Ginger and Cyclops [Hinrichs]

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

The evening seemed to crawl toward sunset, the horizon had been holding the sun in the same spot for what felt like the last hour. The leaves had long since fallen from the trees, creating a bit of an eerie sight as Ed looked out the window from the local tavern as he knocked back the final swig on his third beer. He waited patiently for the barmaid to come around before he bugged her for a fourth. McMillan was on his way back to the SS headquarters, seemed he wasn't going to be able to doge the promotion this time. Luckily he had to travel all the way from Italy and the rail bridges had been knocked out mostly. Only ones remaining were under so much security that there was a good chance it was quicker to travel by your own means. Ed liked it that way, less military guys jacking their jaws about false accomplishments and that girl waiting on them back home. Chances are they are telling stories that the guy did next to them that died in the process and that girl has long since been shacked up with the coward that wasn't serving the Fatherland. Ed grimaced as the thoughts drifted in and out of his head.

As his fourth beer arrived a loud mouth entered the bar. McMillan looked at him when he entered, even made eye contact in the short amount of time his eyes were on the young lad. It was easy to tell he was military as well even though the boy wasn't in uniform. Seemed to think of himself as 'The Hero of Germany' just like all the other young kids still wet behind the ears. Ed's uniform stood out, more so than he wanted it to, because that Wermacht idiot came over to McMillan within a couple of minutes giving the Irishman the usual speech. 'You don't look German to me.' is how it usually started, then there was always a crack about a wannabe or an impostor, and they all ended the same way, hounding Ed with questions that led to a fight ninety percent of the time. Ed won one hundred percent of them though. They never lasted long, a swift pop on the jaw, not even a hard one, just fast usually sent their head to swimming from the booze and that was the end of it. Once Ed met the same guy twice, the second time he remembered Ed and offered to buy him a beer. To put the bad blood behind them Ed accepted...still ended in a fight, but two sober guys fighting led to stitches for both of them. Ed had the guy transfered into his platoon after that. One of the closest things Ed has had to a friend since he put a swastika on.

The table Ed was at was actually clean, well clean compared to most bar tables. Per his preference he grabbed one along the back wall. They didn't have any for two so he had to grab a four seater. He never needed to keep people away though. Best way to repel nice people wanting to chat was to wear an SS uniform and not look the part. Just too much out of place for others to even want to try and find out, except the military guys, the only ones worth talking to never came over, they had seen too much combat and didn't rightly care to know the answers.

Once again Ed finished his mug of cold beer and waited to ask for another, this time he ordered some bread sticks. Nothing that took a lot of effort, but something to put in his gut as he had no plans of eating a full meal before breakfast. The barmaid had a cute smile and kind eyes, an extreme rarity in this corner of the world, a sight that Ed would not soon forget. But unknown to Ed this night was going to be full of oddities for him. To start, he'd hold a conversation in a tavern with another soldier that didn't end inside of two minutes with blood. Yep, things would be shaping up real soon. Speaking of good shapes, the barmaid just delivered his order and the bread sticks were still fresh, and the steam rolled off of them gently, with the cold weather they'd feel like a feast for a king.

[Matthaeus Hinrichs]

How many papers could I man see in a war? Especially a war that was involving damn near the whole world. What did people back home think of the Officers of the famous 21st Panzer Division do in there time in the military? Most thought they were all in glory and fame didn’t them? Some could see that they made their way from killing the bloody allies all the way up to leading Companies of infantry or a column of tanks. Well they were wrong. Apparently the great leaders of the German Military thought that the COs was great for filling out and handing in paperwork. Sitting at a Spartan wood desk for endless hours just writing a few words then stamping a paper before placing it in the out box and moving on to the next one continuing the process until the CO stood up and took a stretch or walk for something to eat.

Usually Matthaeus would just make his way to the mess hall and sit with the other COs and eat his meal listening to the conversations of the others. He never really talked much but loved to listen as most of the stories were from the older more experienced veterans of war. Matthaeus was kind of new to this whole war thing. He just enlisted in the army and was given the rank of Second Lieutenant due to his great education. The stories were colorful with the showing of battle scars and even pictures of the dead that people were close to. It was interesting to listen to this but sometimes it could get a bit gruesome on the heart. It was sad listening to the combat stories that talked about losing a friend or squad that was special to you. Though this time was different, Matthaeus was making his way down the street and towards a local pub. He had been there before, hearing some guys around the base talk about it Matthaeus decided to try it one day. Ever since then he was hooked. Some would ask what was so good about it. Well the waitresses were very kind and beautiful, the food was great, and there would always be some drunken idiot that decides to make a fool of them by both slipping and falling or even getting in a fight. Just how great it was to see some free entertainment like that now isn’t it?

