For Old Time's Sake? [Erik & JT]

[∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram]

Wolfrick, he was such a handsome young boy. He had his mother’s pearly blue eyes and plump pink lips, but he had his father’s complexion and golden hair, as well as his thirst for curiosity. To know everything, to know more then anyone else. Young Wolfrick learnt the value of knowledge from such a young age, not only did it provide wisdom and knowledge, but power and strength, if it was one thing humans did not like, was the unknown. Young Wolfrick had his father’s cunning ways indeed.

Reaching out with his black leather glove, Sturmbannführer Wolfram pulled the photo of his son down to rest face-downwards against the auburn stain of his desk. His young boy had been dead for a while now, the only real comfort he could take, was the knowing that no wildlife were about to eat at his son’s flesh. Dead and buried. No-one knew of his son’s burial ground, not even his closest friends. It was better this way, the barbaric Slavs would have dug his son up, have they have known the damaged they had caused to three senior officers amongst the SS, by killing one single boy. It didn’t take much to think like a barbarian, if he was in their shoes, he’d drag out the rotting corpse and hang it for all see. Although he would never do such a thing, it never hurt to anticipate your foes move and train your thought like them. At least now, his son could rest in peace.

A tapping erupted against the heavy wooden door to his office and the Sturmbannführer raised his head slowly from behind the desk, awaiting their presence patiently. “Kommen Sie in Gerwulf” he spoke up, predicting the timely arrival of his good friend and subordinate, the door creaking open gradually, as Rottenführer Gerwulf stepped in, shutting the door behind himself to stand straight and salute, proceeding to approach the desk in a very informal fashion. Sturmbannführer Wolfram grinned to himself and stood before the lesser ranked man, his friend and smiled broadly to put out his hand before the Rottenführer could address himself. “Gerwulf, es gibt kein Bedürfnis lieber Freund. Es ist ein Vergnügen, Sie wieder zu sehen” the Sturmbannführer said heartedly, watching as the man merely reached out to shake his superior’s hand in slight awe. Not the welcoming he was expecting.

“Ja, Ja ist es gut, Sie wieder Sturmbannführer Wolfram zu sehen, ich habe Ihr Auto, das unten erwartet, Obersturmführer ist Schneider informiert worden, um Sie dort, wie gebeten, zu treffen”[/I] the Rottenführer informed, letting go of his superior’s hand to step back and stand straight again in front of the desk. Sturmbannführer Wolfram nodded and leant down to lock his desk draw with a small golden key laying within the lock, dropping it soon after into his jacket pocket. The Sturmbannführer had been sitting fully clothed in his jacket and dress-cap for the past ten minutes, awaiting the arrival of Gerwulf. “Gut dann werden wir jetzt dann abreisen” Sturmbannführer Wolfram noted, walking out from behind his desk to brush past the Rottenführer, stopping by the closed door for the Rottenführer to overtake and open for him. A slight nod in thanks as he passed through into the corridor, leading the way.

Retracting a hand to his hip, the Sturmbannführer unclipped the holster to his P38 side-arm and withdrew his weapon, having checked the chamber for the seventh, possibly eighth time, making sure it was loaded. “Rottenführer erinnern Sie sich an Oberstabsfeldwebel McMillan gut ja?” a brief silence paused between the Rottenführer’s lips, as the man recalled the memories of watching the two men fighting hand to hand on a shattered bed of tiles on a roof in Africa, the man had broken his superior’s nose, but hadn’t deterred his complexion, before he himself shot at the brute. Yes, he remembers, but Rottenführer Gerwulf didn’t have to respond, as Sturmbannführer Wolfram merely said; “Halten Sie Ihren Seitenarm geladen”.

With that, Sturmbannführer Wolfram disembarked from the entrance of the building and hurried over to his kubelwagen parked directly outside. Standing by the back door, Rottenführer Gerwulf opened it and stood firm as the officer ducked in and sat down, closing it soon after. Hurrying around the vehicle, the Rottenführer climbed in and started the engine, pulling away immediately as to keep his superior on time.

OOC: JT/Erik, the inspection is going to take place at a training yard outside of the main SS headquarters. So JT you can be training with your unit maybe? Awaiting the arrival of two senior officers to prove your battle efficiency and discipline to us both. The inspection isn’t just about looking good, you’re not parade, so this should spice things up a little. Keep it interesting.


