Knife to Meet You ((Rated R for Racism))

[Anton Maas]

Country: Poland
Area/Setting: A small Polish village, divided between the conquering heroes.

Current Time: 6:34
Weather Conditions: Dreary, the sunless sky cries a light drizzle for the defeated nation.

The Western Allies were not ready for it, no one was. They thought it was as likely as two vicious predators sharing the same territory. It wasn’t just impossible, it went against their nature. But it happened, Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union had a treaty and their armies were rolling together to engulf their mutual neighbor, Poland. Although the brave defenders fought valiantly, valor could not defeat the cold claws of tanks and the bite of guns that chewed the country apart from both ends and victory to the invaders came quick enough. And while the Resistance still slowly pumped lifeblood through the wounded nation, the victorious lion and bear quickly prepared to divide up their prey.

At dawn on a dreary winter day a black Mercedes 260D rolled towards a small Polish town. The vehicle protected five men from the drizzling weather outside that matched the attitude of the defeated native population. Although they were invaders, these men were not soldiers. Although they wore civilian suits and trench coats, each man wore his black-on-black outfit with the pride and dedicated of a uniform, making each man almost identical to the rest. For the blue-eyed, blonde haired Aryans, a majority of the group, the only way to tell them apart was how they wore the gold pins that were the only sign of their allegiance.

Finally, after a drive of hours through the conquered landscape, the sedan had reached it’s destination within the sad little village. The leader of the gang, an Aryan whose swastika was pinned directly below the knot of his silk tie, had not said a word to his comrades since they had started their journey on the other side of the border, and his deep, rough voice made of iron and tar startled them when he finally did speak, giving them their orders for the day,

“ Wir sind die Fortschritt-Gruppe. Es gibt einige Soldaten bereits hier, aber es ist unsere Aufgabe sicherzustellen, dass alles zur Konferenz bereit ist. Erle und Baer, überzeugen Sie sich dort, dass wir mehr Wächter dann die Sowjets um den Konferenzsaal haben, ich will nicht, dass sie denken, dass Deutschland ein schwacher Hund ist, der nur Stücke von diesem Geschäft zu füttern ist. Ebenfalls, Steiner, gehen Sie mit ihnen und finden Sie unseren radiomen innen, stellen Sie sicher, dass sie keine Probleme haben, und wenn es Zeit ist, um die Delegierten zu nennen, werde ich zu Ihnen kommen. Inzwischen, obwohl Messer und ich werde mich überzeugen, es nichts gibt, um sich über mit den Dorfbewohnern zu sorgen. Es hat Widerstand-Tätigkeit im Gebiet gegeben, und wir stellen besser sicher, dass nichts heute, Der Ruhm des Führers, Deutschlands geschieht, und wir selbst auf Messers Schneide stehen.” ((We are the advance group. There are some soldiers already here but it’s our duty to make sure everything is ready for the conference. Messer and I will make sure there we have more guards then the Soviets around the conference hall, I do not want them to think that Germany is a weak dog to be only fed scraps from this deal. Steiner, come with us and find our radiomen inside, make sure they have no problems and when it’s time to call the delegates I will come to you. Also, see if our Russian friends have arrived yet. Meanwhile though, Alder and Baer, you will make sure there is nothing to worry about with the villagers. There has been resistance activity in the area, and we better make sure nothing happens today, The glory of the leader, Germany, and ourselves hang in the balance.))

He did not need vocal confirmation that they understood his orders, the solid click of 3 doors opening, and then 2 separate thuds as they closed again were all he needed.

The leader then exited the sedan himself, and as the light rain dripped onto his felt and down the leather of his coat, he took in his surroundings. The small village was tucked in the forest, the designated conference cabin was the main structure, from the Mercedes’ parking space right outside a side entrance, he could see all the other smaller buildings. For the moment, the street was empty, only the plainclothes Germans were moving down it’s dirt path, and their leader felt like the most powerful man in Poland. German might had conquered this land, and for the next couple hours, until the main group arrived, the men beneath him and the common soldiers beneath them, were the avatars of German might. With him on the top.

“Messer,” the leader addressed his remaining subordinate as he began walking towards the conference hall, “Ich kann die Wächter selbst behandeln. Statt dessen will ich, dass Sie das Auto beobachten” ((I can handle the guards myself. Instead, I want you to watch the car.))

”Bewachung tut es was?” ((Watch it do what?)) The young man mumbled as his superior stepped inside the large cabin. The leader froze. “ Was war das?” ((What was that?)) He shot a glare to Messer that could have conquered France.