Making his way down the street Matthaeus recognized the buildings around him. He was around half way there as there was a little Café followed by a block of houses that looked like they were a middle class group of families. This was no where near the section of living Matthaeus used to live in before the war. His family was quite wealthy from his parent’s families but they never took it for granted. His father still worked at a near-by butcher shop and so did Matthaeus as he grew older. It wasn’t until the war started that Matthaeus truly learned how much his home and family meant to him. He loved his mother and father but he was certainly missing them right now. He needed someone to be close to but little did Matthaeus know he would meat someone like this tonight, someone who would make a great impact on his life in the war, someone whom would be close but also different like Matthaeus.

Matthaeus turned the corner of the block and walked down the side walk. The pub was on this street and he would soon enough be able to grab something to eat. As he made strides towards the pub Matthaeus reached into his chest pocket pulling out a case of cigarettes. On the top of the lid was an emblem of a lion head. Matthaeus still didn’t understand what this was for and who would really care what was on their cigarette case but he still flipped the lid open. Reaching into it he pulled out his lighter and one Cigarette. In one swift move he placed it in-between his lips and flipped open the Zippo light striking the igniter. As soon as it was on fire Matthaeus lit he Cigarette and then closed the Lighter before taking the first drag of the Cig. He placed his lighter back into the Cigarette case and then flipped it closed, Making sure the clips were in place before stuffing it back in his pocket with a jerk of his hand. It was a violent motion as Matthaeus made his way to the door and pushed it open taking another puff of the Cig. Walking into the Pub he could hear the talking of people and music. Watching as people moved around and talked to their friends and family. Here in this war Matthaeus had very few friends. It was an odd feeling but one he could live with as he made his way to the section of dinning tables. All of them were full so Matthaeus looked around for one that had a seat open or had someone worth talking to sitting at it. Out of the mass of people one table caught his eye. Sitting at the table was a man in the SS uniform. The only thing that made him stick out though was the way he looked. The color of his hair was… red? Shaking the thought from his head Matthaeus made his way to the table and stared the man into his eyes that showed he had been drinking. Matthaeus could smell the alcohol. He didn’t like the smell but he took the last Drag of his Cig and set it in the ash tray in the middle of the table before asking the man ”Would you mind if I sit here?” Matthaeus assumed he would say yes as he pulled out a chair to sit down. ”Part of the SS are you?”

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

Ed gently reached across the table and pulled the bread stick resting on the bottom of the pile, it was most likely the warmest and he didn't want to waste the small comfort of hot food. He munched on it leisurely and looked around the bar as he went about his make shift meal. With a hard swallow he reached for his mug and gulped down a third of it with some ease before letting out a sigh and placing it back on the table. He probably looked like a barbarian that had only been taught manners the previous week. The fact of the matter was that McMillan didn't really care much what the rest of the world thought about him outside of his few friends and the men he served with. Living a life such as this didn't leave much room for closeness.

After a large portion of the bread sticks were gone Ed pushed them over toward the wall. He didn't want anymore of them now but he'd find a clean napkin to wrap them up in before making his way out the door. He slid a cigarette from his opened pack on the table and started to reach into his pocket for his lighter but was interrupted by company. Another German soldier extinguished his own cigarette in the ash tray perched on the table and then asked if he could join Ed, but before he could refuse the man took a seat anyway. McMillan found himself a bit off put by this but it was rapidly replaced by a small moment of confusion. He pulled the unlit cancer stick away from his mouth as he thought. Do I know this man? Am I supposed to be meeting someone? Is he mistaking me for someone else? All his questions came to rest when the man asked if Ed was part of the SS. None of the above...got it.

Ed replaced the cigarette and set back about to locating his lighter, in no hurry to answer the question. Once located Ed struck the lighter a couple of times before the flame flickered long enough above it to do it's job. This time he placed it next to his empty pack on the table and took a long drag before slowly exhaling through his nose, this entire time just eying the man sitting across from him. This one is a damn genius, wonder if he figured that out all by himself?. Finally he spoke "Would you believe me if I said 'no'?" He almost smiled as he answered. No one in their right mind would be caught in an Army uniform in Europe, especially not an SS one, if it didn't belong to them. Ed knew he didn't fit the part, maybe he could insult the man enough to make him leave.

[Matthaeus Hinrichs]

((OOC: Well JT I jumped right to the personal parts here, couldn’t see this going anywhere if I didn’t.))

Matthaeus looked at the man with his one keen eye. Ever since it was lost it seemed that his second eye was getting better with sight. It wandered the man’s body, looking for anything that could tell Matthaeus what was really going on here. The man had red hair, possibly Irish decent and was wearing an SS uniform. None of this was right but Matthaeus could also see something. It looked as if this man did not care so much for Matthaeus being there as of now. Not caring about that as much he pushed that to the rear burner and sat up in the seat. If Matthaeus was going to invite himself to the table he might as well use proper manners. The only things that seemed nice at the moment to try and get into this guy’s thoughts and let him release them. All Matthaeus wanted to know was what was going on here. Why is he wearing the SS uniform?

