Taking Shelter [M. Snyder, Zack]

[Dieter "Iceman" Rentz]

Country: Egypt, Africa
Place: A rocky desert with an area riddled with hills to the east
Time: 14:35
Weather conditions: Very hot and dry, slight wind at times

The day could have been better for Stabsgefreiter Dieter Rentz. Many things, some bigger and some smaller, kept happening in Africa and most of the times they meant something nasty for Dieter. He had never been a superstitious man, not even religious, but something strange must have been going on with his rotten luck. It was like a curse; at first things seemed to be going splendidly and then something happened and made a mess of everything. Why he had not expected it this time also was something he really didn't know, but yet again he had found himself in a spot of trouble.

He had left for a small recoinnassance run on a BMW R75, a motorcycle with a sidecar that had been painted with the sandy colour of the desert and decorated with a white emblem of a palm tree, the marking of the Afrika Korps. Dieter enjoyed doing recon runs, it was what he had been trained to do and even though he knew it was a dangerous job at times, he felt it was a way of getting away from other things for a while. At other times he had someone with him, but today he had talked the private that usually joined the runs into staying behind. Dieter thought the private was a generally nice guy, but he kept prattling on about various things and it drove Dieter almost mad. He liked his peace and quiet and telling someone to constantly shut up wasn't really his idea of relaxing time. Dieter assured him he wouldn't go too far and would be back in half an hour or so. The enemy was not supposed to be too near anyway, so it would be a very dull, standard run and sitting this one out wouldn't get either one of them into any trouble. Those had been his words and how wrong he had been about it..

Here he was, kneeling in the rocky ground in the middle of nowhere, changing the front wheel to his bike. If he hadn't been daydreaming and had been paying attention to where he was driving, he most likely would have not chosen to drive through the terrain that was filled with many sharp rocks. One of them had gone through the tough rubber of the tire and the result was obvious.

The sun bore down mercilessly and Dieter felt the sweat running down along his back and soaking his shirt in the process. He tried to work as fast as he could, he wanted to get back soon and although he knew he had a compass and a map to guide him back in case he was lost, the mere thought of being stranded in the middle of this wasteland made him feel uncomfortable. Fortunately changing the wheel was something he knew how to do and he had all the tools he needed to finish the job. He assured himself that everything would be fine if he just kept his thoughts on his current task and remained calm.

He was finishing up his work but so caught up in it that he didn't notice the huge wall of sand until it was almost upon him. Dieter cursed and grasped his long motorcyclist's jacket, pulling it on to have at least some shelter from the dust. He grabbed his rifle with him, made sure the tools were safely inside the trunk of the sidecar and glanced around to see if he could find a more sheltered place from the storm instead of just huddling next to the motorcycle. The area was full of jagged rocks and a steep rocky hill rose up just behind them. From what Dieter could see, the area seemed to provide at least some shelter from the incoming cloud of dust. Dieter abandoned the ruined extra wheel on the ground and pushed the motorcycle towards the hill, running alongside it. The effort made him even more exhausted, but he had seen enough sandstorms to know that it wasn't much fun getting caught up in one. As he got closer to the hill, he could see that on the side of the rocky formation was a cavern. It wasn't a very big cave and several different sized rocks were scattered on the ground before the entrance, making it impossible to get the bike inside.

Dieter pushed the vehicle near the cave and left it standing some distance away from the entrance where the ground was still pretty even. He hurried inside the cavern and finally stopped, gasping for breath. Sweat ran down his face, leaving streaks on his dusty skin. Over the time Dieter had spent in Africa, the sand and sun had made his skin tanned and rough, but also more tolerant when it came to the flying sand. He still didn't harbour much desire to stay in the storm either and it seemed as if the cave would provide at least some shelter from the storm. It was big enough for him to stand up straight comfortably and measured about five meters in width. The roof of the cave declined lower further in the cave, but there was not enough light to see how far the tunnel might have lead.