”Herr… Ich sagte” ((Sir… I said)) Quickly, Messer thought of something else less insubordinate to say, what he found was not any better. ”Ich denke nicht, dass das eine gute Idee ist. Nach meiner Meinung ist das einzige Geschäft, das wir mit diesen Kommunisten schneiden sollten, ein Leitungsexport.” ((I don’t think this is a good idea. In my opinion, the only deal we should cut with these commies is a lead export.))

”Wenn ich Ihre Meinung, Messer gewollt hätte, hätte ich Sie im Befragungszimmer zurück am Hauptquartier behalten, während die Ruhe von uns diese verdammte Konferenz vorbereitete” ((If I had wanted your opinion, Messer, I would have kept you in the interrogation room back at headquarters while the rest of us prepared this damn conference.)) But his glared turned into a laugh, and he entered the building, letting his subordinate breathe a sigh of relieve.

Gustav Messer hated that laughing bastard, and cursed his name under his breath as he stepped under the cabin‘s awning to escape the rain. He was sure that his superior was going in there to find all the beer and get himself drunk, then when the real players arrive, tell them that he prepared everything himself. It made him sick, although Gus wasn’t going to do anything about it, let the little leader take all the glory, and then let some Pole shoot his famous face off. Gustav was more into the secret part of “Secret Police”. If they didn’t know about you, they couldn’t kill you. Words to live by.

[Stanimir Zolnerowich]

“Chush sobakya...” one of the men uttered.“That's what this entire mess is.” Some of the men could not help but hid their apprehension of the Germans. The Night of the Long knives was not as distant a memory to some as it was to others. Not to mention that everyone who didn't allow their minds the indignity of being spoon-fed “chush sobakya” knew that Stalin was just happy to say he had added Poland to the tip of his political dick.

“Enough. Or I will have talk with the Politruk,” Stanimir, who kept his pace some distance ahead of the men, had a frighteningly heightened sense of hearing. His warning was met with the acknowledgment that he may very well be serious. Their first foray into Poland, Stanimir had shot the company commissar; “political officer”, but everyone knew what they really were. It wasn't exactly an action that was unwelcome, so nobody questioned or reported it. But when the second officer was assigned, and wound up in the forest dead the following morning a short walk from camp, everyone knew that a lucky shot from the Poles hadn't claimed the man. Everyone in the company at least.

The Starshiy Leytenant, the Killer rather, had the unique perk of being a battlefield asset. Nobody questioned how he got things done as long as they got done. He'd been in the army close to a decade. He'd killed more Finns than many men cared to speak of, and had a medal rack that could be melted down once a year to produce an entire drum magazine worth of ammunition. The Killer was a machine that Stanimir tried desperately to keep in check. Even if that meant steering it toward less favorable individuals among his own ranks.

As the group continued down the muddy, frozen road (damn the Poles and their half-assed infrastructure), the sight of smoke rising from the spaced trees confirmed they were nearing the village. His orders were to find the Werhmacht's commanding officer, or whatever official happened to be present, and inform them of the Soviet envoy's lateness due to a frozen engine-block.

“Company,” Stanimir's voice changed from a loud whisper to a hoarse thunderclap, drawing everyone's attention.“Take to the shoulders of the road. Kaptsov, to my side! Everyone, keep your mouths shut and your fingers away from the trigger. If I see you even think about touching even the trigger guard, I will cut your pinky off.” It was a warning he'd given far too many times during the campaign. Any time they ran across German troops, he told them he'd cut off their little finger should they even think to fire at them. What they didn't know was that, this time, he wholly meant it.

As Kaptsov hustled to his side while the rest of the Company took to the shoulders of the dirt path, he shot a glance at the man. He was invaluable to him as a translator (lucky for him as well; he was off the target list), but intriguing the Stanimir in another way; he had a decidedly deceptive personality, which Zolnerowich had picked up on over the course of the last month. He was a little strange overall, to be certain. Not to mention that he'd conveniently missed the better part of the actual war with the Poles. Bar none, the man was worth keeping an eye on at all times.

As the group reached the edge of the village, Stanimir motioned for the men to slow up, making their approach seem less like an assault.

“Shoulder weapons.” It was insanely obvious that the Germans were about as excited to see them as they were the Germans. The entire lot of them looked as tired and beaten as they did. Stanimir was never one to be friendly to, well, anyone, but it was almost enough to inspire a sense of comraderie. Upon entering the village proper, he shot a glance to the town-hall, mentally locking in on it.