Matthaeus was interrupted by the waitress who asked him what he would like as an order. He thought about it a bit but just kept it very simple, he wasn’t all too hungry at all. ”I’d like to get some bread, Rye please, And a tonic water with ice chips. They better be chipped too.” When Matthaeus was out to eat he absolutely hated having a wrong order. It would damn near make him go ape shit. After a couple seconds the waitress was finished writing and before she could come back with the anything else? Matthaeus barked out arrogantly Please.

Matthaeus continued with his scan of the man until finally he made some movement. So he is alive after all? The SS soldier seemed to be lighting a cigarette. His moves were so planned out and choppy. Almost like a morning routine, slow and done only one certain way. Matthaeus seemed to like watching this man go about lighting a cigarette. He did it with very little class what so ever and just got it done. The way everything should get done. After finally finishing his procedures of lighting the cigarette Matthaeus listened as the man asked him a bit of a rude question. What was with this man? He seemed out of place, which he was, and now he is being rude to his officers? Scrunching his nose up Matthaeus spoke up also ”Yes, yes I would believe you. Now do you have a name?” Pausing a bit Matthaeus looked for his rank and finally, he spotted it. He definitely was of lower rank then Matthaeus. Looking around a bit more Matthaeus decided to speak up. ”So Tell me, who are you and how did you get into the SS?” Matthaeus paused and asked for one more thing before silencing to listen for what he would say. ”And give me details, I want to hear everything.” There was something about him that just made him seem out of place and for some reason Matthaeus knew this would be a story. Taking advantage of the man being drunk would play out in his favor.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

Ed listened on as the man ordered his food and then began settling in with the questions. Well, guess he isn't going away easily. Ed thought as he took another slow drag from his cigarette and exhaled while he reached for his mug once more. Ed kept his eyes above his container on the man in front of him while he was being spoken to. Another swallow and he placed the glass back onto the table. He finally broke his stare and looked around the room nonchalantly, maybe he could catch the gaze of someone else that could break him away from this situation but that didn't seem like it was going to be happening tonight.

McMillan sighed as he realized he would have to be a little bit social if he wanted this to end with any kind of quickness about it. "Everyone has a name." he tossed back at the man across the table. His first question was rather vague so Ed could get away with the answer. "Who am I? I'm the guy willing to give you a bread stick for a bit of alone time." but it seemed there really would be no way out of this. But Ed wasn't much of the opening up type, if this guy wanted the info, he'd have to earn it, you can't just sit down and expect people to open up the book on their life and hand it over to you. "I was recruited." he said in response to his joining the SS. "You want details do you?" Ed took another slow drag from his cigarette and another gulp from his mug then he leaned over the table as if to reveal a secret. He made a quick motion for the man to join him in the small space above the table.

"You see..." he started. "...the problem with wanting details is finding someone that wants to share them. At this moment in time, I'm not that guy." McMillan finished up and slouched back down in his chair away from the table and placed the cigarette back between his lips. He just let it hang there as he glanced back around the room again. Still no takers for attention. And who the heck orders tonic water? He thought as he waited for the man's response.

[Matthaeus Hinrichs]

Matthaeus kept at it to try and get something out of this guy and see what was with him. Things were running through his head about him, what was his name, why is he here in this uniform, and the most significant, why was he so closed up about himself? Matthaeus let these thoughts drift away as the man motioned to come across the table. Maybe he will tell me now? A sudden rush of excitement hit Matthaeus as he reached across the table and listened.

With the mans answer coming out Matthaeus once again felt rage come through him and as the man began to sit down Matthaeus quickly yet gently grabbed a hold of his collar and gave it a tug to motion for the man to stay over the table. Matthaeus then spoke up with a bit of disgust in his voice ”Why don’t you just tell me about yourself. What are you hiding?” Matthaeus knew that the guy was holding something in, something he wasn’t all too happy to share. Though most people would have given up by now, a sudden since of curiosity hit Matthaeus as he began to wonder some things about the man. Obviously there was something in this man’s head that was bothering him or was just so personal that it wasn’t worth much for him to share it. Matthaeus didn’t care though; he had seen some shit that just made that an understatement.

Matthaeus let go of the man’s collar and began to sit down once more in the same old leather covered seat. Matthaeus sat there and pondered about what could be lying in this guys thought that was so secret. What was it that this man couldn’t let out right here and right now? Suddenly Matthaeus’s thoughts were interrupted as the waitress approached Matthaeus with his drink and asked him if there was anything she could get them. Matthaeus nodded and kept his one working eye on the man as he spoke up ”Get this guy another round of beer. I’m sure you know what he has been drinking. I’ll buy it.”