For now he was relieved to just have some shelter and Dieter sat down on a rock, resting his rifle against the wall of the cave. He removed his dust goggles from his forehead and left them hanging on his neck. Dieter took off his cap, brushed some sand from his light hair and watched as the sky quickly darkened outside. The first clouds of dust steadily crept towards the hill and the entrance of the cave, making the visibility outside the cave nonexistent.

[w0lverine123]

The wind wasn't too strong, just a light breeze, blowing Zack's pitch black hair over his shoulder as the jeep pitched and bumped along the sand dunes on it's westerly course. The day had been nice so far, if a bit too hot for Zack's tastes. After all, he'd grown up in England, where it was warm at times but generally a nice, cool temperature, unlike the hot, dry Egyptian air. He should have expected this. Egypt was, after all, in Africa, and far closer to the equator than Zack liked to work. But he had to get to the closest Allied base and take shelter. It wasn't particularly dangerous outside, but that could change in a matter of seconds. This was Africa, after all.

Luis Burton wiped the sweat from his brow. Both he and Zack were bare footed and bare chested, with the air cranked up as high as it could. Anything to attempt the seemingly impossible task of keeping cool in the middle of the desert. Then again, he'd said it seemed impossible that Zack would agree to head off to Africa when that old bag of bones asked, and, quite frankly, look what happened to that. So, anything could happen. But for now, Luis was thinking about the elderly lieutenant who had assigned them this mission. The old man looked as if he couldn't do his paperwork for a minute without passing out from exhaustion, but that hadn't stopped him from jumping to his feet and striking Luis with a shovel that looked as if it were as old as the lieutenant, and that was saying something. Absentmindedly, the private rubbed his shoulder where the shovel had made contact.

There was a jagged red cut, not very serious, but it hurt. Besides that minor problem, the whole top of his arm was bruised and purple and, after a few hours in the hospital, bandaged. Luis could use the arm normally, but it was injured, and the nurses had insisted in treatment.

But back to Zack, the staff sergeant was just starting to wonder what would happen if a sandstorm picked him up and threw him back to England in time for supper, when, ironically, a large cloud of dust billowed in the distance and sped towards the jeep behind Zack's, which contained some American guy in it. The cloud was cutting through the dunes and wrecking them as if it were a bulldozer, scattering sand and rocks in all directions. “Luis, lock up the trunk, quick! We can't lose the rifles and other bags!” Zack said. His companion hauled himself onto the back of the jeep, closing the trunk tight and forcing the latch to click into place before slipping back into his seat and nodding to Zack. The staff sergeant nodded to indicate that he'd seen, and stepped on the gas, not even looking back at the American. Either he'd follow and be safe or face the wrath of a sandstorm. It wasn't like the Brits cared.

“It's too close, Zack! We need to stop and face it!” Luis shouted over the steadily approaching wave of dust, sand, and rocks.

“No!” Zack screamed back. “I can get us up to the cave right there ahead! We can wait it out there!” the staff sergeant shoved the sole of his foot down onto the accelerator, speeding up to as fast as he could, trying to outrun the sandstorm. Just when he was about to pull up the tarp and pray, the cave grew until it was just about twenty feet ahead, at which point the British soldier slammed the brakes ans turned sharply, stopping mere inches before the jeep would have crashed. Both men flew from their seats, landing inside the cave's shelter.

They got up, laughing and brushing away sand. “You, my friend,” Luis said, “Are completely and totally insane.” This brought in another wave of laughter, before they recovered and Luis continued. “But today, it just bought us shelter!”

Suddenly, the laughing stopped. Luis saw that the sandstorm was easing up. He could see the dunes again. But Zack was staring straight into the cave.

“Nazi!” he roared, and lunged forward, ramming the German soldier.

[snyder]

A simple mission was given the assignment of joining a British unit to be an Ameican Liason officer. When the British lieutenant gave out a mission for a reconassiance run, Michael couldn't help himself but join in on the fun.