Translations:[/b]

Kommen Sie in Gerwulf
~ Come in Gerwulf

Gerwulf, es gibt kein Bedürfnis lieber Freund. Es ist ein Vergnügen, Sie wieder zu sehen.
~ Gerwulf, there is no need dear friend. It is a pleasure to see you again.

Ja, Ja ist es gut, Sie wieder Sturmbannführer Wolfram zu sehen, ich habe Ihr Auto, das unten erwartet, Obersturmführer ist Schneider informiert worden, um Sie dort, wie gebeten, zu treffen.
~ Yes, Yes it is good to see you again Sturmbannführer Wolfram, I have your car awaiting downstairs, Obersturmführer Schneider has been informed to meet you there, as requested.

Gut dann werden wir jetzt dann abreisen.
~ Good, then we shall leave now then.

Rottenführer erinnern Sie sich an Oberstabsfeldwebel McMillan gut ja?
~ Rottenführer, you remember Oberstabsfeldwebel McMillan well yes?

Halten Sie Ihren Seitenarm geladen
~ Keep your side-arm loaded.

[∬: Erik Schneider]

The vibrations of Erik Schneider's throat let out a rather unpleasant yet silent snore as he rested the heels of his black jackboots on the clutter of papers and files scattered on his desk. The heels of his boots dug into the oak wood desk for support as he leaned backwards on the back legs of his chair. With his field cap bent downwards to shield from the nuisance of light and his hands folded in his lap, it was a good day at work for the Lieutenant. Hastily he had filled out any reports required of him, filed any complaints, and finished all of his other 'chores' before noon and decided he deserved an afternoon nap. After all, he would be shipping out for the Netherlands in the next few days. To the 'front'. It wasn't much of a front nor battle, though. To the Lieutenant, it appeared more as a vacation. Peaceful, no combat, and a beautiful country. Besides, if there was the odd chance he might see combat... the trip would definitely be better than his pencil pushing in Germany.

Inside the SS man's mind, his deepest, darkest, innermost feelings were stored. Only to be seen by his eyes... or thought in his mind. Abruptly, his thoughts came to halt by the piercing sound of bone bounding against wood. Nearly falling backwards, Schneider caught the edge of his desk and slid his feet down to solid ground. Sobering up from his sleep, he rubbed his eyes and nonchalantly yawned before glancing over the mess that was his desk. Sweeping the papers back into their respective spots, he straightened out the unorganized clutter. As he stood up, pushing his chair back a few inches, he spotted a picture of his wife, Angela. He couldn't resist scooping the picture up off his desk with a smirk and glancing over her features one last time. Setting it down, he realize he had the wallet sized picture with him for his trip to Holland anyway.

As he set the picture back down, another caught his eye. This time, however, it wasn't pleasant. It was a group photo of a younger, ignorant Schneider proudly standing amongst his men in the African desert. It had been taken only thirty minutes prior to when he got a good lot of them killed. Somehow, the 'gift', had found its way out the trash and back into his desk. With a grunt and a sweep of the hand, he knocked the framed picture down onto the ground before stomping on it with the front of his right boot. He dug the front of his jackboot into it until the glass shattered and the back of the frame popped out. Scraping his boot against the floor, stray pieces of glass rubbed off. His pale hands scooped the photo in his hands, shaking glass off its surface, as he brought it up to his face. In disgust, he tore the photo in half and let it slowly drift to his feet.

A violent cough escaped his lips and the Obersturmfuhrer fell backwards into his seat. Viciously coughing into his right fist, he gripped the left side of his body with the other hand. A searing pain shot through his left lung. One that shouldn't and didn't really exist. He had been fortunate enough that bullet didn't cause that much damage and had been able to fully recover from the wound. But he hadn't recovered emotionally. The pain wasn't physical...it was mental. It was his Achilles' heel and it brought him to his knees in disgust, torment, and pain. The effects wore off eventually and there came a persistent knock at the officer's doors. "Geben Sie mir einen Moment einfach," he grunted out and flipped open a file. His right index finger drifted across the printed words as he reread the report that stated he would be inspecting the reputable Oberstabsfeldwebel McMillan. In Schneider's honest opinion, the man was nothing but filth. In some ways, he was worse than the Jews. The man was a traitor. Even if he fought with the SS now and even if he was one of the best damned soldiers in the army... he was a traitor.