As the waitress took the order Matthaeus reached into his right pants pocket and began to feel around a bit. The waitress told them that the food and beer would be right there and she walked away leaving the two alone again. Matthaeus then pulled out his right hand and took the eye patch and set it onto the table. Staring at the man across the table Matthaeus spoke up with a bit of hoarseness in his voice ”You see...” Matthaeus cleared his throat and then continued on ”… I’m different also.” Matthaeus reached up to his left eye and popped the glass eye ball out and set it down gently on the table. Next he took the eye patch and slung it onto his head and over the open eye socket. Matthaeus then reached down to the table and made sure that the glass eyeball was resting on a napkin as he began to fiddle around in his chest pocket for the case. His hand moved back and forth and searched the deep pocket for a few seconds before pulling the case out and setting it on the table. ”I’ll give you details if you give me details” Matthaeus said abruptly as he plopped open the case and then set the glass eye ball on the red velvet on the inside.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

Edward was almost startled when the man grabbed his collar. He was expecting some type of action if the guy was really that interested in history, but not quite expecting this. He seemed to be stammering at McMillan, he wanted his answers. Ed was slowly reaching his right hand back toward his waistline for the first available weapon. But the man let go so McMillan figured a second chance was an easy enough gift. Still he didn't sit back into his seat, he just remained looming over the table where the man had held him, just staring at him, becoming a bit perturbed with him as time went by. The offer to buy his next beer lightened the mood and Ed sat back once more.

"Why do you assume I have something to hide?" he asked as he exhaled the smoke from his lungs. "Some people just have memories they don't feel like sharing with the world. Maybe I have one of those, maybe I don't, but the only thing I'm hiding right now is my physical restraint that is keeping me from clocking you one good time across the jaw." he added with a sneer. This guy isn't taking the hint at all. Stubborn son of a bitch. he shook his head slightly as he sighed and looked around, but not looking for a reason to get up from the table this time, just looking around to avoid a bit of eye contact, things were getting tense as it was, least how Ed felt it. Violence was becoming all to common as it were, a little bit avoided could save the remnants of a man's soul these days.

When the man pulled out the eye patch and then his own eye Ed almost smiled at his remark. "Different?" Ha." it wasn't a laugh, just a mere snicker at the phrase. Ed leaned up a bit and pulled some of his hair back to reveal a scar running from his left eye back toward the rear of his skull, passing just above his left ear. "Different just means the location of your wounds, mine was a half inch from killing me, I'd imagine yours was probably closer. I have small burn scars on my neck from being choked on several occasions and a nice hunk of flesh missing from my left forearm from a lucky shot, not to mention a pair of shattered binoculars under my bed that were intended to be my face." Ed took a long drag from his cigarette almost down to the filter before plucking it from his lips and exhaling quickly in the direction of the man's face. At least only one eye will sting. He thought as the waitress brought his next beer that this guy had bought for Ed. He nodded to her before turning back to his new found chatter box. "Chances are I have a sidearm with more history than your grandparents." He took a small shot at the guy, seemed he was easy enough to rile up, he wanted to see where it would go, see what the man was made of.

Edward took a long gulp from his drink then reached over the table and dropped his cigarette into the man's tonic water and listened to the quick hiss as it was extinguished. "Name's Ed. Order yourself a beer."

[Matthaeus Hinrichs]

[[OOC: I PMed you about this. Sorry again JT, I’ve been busy.]]

The bar began to liven up a little bit as a few more young recruits filled it up. They had no idea what war was like, just fight for the Fatherland. Yeah just so easy it was to defend the Fatherland and stay alive like they thought it was. The young men had never killed a man, nor did they dream of it. Most guys were haunted by it now, seeing as killing someone for the thoughts of your leader and not themselves.

Soon the man across the table began to liven up a bit also. Just the same as the bar had livened up after the recruits entered. Matthaeus listened to the slightly older German NCO talk without answering. He figured that if the man were to talk about war, then he would give him what Matthaeus was looking for. Before long the man began to tell him about battle scars. Without hesitation Matthaeus un-buttoned his coat and then his shirt underneath it revealing his chest. Feeling around Matthaeus searched for the scar he was looking for before rubbing across a big lump in his skin. Soon enough Matthaeus pointed at the scar and spoke up ”Got this one here from an American. Collapsed my lung and nearly killed me.”

Matthaeus once again quieted up a bit as he began to focus on the man speaking once more and putting his clothes back on in order of looking neat. Matthaeus then looked up once he finished and listened to the man talk once more. He said something about his sidearm having a bit of history. Matthaeus nodded and said ”Chances are my grandparents died a few years ago in a bombing run by the British while out and about in France. Or at least that is what they told me.”

Once more Matthaeus fell quiet as he waited for the man to speak up again but this time he did not speak, he took action. Matthaeus had hardly noticed the smoke that was blown in his face it tasted and smelt good. What he did notice though was the hissing sound as the man dropped his Cigarette into Matthaeus’s tonic water. Matthaeus didn’t know what to do and before he could say a word the guy spoke up once more.