In charge of the patrol was Staff Sergeant Zack de Caldicot, who was riding up front with his Private Luis Burton. Michael jumped into the Willys Jeep that was lined up behind the patrol's one. The engine revved to life as Mike turned on the ignition and pressed down on the pedal going 70 miles per hour. A good recon speed for the desert.

Sand was beind kicked up by the patrol vehicle. The effect of that was for Michael to put on his anti-dust goggles, and put the windshield up. His M1 was resting on the seat next to him with the barrel to the floor to prevent it from getting dirty. Also on the olive drab seat next to him was two canteens plus he had the one on his belt.

The heat was searing into his neck, which he wasn't bothered by. He had put up with the Moroccan desert for more combat jumps before jumping into Sicily. On his head he wore a fatigue cap, because a helmet would be to heavy.

It was about this time that Michael looked in one of the rear view mirrors, and saw a kick up of sand. A thought passed through his mind, sandstorm. Sands was following his jeep, it was catching up to him quickly. THe sight of the other jeep stopping abrubtly mystified Mike. Someone might be hurt?, he thought as he stepped on the pedal and stopped next to the other jeep while jumping out. He pulled his M1 over his shoulder and grabbed the two canteens.

Michael then ran in to see an image that he would never forget. The British Staff Sergeant was ontop of a German soldier who had no weapon. Mike dropped the two tightly screwed canteens to the floor and unshouldered his rifle and aimed down the sights toward the British Sergeant while calling out. "Sergeant, get off him right now, or I will open fire on you." Something that no one had noticed was that he had only one clip for the M1 he forgot the bandolier in the jeep. Now a plan came to his mind that if they killed the German, sooner or later a search party will come out. Now, if they let him go, nothing would happen.

[Dieter "Iceman" Rentz]

Dieter had barely settled down on the rock when he heard a strange sound somewhere in the middle of the wailing of the storm. It made him furrow his brows and he tilted his head slightly as he struggled to hear the sound better. Most likely it was just him hearing things, he was quite sure that nobody else was in the area. It didn't hold any significant strategic points at all and besides, who would be as crazy as to travel in the middle of a sandstorm, anyway? These storms could be quite severe, not only picking up sand and dust as they advanced, but throwing around anything that was loose. He sincerely hoped that the motorcycle would survive the storm unharmed and not get hit by things flying around. He had found a more sheltered spot for the vehicle but it was hardly anything that would stop the fury of a huge sandstorm.

Dieter placed the field cap back on his head and was just about to pick up his weapon to check it, when something literally came flying into the cave. The German blinked and just sat there on the rock, staring at the two men that had stumbled into the cave and were now getting up from the ground. They were laughing and talking to each other, dusting off their clothes as they did so. It was as if the sandstorm had carried them into the cave, although Dieter knew that was a fanciful idea. The sound he had just heard earlier had been a vehicle and it took Dieter a few seconds to recover from the surprise well enough to notice that these men were Allies.

Everything seemed to happen so fast that Dieter hardly had any time to react. He saw that the other man had already noticed him and had stopped chattering with his friend. "Nazi!", the man yelled and Dieter didn't even have enough time to get up from the rock he was sitting on. The black-haired man lunged at him ferociously, knocking the German down to the dusty floor of the cave. Dieter felt a sharp pain on the back of his head as he landed, his head had smacked into one of the many rocks that littered the ground.

For a while all he saw was white dappled with glittering sparkles that danced around in front of his eyes. He was blind and dazed for a few seconds, but had already instinctively moved his hands in front of him to keep the crazed Brit some distance away. He was feeling slightly weak from working on the motorcycle under the relentless gaze of the sun, but adrenalin was already pumping through his veins and giving him enough strength to put up at least some kind of a resistance.