“Fan out, meet somebody, share a story, eat a sausage,” he half-commanded,“Kaptsov, stick with me. You're translating.” Stan turned toward the town hall, ignoring the beautiful Mercedez entirely, and approached what appeared to be a well dressed Polish villager (unlikely) or a German dignitary of sorts.

“Вы знаете, кто отвечает за здесь?”

[Raushan Ilyinichna Kaptsova]

The faded brown shoes Raushan wore seemed to sink into the muddy ground as she trudged along with a group lead by Stanimir Zolnerowich. Raushan has heard many things about this man...probably stumbled upon his file once...who knows.

The rumors that were centering around this man certainly was chilling...murders....bloody murders. Murders that were not so kind to those with queasy stomachs. But, being an ignorant girl that she is known to be; she didn't believe any word of it. Assuming the stories were made up by jealous underlings or people who envied him.

So...why the hell was she here?

In some forest in Poland--wet and cold from the rolling showers-- not to mention cross dressed as a man and serving under a "supposed "crazy Russian? Who knows...Raushan liked to keep her secrets, it was in her nature. Deceiving people was her specialty after all.

Raushan fiddled a bit with her revolver in her deep trench coat pocket, the coat itself did nothing to keep her warm. She muttered a curse in Russian as she fixed her cap; pulling it down a bit to hide most of her face. It wasn't not easy keeping the fact she was a woman hidden from all these men. Just one slip of the tongue or some careless gesture would blow her cover. She sighed irritably raising her stormy blue eyes as the group neared some sort of small Polish village.

The weather seemed to fit the atmosphere of this war beaten country. It was as if the sky itself was weeping for the Polish people. True, she wasn't too familiar of what happened in Poland...frankly she could careless...though, now she very much regretted not listening to the radio or keeping up with the newspaper articles. Raushan had heard so many stories of the events that had gone down...it was like the country itself ceased to exist...and it clearly showed in the faces of the Polish people.

Raushan couldn't help but frown slightly as they came to a halt upon hearing Stanimir's voice. A slight shiver ran down her spine...not because she was cold but the impending sense of adventure and danger seemed to fuel her with adrenaline. FINALLY...something exciting... she though mischievously as she made her way to the Captain's side.

She gripped the revolver lightly in her pocket (just in case) as she followed Stanimir. She saw him shoot her a glance; suddenly feeling her entire being go cold. After a few seconds (which seemed like hours) she merley raised her eyebrow at him breaking the stare down. She did her best to muster of some sort of masculinity, in hope she was convincing enough to fool him. She lowered her eyes after a while trying to take on a more manly posture. Which in any case, to the person who was actually staring at her head on would find him/her to be a bit...awkward.

Especially given the fact the trench coat she wore was a bit too big for her. It looked as if the fabric, the sweater she wore under the trench coat and baggy pants seemed to swallow her up. Given her petite figure; it was quite hard to find men clothing that would fit her correctly nevertheless hide her femininity. She continued walking with the group, traveling down the muddy road until they reached the edge of the village. They slowed their pace when Stanimir gave a signal.

Curiously she tried following his gaze... not really locking on any specified target, Well, crap... she thought. Her head jerked a towards Stanimir when he began to speak again. He murmured on about something about sausages...or whatever. Raushan didn't pay attention, though she did hear him ordered her to stick with him.

Frustrated she merely gave Stanimir a nod in reply. She followed him in silence keeping up with him easily as he walked past a Mercedez and to a man. He looked Polish...well, he looked too well dressed to be standing out in this weather. She felt uneasy as Stanimir approached the man so easily...Raushan swallowed dryly and followed after him keeping her guard up.

She listened quietly as Stanimir spoke...when he finished, Raushan cleared her throat in a gruff manner, "Weißt du, wer ist dafür verantwortlich?" she translated

Translations:

"Weißt du, wer ist dafür verantwortlich?" -- Do you know who is responsible for this?

[Anton Maas]

Gustav leaned against the side of the building as he watched the rain spill off the awning and pound into the hood of the sedan. Bored, and still annoyed with his superior, his mind’s eye turned the harmless water into the machinegun fire of a partisan, ripping apart the poor Mercedes as the communists used it to tour the occupied lands, along with their guide, the Kriminaldirektor. Instead of the wet drizzle, Gus saw their blood splattering on the windshield. He imagined feigning distress and anger upon hearing the news, then together with his comrades, seeking revenge and searching for the gunner in the nearby villages. But before he got to the part where he alone was able to find the female assassin and flip her into a double agent in the most enjoyable way possible, loud Russian orders coming from a recently arrived group of communists brought him out of his daydreams.