So the redhead’s name was Ed, and he was looking for Matthaeus to drink. Before he could say a word a tall glass of beer was set in front of him as the waitress addressed him with ”I agree, drink up.” She walked away and Matthaeus looked to Ed and said ”I have not drunk before. Suppose I could try it.” Soon enough Matthaeus lifted the glass up and took a sip before swallowing it down, hard. The taste was fine but it went down his throat slow and made a bit of a burn as it went down. ”My name is Matthaeus. Feel free to call me Matt.”

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

McMillan watched the man very oddly begin to disrobe What the heck is this guy doing? bounced across his brain. Then the guy started to feel himself up, rather peculiar indeed. Then he went on about his scar and the story that went with it. Ed pushed the moment to the back of his mind for the moment but it wasn't their long. This officer was now speaking of his grandparents as if Ed had literally meant what he had said. He spoke of how they were most likely no longer living and where they might have been. Ed wasn't listening too intently but one thing was for certain, this guy offered up way too much information far too easily and quickly to have made it this far without knowing or being related to several high ranking officials.

Ed looked on as the waitress agreed with him and sloshed a beer down onto the table in front of the guy"Alright look 'Mister Show and Tell' you gotta calm down a bit, you can't just go around forcing your stories on people, or your war wounds for that matter, it makes people uneasy. Makes them think they shouldn't tell you things because you so easily offer them up for conversation. Hell you're making me uneasy and I've seen my fair share of combat." Another jeering look toward Matt and Ed gulped down another mouthful. Half of the reason he was still entertaining this guy was because McMillan was getting a bit light headed, nothing disabling by any means, but not gauging the distance too a door accurately could end up with blood dripping into your eye, Ed wasn't a fan of that. The remainder of the reason was just to not be in a barracks, course with the way all the uniforms were pouring into the place it didn't look like Ed had found a bar far enough away from base.

Ed flopped another cigarette from his pack and torched the end of it before he continued on. "You see if you try so hard to talk with people they lose respect for you, don't ask me why, it's just the way of things, like the way some people pitty a lost puppy or something. Maybe you don't have any bad memories tied to your scars, but some people do, and now that you are a drinking man I'll let you in a big secret, alcohol will make you depressed for a long time right after the short buzz everyone drinks it hoping to find. Depression isn't exactly the best feeling to be walking around with currently in this part of the world. Hell I'd guess half of the suicides had something to do with alcohol, if not more, so do us all a favor and chill the fuck out!" Maybe the alcohol was starting to get to him, maybe he was just tired of the bull crap everywhere he turned, but sometimes just a beer with a buddy, or half a friend in quiet was really nice.

[Anton Maas]

Another reassignment, another new town, and another new Gestapo headquarters. Different places, different faces, yet they all seemed the same. If Gustav Messer had known that all the Kriminalrats were such fascists, he probably would have never joined.

The setting sun’s glow gave a richness to the usually dull paint of Messer’s red 1938 Mercedes-Benz 540K as he drove through the darkening city, deep in thought about why he had been transferred this last time. It certainly wasn’t because he was “obstinate” and “disobedient” like the last station chief. No, he just didn’t appreciate his original and outside-the-box thinking. No one in the Sipo did. That would explain his latest assignment at the new station, the mission he was driving to at the moment. There was an anonymous tip that there was a foreign spy in an Waffen-SS uniform drinking at a local bar. Gus knew it was probably nothing, civilians don’t realize the SS has a few foreign volunteer divisions, but it still needed to be checked out. And as the new guy, Gus was the one handed this boringly simple, rookie mission. At least he’ll be able to drink when he gets there.

Being new to the area, Gus eventually had gotten lost as he drove through the maze of streets that crisscrossed blocks of similar buildings. First he pulled to the side of the road and tried to reread the direction he received back at Headquarters, but with the sun slowly disappearing and the blackout in effect, it was too dark to read the scribbled writing of his secretary. So he then took to the road again, the Mercedes’ engine purring to life again, and Gus could almost hear it groaning in agony, the roadster’s straight-8 engine going to waste on the relatively busy city streets. But again, he parked it, and waved over a man wandering the sidewalk. Gus quickly gave the soldier, a Wehrmacht private, the name of the tavern and asked if he knew how to get there. Fortunately he did, unfortunately for Gustav he was headed there himself, and even with Messer loudly protesting, hopped over the door into the passenger seat. Gus thought about pulling out his gun and ID disc, and arresting him for obstruction or at the very least kicking him out of the car. But Gus decided against it, that would take time away from drinking, and he would still need to find someone to give him directions. So Gus reluctantly drove the hitchhiker to their mutual destination, amusing himself with fantasies of just beating the directions of out the private and leaving him in a ditch.