Somewhere in the middle of it he could hear a man yelling something in English, but Dieter was far too light-headed to really understand what was being said. It must have been the other man that had come into the cave with this rabid man, there couldn't be any more of them, now could there? That would have been just much too rotten luck, even for him! Dieter groaned and mustered up all his strength, trying to find a way to stop this insane Brit from killing him. Many years ago, during his days of being a local troublemaker in Meissen, Dieter had at times voluntarily and sometimes involuntarily taken part in many scuffles and fights. He had always been the one who fought dirty and he wasn't really feeling too chivalrous at this moment either.

Coming up with the only way of surviving a situation like this, Dieter moved his leg slightly, his blue eyes blazing with anger as he stared straight into the eyes of the man attacking him. "Schwein!", he growled and then punched his knee right into the other man's groin. Dieter knew he was fighting a desperate battle, but he still tried to push his attacker away with the last remaining shreds of his strength.

[w0lverine123]

(OOC: You're lucky I remembered not to kill you at the last moment, Dieter. That could have been tricky for me to reverse, lol.)

The cave was dark and dingy, but dry. Zack and Luis were lucky in that aspect. While his comrade was wrestling on the floor with a Nazi, Luis did the smart thing. He got his gun and ammunition, loading it as fast as possible before rushing back in near the scuffle and aiming dutifully at the German in case worse went to worst and he would have to save Zack. Suddenly, the American came in, aiming at Zack and threatening to shoot. The traitor. He didn't intend to shoot an ally, did he? But those Americans, they were more crazed than the British staff sergeant himself. So Luis did what any patriotic Brit would do.

“If you shoot him, I shoot you. Now, let me tell you what I'll do to you,” Luis said, turning his scope on the American and putting his finger in place on the trigger. If the second lieutenant tried to hurt Zack, Luis had all intention of killing the man on the spot. Which is exactly what he said. “If you try anything that might harm me or my superior in any way, I open fire until you are either dead, injured to the point of not resisting, or wet yourself and give up. Then I'll tie you up in ropes, assuming you're alive, and take you to base. They won't be happy to hear that you threatened an ally, whether you have a higher rank or not.” Luis thought he was doing quite well. Not only buying Zack time, but possibly earning them both a bit of respect. “Now, say you don't try to hurt us. Well, I have two options available, and take my word for it, I have no intention of bluffing. Ready?”

Luis gathered his wits for a few seconds with a pause, cocking the rifle in his hand and shoving against the American's chest. “Option number one. I shoot you and tell our superiors the Germans did it while me and Zack defended you. Don't get cocky, though. I'll also say the Nazi over there stole my gun before shooting. And option number two. We both put the guns down, and nobody gets hurt. I'd prefer number two, but,” Luis added a second jab with the rifle, “It's your choice.

And that was when he heard a bone chilling scream.

---

Meanwhile, Zack was bashing his fists against the German. Nazis like this one weren't amateurs at hand to hand fighting, but this was more like fist to face fighting, anyways. He could hear Luis making a speech in a desperate gamble to save both their asses, while the American held his semi-automatic rifle towards Zack. The traitor. Zack, quite frankly, planned on disrespecting the damn man anyways, but this was an outrage. Threatening your own ally with a gun, no matter the situation, was not a good thing to do, nor would Zack forgive such treason.

Luis was doing the right thing, pointing that gun in the right direction. If Zack had been the one standing up, he would have done things differently. For one thing, the crazed second lieutenant would be unconscious, as would the Nazi.

Suddenly, the Brit felt a painful sensation, almost like a red hot poker had been held to his skin. But not just any skin. Very important skin. Zack fell over, clutching his groin in his hands. “That fucking bastard! That god damn Nazi!” he shrieked, going insane over the dirty tactic. The staff sergeant stood up, enraged, and started kicking the Nazi in his own groin multiple times. “How do you like it, eh? How do you like it?” After about the seventh strike, Zack took a step back, still insanely angry. “You know what? You choose cowardly tactics, eh? The cost is simple! You lose yours, bitch!” with that, Zack snatched his knife from his belt and advanced. He went in for the crotch.