Annoyed, Messer watched the gang carefully as they approached the conference hall. While a few of them looked like decent soldiers, some looked too young to have kissed a woman, let alone invade a country. No wonder they did so poorly with Finland. They probably couldn’t conquer a herd of reindeer. But that didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous, so Gus kept his eyes on them, watching the way they moved and acted, both as individuals and as a group. Which was partially unnecessary, after a few words about “fans” and “sausages” the group dispersed and only the head commie and a young kid apparently wearing his father’s uniform continued in Gus’s direction.

Once the communists walked up to the sedan, they asked Messer who was responsible, first in Russian by the leader, then translated into German by the boy. The thought of having a conversation translated back and forth annoyed Gus, but speaking their filthy language angered him and for a moment he wasn’t going to respond. But then an idea entered in his mind and a thin smile appeared on his face. In English, just for kicks, he replied, “Mercedes-Benz, naturally. They are the strong, capable legs of the Fatherland.” Gus stepped away from the wall and walked over to the car, ”This model is a 260D, the first diesel passenger car in the world. Four speed transmission, and a four-cylinder engine, top speed is 95 kilometers an hour. Not fast, but that’s not the point.” Gus walked back under the awning and returned to his spot against the wall, ”If you have any other questions, ask for Kriminaldirektor Fotze inside.”

[Tristan Herman]

[[Domi, do you want me to automatically translate after Gus' posts, or what? That would prevent you from having to go back and forth repeatedly.]]

[Raushan Ilyinichna Kaptsova]

(go ahead I don't mind XD)

[Stanimir Zolnerowich]

Whatever the German had spouted, Kaptsov was unable to translate it back to Stanimir. It didn't sound like German, but the Leytenant wasn't exactly learned or cultured all too well; rough childhood has a tendency to do that to a man. Stanimir shot Kaptsove a queer look, then turned his gaze back upon the well-dressed German (or whatever land he hailed from). Gut reaction told him that the man's expression and semi-sexual stroking of the hood on the vehicle before them was an indication of one of the following:

1. He was idly poking fun at the two Russians.

2. He had an absurd sexual attraction to his luxury vehicle.

Either way, the Killer was none too pleased that the man even existed really. His snooty, condescending tone was enough to make him single-handedly break this forced truce between the two empires. Well, almost enough. The Killer conceded that continuing to live long enough to kill more people was a more beneficial outcome than dispensing indiscriminate justice upon the unsuspecting German force.

Stanimir turned back to Kaptsov with the usual half-stoic expression and gestured toward the German with a cock of the head and wave of his hand.

“Tell this pig to speak something you or I can understand before I get 'diplomatic' with him. Censor at will.”

[Raushan Ilyinichna Kaptsova]

Raushan arched her eyebrow slightly when the Polish...German...whatever the nicely dressed citizen seemed to speak in English. Raushan understood him, but chose not to say anything thinking it may blow her cover if she said she could understand the man. Curiously she looked the man over , trying to see if he had any sort of weapon on him as he seemingly stroked the car's hood in a sensational manner. Raushan sneered a bit quirking her eyebrow at the man (yet again).

Is he intentionally trying to piss off Stanimir??? she thought to herself sensing Stanimir starting to get annoyed with this man. She tore her gaze off the man and glanced back at Stanimir who happened to shoot her a look. She shrugged her shoulders lightly under the baggy jacket, tucking her hands deeper into it's deep pockets. She took a small step away from him in case he were to lash out at the man. That she rather not be involved in.

The last thing she wanted was to be involved in a gun fight. Not only did she have a high chance at being shot, the fact that if Stanimir didn't watch his temper this could break the truce between Germany and the Soviet Union. She looked away muttering something in Russian about the "civilian", thinking there was something off about him. Well, that's what her gut was telling her.

She sighed a bit hearing Stanimir order her to make the Civilian speak a language that he could understand. She rubbed her temple a bit before speaking, " Entschuldigen Sie meine "Freundin" Grobheit, Sie sprechen Russisch durch Zufall? Es wäre viel einfacher."she said bluntly; her irritation flaring a bit when she said the word easier in German.

Translation:

Entschuldigen Sie meine "Freundin" Grobheit, Sie sprechen Russisch durch Zufall? Es wäre viel einfacher. - Excuse my "friend's" rudeness, do you speak Russian by chance? It would be much easier.