Eventually, the soldier’s directions proved fruitful and they arrived at the bar, and Gus parked his convertible in a nearby alleyway, away from prying eyes, although the up-and-coming middle class area was probably not prone to auto theft. But it paid to be cautious and he waited, checking his hair in the side mirror and replacing his felt upon his head, until the hitchhiking soldier was long gone, before putting up the Mercedes-Benz’s roof and walking into the bar, mingling in the crowd of soldiers and civilians.

[Matthaeus Hinrichs]

Matthaeus began to look around the bar a little bit as things between the two quieted down a notch. It wasn’t all too weird for it to happen, the two had just met and yet they were telling tales of old days and even new ones that had recently happened. Matthaeus began to listen in though once Edward spoke to him with a bit of a harsh tone. It was a little insulting, seeing as he was an officer and this man was a senior Non-Commissioned officer.

Looking up to the man Matthaeus waited for him to finish speaking, but before that the door opened letting off the ding of the bells hanging from above it. It was a Gestapo officer. Matthaeus could feel the disgust boiling up inside of his gut as he let out a quiet little comment under his breath ”Oh fucking great, a Gestapo officer”. He was sure Ed couldn’t what was said under his breath or even paying attention long enough to notice he was talking under his breath.

Though with that happening, Matthaeus still turned back to look at Ed and said ”You started this shit buddy”. Matthaeus was beginning to feel a bit reckless with being in the bar and felt the need to go home even though he had yet to eat yet. Besides, it was getting load in there with all the new recruits yelling and drinking like they owned the place.

Ed began to talk again to Matthaeus, but this time he was even more insulting. Giving off ways for Matthaeus to do certain things and talk to people. Feeling a bit uneasy about that, Matthaeus reached around to his sleeve and yanked it over a little bit. Showing his rank insignia, Matthaeus said to Ed ”Do you see this? Do you know what that means?”. Pausing a bit Matthaeus took another drag from his cigarette and then said to Edward ”And when you address and Officer, You say sir…..” Though Matthaeus was talking, he was interrupted by a loud gunshot that shook both men at the table. Ducking down quickly Matthaeus adjusted his eye patch and reached into his coat and pulled out the Luger that was stored in the pocket. He quickly lifted it up and scanned the bar, watching men and women drop to the ground and also run from the bar as Matthaeus still looked for the shooter. He was a bit confused onto who shot until the Gestapo officer came into his view.

Matthaeus quickly ran over to the Officer and yelled out ”Are you fucking crazy! This is a civilian bar!” Matthaeus would probably regret yelling at the Gestapo officer but it was only right to confront him for shooting someone in a bar full of civilians. Scanning the officer Matthaeus said one more thing ”Why did you shoot your weapon?”

[Anton Maas]

A few faces among the crowd turned his way while the bells sang a short cacophonic tune as the door closed behind him. Their expressions were a mix of fear, resentment, and jealousy, the usual assortment whenever he wore his uniform. Gustav wished he could have been in his street clothes, but rules were rules, outside of the Fatherland, Messer and his comrades had to wear their uniforms, otherwise risk being shot as spies. Gus would gladly run that risk, if it meant that he wouldn’t have to stick out like a sore thumb, and if worst comes to worst, have to cleanse some conceited morons from the army.

But quickly the faces turned away, Gus assumed either because the Gestapo had become a common sight, or through fear of drawing his attention to them. Now, while he removed his cap and placed it under his arm, it was his turn to stare, to scan all the faces in the crowded tavern, and try to identify the man he was supposed to find.

He did. And the warm fire of anger and hate swept over his soul as he saw a familiar face. Had the man dressed in a SS uniform not been so distracted with his conversation with the Wehrmacht officer sitting at his table, he may had been able to recognize the Gestapo officer from back in Berlin, many weeks ago. But he didn’t, and that gave Gus some time to chill. He pushed himself up to the bar, and placed some paper on the counter. Some money for the telephone, and something cold for afterwards. Messer didn’t want to make a scene, so waited patiently for the civilian to finish his call before stepping into the phone booth himself. Feeling almost feverish from the anger bubbling inside of him, Gus stood alone in that dark, secluded part of the bar, and as the operator connected him, he carefully pulled his small iron from it’s holster under his jacket, and secured it behind his belt. Then he made sure his uniform was hiding it, as he had the call to Headquarters for more men and another car. Not that he thought he needed backup, but so someone else had to deal with the bodies.

After finishing the phone call and getting his beer, Gus was starting to feel a little better, every sip doused the fire of hate, but every step he took closer to that butcher and his friend stoked the flames. Finally, with his beer in his left hand, and his right tucked casually in his leather belt, the Kriminalinspektor stood among the crowd right in front their table. They still hadn’t noticed him.

”Good evening, Sergio Gus said as calmly as possible. He didn’t want to lash out, and lose control of the situation, “Funny seeing you here.”

The man in the SS uniform finally noticed him, and as his partner stared at Gus, confused, Sergio replied through gritted teeth, “Hello Messer, that’s a nice uniform you got there.”