---

Luis saw his superior going in with a knife. Not good. He couldn't do it, not to a prisoner of war. And the Nazi counted, in Luis's humble opinion, despite kneeing Zack in the crotch. “No! Sir, stop! Don't do it!”

And Zack sheathed his knife.

[snyder]

Michael had just been threatened by a private of another army because he tried to judge what he was thinking. Mike would never purposefully try to kill a soldier another nation, because he knew that they must fight together in order to win. "Private, I have no intention of shooting a comrade. Just I doubt that this German was the one to start this fight." As Michael had said that the Sergeant had drawn his knife, but as thought the private understood him, he told him to sheath it and stop the fight.

Michael then ran forward to the German, after shouldering his weapon to the sling on his shoulder. As he grabbed the German as if to say that the fight is over, Michael said "Soldat, der Sergeant gestoppt hat kämpfen, tun Sie bitte gleich." in a calm tone to the soldier.

Hopefully the German understood what he meant by that, because Michael had already, started backing off. He thought that the Brits might be wondering why he spoke German. "My mother was German, that is the reason why I learned to speak it." Now hoping that the fellow soldiers believed him, because it really was true. Maybe this would turn out to be an okay meeting with his Allies. Or maybe not, because he had just let a German soldier stand alone, and not try to incapacitate him. The first rule Michael had broken while in military service.

"Sprechen Sie Englisch?" Michael asked to the German.

Translations:

"Soldat, der Sergeant gestoppt hat kämpfen, tun Sie bitte gleich."
"Soldier, the Sergeant has stopped fighting, please do the same."

"Sprechen Sie Englisch?"
"Do you speak English?"

[Dieter "Iceman" Rentz]

Dieter felt relieved for a moment as he managed to wrestle the crazed soldier away from him. The Brit went down, cursing in pain and yelling obscenities while Dieter used this time to try and stumble up. He could hear the man yelling something about "that god damn Nazi", which obviously must have meant Dieter. He tried to prop himself up using his hands but didn't have time to stand up as the other man was already attacking him again. A swift kick scored a hit right in his groin. Dieter let out a muffled cry of pain and tried his best to dodge the kicks, but another one struck him in his side. He was down on the ground again, just trying his best to curl up and protect himself from the painful kicks the Brit was dishing out in his blind fury.

Finally the kicks stopped but Dieter stayed curled up in the sand, coughing and wincing at the sensation of horrid pain that seemed to have taken over all his senses. He opened his eyes enough to see the Brit brandishing a knife and he thought it would surely be his end, but another man yelled for him to stop.
The Brit sheathed his knife, although it was obviously something he did very reluctantly. Dieter closed his eyes again and just concentrated on clearing his head and he gritted his teeth together as he waited for the worst pain to pass.

Dieter opened his eyes quickly as he heard someone speak in German. "Soldat, der Sergeant gestoppt hat kämpfen, tun Sie bitte gleich", a man near him said, an American lieutenant by the looks of it. Dieter blinked and then frowned, had it looked like he had been fighting back? He had not gotten even the chance to do it! Still, he nodded and waited until the lieutenant had backed off before propping himself up into a sitting position. He leaned his back against the rock he had been sitting on earlier and studied the situation. There were three men in the cave, the man that had attacked him, the lieutenant and another Brit with a gun. Not very great odds, Dieter thought and sighed.

Dieter was covered in dust, his hair was standing up from the scuffle and he felt something warm and wet make it's way down his neck. He touched the back of his head with his hand and brought his fingers in front of his eyes. Blood, this was just getting better and better. Still, he was a soldier of the Afrika Korps and was not going to start sniveling in front of these men, no matter what the situation. He raised his chin proudly, his blue eyes full of defiance. Dusty, battered and bleeding as he was, he did not consider himself defeated.