[Anton Maas]

Messer concealed his amusement at riling up the Russian. At least that was one thing communists were useful for, enjoyment at their expense. But Gus was unamused at the audacity of the other one to ask that he speak Russian. He could see by the look in the boy’s face that the kid found speaking other languages irritating. Gus would show him irritating,

”No, I don’t speak Russian,” he lied in English, before switching to Spanish, ”Hablo español aunque” ((I do speak Spanish though)) then Dutch, ”Nederlands en,” and after stopping to think about his time at the Grand Prix at Eläintarhan ajot, Finnish “Suomi. Eniten juuri kielet, jotka ovat voittaneet sotia.” ((Finnish. I just speak languages that have won wars.))

Gus hoped at least one of the communists understood what he had just said. It made him sick that he was there, helping to divide land Germany had conquered, or could have conquered if not for this stupid truce. And he wanted them to know. If a million commies couldn’t conquer a handful of reindeer, they have no business putting their noses in Germany’s plans, they already proved that they are useless. Berlin must be stupid to ally with them. Perhaps they were. Perhaps they all needed a bullet through the head to let some air in.

As if he could read the insurrectionist thoughts of his subordinate, the Kriminaldirektor rushed outside, “Messer, ich brauche Sie, mir mehr Alkohol zu finden” ((Messer, I need you to find me more v…)) He then noticed their Russian company and took a moment to size them up. The tallest one was about his own height, and with a similar build, and the German paid little attention to him. But Gus noticed a little smile appear on his superior’s face as he looked over the younger communist. He then walked over to the kid before speaking to them in Russian “Применив к проблеме равновесного теплового излучения методы электродинамики и термодинамики.” ((You look like the brains of this group, how about you come inside. Some of your comrades, as you say, are already set up inside.))

He grabbed at the boy’s arm to lead him inside, but before entering, told the other communist, “На протяжении многих лет один из руководителей немецкой науки.” ((You should just stand guard out here.))

[Stanimir Zolnerowich]

Stand guard? Stand guard? That sentence did not appear to include the phrase ”avoid beating the shit out of the nose-in-the-air kraut a meter before him.” The off-hand insult to his intelligence wasn't taken well either, but the German before Stanimir was the root of his current anger. He didn't know Finnish well, but he'd heard enough begs and screams to know when some Aryan swine was talking down to him in it.

As soon as the wooden door slammed shut once more, the Killer rolled the sling off his shoulder and held the Mosin-Nagant by its respective fore and aft grips. The Leytenant's eyes narrowed on the man, nigh pitying his pampered existence.

“You do not speak Russian, I see,” he began plainly, wiggling his toes and tapping his fingers against the icy wood of his weapon. “But I think we'll be okay, because...,” the Killer's face remained stoic as ever while a few men from either faction began to let their eyes wander onto the scene.

“I know a language we can both speak in. Quite fluently, in fact,” A short inhale, and the Killer briskly slammed the rifle butt into the headlight of the Mercedez. Glass clattered forth, spilling into the snow like running water. If there was one thing he had discerned so far from watching the priss dither about, it was that he was quite fond of the flamboyant luxury vehicle the German's so fondly called a “car”.

With the familiar sound of shattering glass, much of the camp turned their attention to the scene, a few Soviet troops stowing their rations, and a likewise group of Germans slowly shuffling over to the stoop of the structure.

It certainly wasn't America, but things were beginning to feel an awful lot like the wild west.

[Raushan Ilyinichna Kaptsova]

Raushan narrowed her eyes lightly as the German began rambling off in several languages she clearly did not know. If she was annoyed what about Stanimir? She shot a short glance at him seeing him start to get riled up, Well...there goes the treaty she thought. Just as she was about to say something a man emerged from the building. His timing was impeccable...now all she needed to do was calm Stanimir down....somehow.

Raushan observed quietly as he spoke to the irritating German. He stopped mid sentence after seeing her and Stanimir. She cursed quietly under her breath thinking this was a bad idea to go up to this German in the first place.

Her eyebrow twitched a bit seeing a smile grow on the other German's face as walked up to them. She took a step back in defense, relaxing slightly upon hearing the German begin to speak in fluent Russian to them. She quirked her eyebrow curiously,Well at least someone knows Russian... she thought.

Raushan blinked a few times when he stated that she must be the brains to the group, "U-uhhh...." was the only thing she could muster as he took hold of her arm. She gripped the weapon deep in her trench coat lightly in case she needed to make a break for it, letting the German lead her inside.

She took one last glance at Stanimir as the man said that he could stay out side and stand guard. Raushan frowned a bit as the door closed; knowing that "pun" might have hit a certain never in the psychotic Russian.