”Thank you. I could say the same to you,” Gus took the last gulp of beer and sat the empty glass down onto the table. ”I didn’t realize the Waffen SS were recruiting Communist bomb makers now.”

“Oh no, it’s nothing like that, I have been too busy to do my laundry, and this is all I could wear.” Sergio spoke in rough German, the accent of a man who had learned 100 languages, but mastered none as he traveled the world. There was still only a hint of his native Mediterranean left in his voice. “That’s what happens when you only have 24 hours to get out of Germany”

Gus shown the smallest of smirks, more like bearing his teeth, as he remembered his past exploits. He then sat his cap onto the table beside his glass, and sat himself down on the empty side of the booth, ”So, who’s your friend? ” He pointed to the so far silent Wehrmacht officer.

“He has nothing to do with what you know about me” Sergio’s voice started to raise.

“I believe you. I bet it’s hard to make friends when your occupation is selling blackmarket morphine, and using that cash to buy explosives.” Only one man in the whole bar knew that as Gustav spoke, strong, calloused fingers slowly pulled out a Walther PPK pistol, and held it steady in the shadows underneath their table.

“Why are you stalling? Why don’t you just arrest me. Or shoot me,” Sergio leaned in close to Gustav, so that he could try and whisper, but people nearby still started getting nervous, wondering who they were, and what they were talking about. “And get it over with? Or are you finally trying to be justified?” Sergio started to get emotional “Waiting for me to try and shoot you? Well look!” Sergio unbuttoned his uniform, and stood up. “I don’t have a weapon!” For a quick momeny he opened his jacket, to show that his words were truth before sitting down again, leaning across the table to get as close to Messer as possible to growl, “So just shoot me! Shoot me!”

Gus leaned back into the booth, ” Calm down, Sergio. You‘re making a scene. But, no no, I think I’ll take my time.” Slowly, as to not cause his drinking buddies concern, Gustav reached into his inside pocket. Sergio wore his fear of what was about to happen on his face, as did his friend, although he also had something else. Another emotion Gustav was familiar with seeing, yet he couldn’t not recall what it was.

Carefully, Gustav pulled out a packet of cigerettes, pulled one out with his teeth, and returned the rest back to his pocket. The other men were visibly relieved. “I still don’t know anything about the Oberleutnant.” Gus turned to address the stranger, ”Tell me, are you really an Oberleutnant, or are you going to the same costume party as the ‘SS-Scharfuhrer’”

Sergio and his friend stared at each other for a second, then back to Messer, for his hand was again creeping into his jacket. He finally realized what was going through the Oberleutnant.

Determination.

“I..”

BANG!

The Wehrmacht officer’s entire body went into shock as his gallbladder ruptured and spewed it’s bile, courtesy of a 7.65mm bullet from beneath the table. Everyone started screaming, and drop to the ground, or even some started to run towards the door. Everyone but Gustav, who stood up and showed his PPK into Sergio’s face.

Messer's unlit cigerette fell from his lips as he shouted to the crowd, ”Calm down! Just Gestapo business! Everything is under control!” No one really listened, but from out of no where another Wehrmacht officer appeared.

”Are you fucking crazy! This is a civilian bar! Why did you shoot your weapon?”
he started to shout at Gustav, and the Kriminalinspektor noticed that the Leutnant was carrying a pistol. Unsure if he was another one working for Sergio, Gustav did the only thing he could think of with all the shouting and screaming going on.

He smashed the side of his gun into the Leutnant’s face, then turned the barrel on him.

”I’ll tell you if you drop your gun.” Gus snarled, his full attention, and pistol, pointed straight towards the man. That was a mistake.

With the Kriminalinspektor distracted, Sergio discided to make a break for it, and smashed into Messer, pushing him into the Leutnant and onto the floor. He then blended into the crowd trying to get out of the bar as fast as possible.

Keeping his gun on the rude stranger as best he could, Gustav slowly stood up, gave the other man a ”You son of a bitch“ and ran out the door, knocking down anyone in his path.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

The door clanked into the bells hanging above as Ed finished talking, but he didn't look up to see, he didn't care enough, but the man across from him let him know that the Gestapo had entered the establishment. When the Officer sitting across from him turned back around he bacame much more brazen all of a sudden. Ed looked a little bewildered at the man what shit is he talking about? Ed thought. He disregarded this when the man grabbed his own collar. Here we go, gonna throw the rank around. He almost rolled his eyes but figured he could give the man his moment, after all it was about time he showed some backbone. There probably would have been more to his speech had a gunshot not stopped everything in the room.