"Sprechen Sie Englisch?", the American asked again and Dieter regarded him with curiosity. The man spoke German, that was rare indeed. He did not have to wonder about it too long when the Leutnant mentioned that his mother had been a German. Dieter had never been the best student at school, that was for sure, but he knew enough English to get by. He nodded and swallowed hard, his throat felt dry and dusty and he found it hard to get his voice audible at first. "Ja, ich spreche.. Uhm.. Yes, I do. Some", he answered and glanced again at his attacker. "I have not attacked this man, Leutnant."

Dieter made sure to not make any moves that might be considered hostile by the allied soldiers and frankly, he would have not managed to look too threatening right now either. His head was pounding and there was an insistent pain on his left side. The pain was coming in hot waves every now and then and he held his breath every time the pain made itself known. He hoped that his weakened state was not too obvious to the three men. "The storm.. I don't think it is over. And once it comes again.. it can.. last for three days. Or more", Dieter spoke English with a heavy German accent, he had never had too much practice when it came to actually speaking the language. "Ich hoffe dass Sie können Ihre Freunde an der kurzen Leine halten, Leutnant", he added again in German, glancing at the Brit that seemed to be out of control in a most un-soldierly manner. "I am no Nazi."

Translations:

"Ich hoffe dass Sie können Ihre Freunde an der kurzen Leine halten, Leutnant."
"I hope you can keep your friends in a short leash, Lieutenant."

[w0lverine123]

Luis listened quietly alongside his superior as the American spoke in German.

“Soldat, der Sergeant gestoppt hat kampfen, tun Sie bitte gleich,” the Second Lieutenant requested. Luis shifted uncomfortably. He couldn't speak German.

Zack, however, was very fluent in German and spoke it almost as well as English, so he understood. And as he heard the man say it, something boiled up inside him, a fiery rage that was directed at the American and that American alone. Stopped fighting? Never. Zack would fight until the very end, taking down every German in his path. And, if need be, any pesky Allies who weren't going to cooperate. The Staff Sergeant's hand drifted to his hip, where he placed his palm gently on the knife, closing his fingers and starting to slowly slide it out of it's sheath... When, out of the blue, Luis rapped a knuckle against his arm. Zack let go of the weapon, and stood up straight, coming back to the present situation.

As the American Second Lieutenant backed off from the German, he explained his actions while the enemy nodded, “My mother was German, that is the reason I learned to speak it.” Was? Luis would ask about that later.

“My father is German, and I learned it at the same time I learned English. I'll have some especially nasty language when I met him, “ Zack said, chuckling.

The American ignored him. “Sprechen Sie Englisch?” he asked.

The German sat up and sighed, then swallowed. The man spoke in English. “Ja, ich spreche... Um... Yes, I do. Some,” then, with a glance at Zack, he muttered, “I have not attacked this man, Lieutenant.”

“Damn right you didn't, you cowardly Nazi scum! I attacked you, and did a damn great job of it, too! See that blood? That's what you get for joining Hitler! You were born on the wrong side!” then, Zack calmed down, spit towards the German and muttered, “Nazistisches Scheißegesicht...”

The Nazi said more, but Zack wasn't listening, until he talked about the Staff Sergeant and his Private themselves. “Ich hoffe dass Sie konnen Ihre Freunde an der kurzen Leine halten, Leutnant. I am no Nazi.”

“Liar!” Zack snarled. “You are a Nazi, and you always will be! That uniform proves it!” The Staff Sergeant held out his hand to Luis, who reluctantly gave his superior his rifle. “Sir, this man is a Nazi and until we search him I refuse to consider him a prisoner of war. Let me shoot him dead, sir.”

Luis shook his head in annoyance. Why did he get the insane, disrespectful, annoying friend as a superior?

---

“Nazistisches Scheißegesicht...”
Nazi shit face...