.”
Fred replied as he slowly stuck his free hand into his jacket and felt around for his ID.

“ Was säubern Sie das spät irgendwie? Tat Sie kennen diese Frau!?” Fred was unnerved by the SS officer’s question, he was upstanding and loyal civilian of France, he did not associate with whores. But, he knew it was not the time to show his pride,
“Ich bin nur nach Hause von Berlin angekommen und ich war draußen trinkend mit einige Freunde länger dann wir sollten haben. Ich brachte nur Ein von meinen deutschen Freunden zu seiner Wohnung, und nein ich habe nie jene Frau vor in mei…”
The German interrupted him, again ordering to see some papers, “Kommen Sie heran, lassen Sie mich Ihre Papiere sehen.” But Fred could not seem to find them. They weren’t in his jacket or his pants pocket, he had probably took the wrong coat when he left to drop Erwin off. How could he explain this to the Obersturmfuhrer?

Fred was about to try and explain, but he noticed that the Officer was looking at something behind him. Before he could turn around, the German shouted, “Vergessen Sie die Papiere, kommen Sie, wir müssen dieses Gebiet verlassen, die Mörder können noch sein...” Fred started to question, “Aber wo ist wir gehend?“, before a shot rang out behind him and the Officer grabbed him by his jacket. Fred ducked along with the SS Officer as the gun fired again, almost hitting the Obersturmfuhrer this time. The German pulled the Frenchman into a small alleyway before he leaned up against the wall.
Fred collapsed along side him. He had lived through 2 world wars and this was the closest to a gun fight he had ever been. As he tried to catch his breath and unwind his nerves Fred could hear faint French being called out, mostly swearwords, out on the street. He noticed the Obersturmfuhrer’s looking at him and he translated as best he could, “Sie Sind sehr böse, dass sie uns, Herr Obersturmführer nicht getötet haben.”

“... Es war eine Falle. Tun Sie Sie wissen diese Straßen!? Wir müssen hier herauskommen!”

Fred was becoming uncomfortable at the SS officer’s constant shouting, but with his own people shooting at him, Fred would need to stay on the German’s good side.
“Ja könnte ich irgendwo in Paris mit meinen Augen geschlossen, Herr Obersturmführer gehen. Wo Sie gehen wollen macht, habe ich mein Auto nur außerhalb jener Straße, oder sollte ich Sie zu einem Telefon nehme?”

Fred’s helpfulness and obedience so far must have proven to the Herr Obersturmführer that he wasn’t one of the conspirators, because the German took out his sidearm and shoved it at the Frenchman. Fred automatically took it, but he wasn’t sure what good he could be with it, the most gun training he ever had was with hunting shotguns, and a few rifles in America.

“Herr Obersturmführer, ich denken, dass Sie wissen sollten, dass ich nie eine Pistole vor gefeuert habe.”

Translations---------------

“Sicher, Herr Obersturmführer.”
Certainly, Herr Obersturmführer.

“Ich bin nur nach Hause von Berlin angekommen und ich war draußen trinkend mit einige Freunde länger dann wir sollten haben. Ich brachte nur Ein von meinen deutschen Freunden zu seiner Wohnung, und nein ich habe nie jene Frau vor in meinem Leben gesehen”
I have just arrived home from Berlin and I was out drinking with some friends longer then we should have. I was just bringing one of my German friends to his apartment, and no I have never seen that woman before in my life.

“Aber wo ist wir gehend?“
But where are we going?

„Sie Sind sehr böse, dass sie uns, Herr Obersturmführer nicht getötet haben“.
They’re very angry that they did not kill us, Herr Obersturmführer.”

“Ja könnte ich irgendwo in Paris mit meinen Augen geschlossen, Herr Obersturmführer gehen. Wo Sie gehen wollen macht, habe ich mein Auto nur außerhalb jener Straße, oder sollte ich Sie zu einem Telefon nehme?”
Yes, I could go anywhere in Paris with my eyes closed, Herr Obersturmführer. Where do you want to go, I have my car just outside that street, or should I take you to a phone?

“Herr Obersturmführer, ich denken, dass Sie wissen sollten, dass ich nie eine Pistole vor gefeuert habe.”
Herr Obersturmführer, I think you should know that I have never fired a pistol before.