Ed looked over toward the noise, his ears ringing from such a blast in a small confined area. Everyones attention was headed in types of directions until the Gestapo man stood up to take control of things. That was good enough for Ed, a full blown fire fight hadn't broke out so he had no intentions of getting involved, Gestapo or not. McMillan didn't have the time to lift his mug to his face before Mr. Show and Tell bolted out of the booth toward the situation that had unfolded. "Great, this is just what is needed, piss off the guy that will shoot you for probably any given reason..." he said under his breath, not that anyone was paying attention. "...but if his bullet goes through you and hits me, better hope it kills me, because I'm gonna kick your ass, not his." he finished up as he was slowly bring his glass up, as if his hand was waiting on his mouth to finish before continuing the task.

Ed still wasn't watching what was happening, if he didn't know then the interview would be short, but he had a solid feeling the Gestapo officer was not only gaining the upper hand, but getting ready to lay down some retrobution with it as well. In most any other circumstance McMillan would probably want to shake the man's hand for giving him a few moments alone, but when he did finally turn the Gestapo clad party crasher was headed for the door in a huge hurry. Ed shrugged "Huh?" and went back to his beer.

[Anton Maas]

In the crowd that rushed out from the bar, it was hard for Messer to find his prey in the , the mass of uniforms and plainclothes mixing together down the street. But everyone eventually ran out of steam and stopped somewhere along the row of apartments. Except for one lone figure that continued to run towards the nearest alleyway. Seeing that he would not be able to catch the gray uniformed man, Gus quickly kneeled and brought up his Walther PPK.

With the gun sights dancing around the figure, the Kriminalinspektor
fired once, then twice, and again and again until it would only click uselessly. As the shadowy figure stumbled into the alleyway, it seemed like all of the shots had missed, so as the crowd once again screamed and ran way, Gustav stood back up, replaced his magazine, and followed the vanished suspect.

At the bystreet, Gus saw no trance of the man he had shot, it looked like Sergio the Butcher had once again slipped from his grasp. But then Gustav saw it, a small patch of pavement reflecting the twilight. Blood. A trail of blood leading from the alley, down a short flight of stairs, right to the basement entrance of an apartment. That’s where Gus found his prey, one hand holding in his bullet wound, and the other grappling at the door knob, desperately trying to unlock it by force alone.

Messer silently stepped over to the top of the stairs as he lowered his weapon and smiled, “Your friend was probably a bad card player, I could read his tell like a book. You should have found a more experienced triggerman.”

Sergio calmed down and let go of the door handle. He slowly turned to face the Kriminalinspektor, knowing what was about to happen, “I’ll remember that for next time.”

“Heh,“ Gus let out an uncharacteristic chuckle, ”If there is a next time, let me give you some pointers. You’ll need a bodyguard who can pull his piece on anyone, at anytime, unarmed or not.” He raised the PPK to sight it in to the man below him. ”And then be able to pull the trigger when everyone, even himself, leas…”

Sergio the Butcher had been cool up to that point, but one shot straight through him and he started freaking out and screaming. Then it took another 3 shots to calm him down again.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

With only a small portion of his beverage left Ed knew he would be needing a refill shortly and looked up from the table yet again, trying to gain the attention of the waitress or the bar keep. To his pleasurement the bar had been vacated in it's entirety. With a somewhat struggled shift in his seat having become a little sluggish from the booze Ed carefully looked around the establishment. Totally empty. With a small grunt he hefted himself from the booth and strolled over to the bar. Reaching over the counter-top he fiddled around blindly until his hand bobbled around the neck of a bottle a few times then pulled it topside. After a moments thought Ed went back for a second bottle. "He'll be back." He muttered to himself. He scanned the label as if he cared what it was before turning back and heading toward his seat. It was in a nice location, low light, distant from the door, and it should still be warm when he takes it back.

As soon as the majority of McMillan's body was positioned over the loosely cushioned bench he gave way and slammed into his place again. He was starting to feel nice and toasty now. He popped the top on the bottle and turned it up for a large swig before dipping it back down and whipping his lips. After a small double take, as if he had already forgotten about it, he placed the other bottle on the table and slid it to the other side. He fully expected someone to come back to try and figure out...well anything and chances are they would end up sitting right in front of Ed. He sneered at the fact but there was a chance it wouldn't be the cyclops that was occupying the space before so there was a possibility they were more entertaining.

With another quick sip he put the brown bottle on the table and rifled through his pockets continuously until he eyed his smokes on the table edge next to the wall. He snapped them up and slid one out. "Where do these things keep going?" The brute asked aloud. He only had a few left but had entered with almost an entire pack. With a few attempts on his lighter it finally produced a flame and he dropped them back onto the hardwood table. After a couple of drags he slouched down in his seat slightly to get more comfortable and took up the mostly full bottle once more. "HEY! IF YOU DON'T COME DRINK THIS, I'M GONNA! Hoooo." finished off with a strong exhale slightly laughing at himself for yelling out toward the dark entry way of the bar. Ed flicked his cigarette ashes to the floor and then let the stick hang from his lips lazily...staring at the empty seat in front of himself.