Reaching across his desk, he grasped the holster for his pistol and strapped it back onto his hip. It had dug into his side uncomfortably while he slept, so he had taken it off. But when dealing with the likes of a traitor, a skilled one as well, you needed to take the necessary precautions. Undoing the flap and pulling out the Luger, he loaded his bullets in personally. There would be no cock ups should McMillan decide to take action against Wolfram. Schneider would save his superior and to win him back. The two hadn't seen each other in months with the Sturmbannfuhrer recovering from his son's death and the Oberstumfuhrer recovering from his wounds. Both men had changed since there first encounter, but Schneider was hell bent on winning his commander's respect and admiration. Perhaps, he could kill McMillan and make it look like the bastard had attacked him? Schneider grinned deviously at the prospect of murdering the traitor and earning a promotion.

The Luger found it's way back into Schneider's holster and the man made his way across his spacious quarters. Standing before the door, Schneider straightened out his uniform to make sure he would look his best before opening the door. Outside stood a private, Anton Jager. "Ich bin angewiesen worden, Sie zum SS-Hauptsitz zu fahren, Herrn Obersturmfuhrer." The man stepped aside and allowed Schneider enough room to exit the room and lock the door behind him. "Gut, Schutze. Lassen Sie uns sich beeilen, ich möchten nicht die Sturmbannfuhrer Aufwartung halten." The two men took off down the vast corridors before coming to the main entrance. Leading the way, Jager showed the Oberstumfuhrer out of the building and to the Volkswagen parked across the street. Schneider nodded a thanks as the man opened the door for the back seat, before proceeding to the driver's seat. The engine roared to life and the compact German car sped off down the road.

Translations:

- "Just give me a moment. "

- "I have been instructed to drive you to the SS headquarter, Herr Obersturmfuhrer."

- "Good, Schutze. Let us hurry, I do not wish to keep the Sturmbannfuhrer waiting."

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

It was a rather peaceful afternoon, the German's almost never had the faint sound of artillery in the distance, or any sporadic small arms confrontations at the perimeter walls, McMillan almost missed it, just seemed too quiet in a sense. The temperature was just right, possibly a little high for the time of year, but comfortable none the less. McMillan was holding a some what special training session with his Sergeants, he had a few of them, not enough for the entire field that they occupied, but it gave them plenty of room to spread out, after all, they were his closest subordinates, when it hit the fan they were the ones he looked to to get the job done. All the weapons had been stored in a near by truck, the two new Corporals he had just received were standing guard over them, not that anything could happen to them at the SS headquarters, but it was still policy, that and Edward wanted them to see what they had to look forward to, and look forward to they did. Edward had seen his fair share of hand to hand combat, not to mention he was the only man standing on the face of the earth to have caused their intimidating leader to bleed, so his special training bouts, although rare, were still respected.

There were still many men that served Hitler that despised McMillan, even many under his own command, but his Sergeants, well they had been with him long enough that they had learned he wasn't that bad of a guy. They might not agree with him holding the rank he did, or even being in the SS, but they had seen first hand the passion with which he fought his enemies, they were glad he wore their uniform. That and he had one hell of a mean mutt that carried out his every order with pride, she was just sitting off to the side, enjoying being outside.

"Sohn von A. a. ..hey Uhr es Sie Idiot!"[/i] one of his Sergeant's exclaimed after a hollow thud landed him on his upper back, his head bouncing off the ground. "ielleicht, wenn Sie nicht so ein kleines Mädchen waren, das wir tatsächlich diesmal genießen könnten, auszubilden." replied his training partner with a cocky attitude. McMillan, who had been instructing the small group of a lovely, yet very effective way of tossing your enemy into the earth when lunged upon, had seen the whole incident, the veterans of the group already knew what was about to happen and removed any bit of gear and clothing they could get away with. Edward stormed over to the pair, only his pants and an undershirt, soaked in sweat, covered his body, his boots that he used for the crappy details on his feet, and some long strands of medical tape wrapped around his knuckles. A bit of blood had soaked through them, he liked to get a solid twenty minutes on the heavy bag before his training sessions, got him pumped in a way.

"Stehen Sie, auf hören Sie auf, sich zu beschweren, gibt es keinen Gebrauch dafür in Gefecht, und Sie!" he said with a harsh tone in his voice. He grabbed the man by the neck, holding him slightly off balance. "DIES IST EIN VERDAMMTER TEAMARBEIT JACK ARSCH! WANN SIND SIE GONNA ERHÄLT ES DURCH IHREN DICKEN SCHÄDEL, DER DIESE DIE MÄNNER SIND, DIE SIE sich AUF HUH VERLASSEN MÜSSEN? Ich BIN HIER nicht HERAUSGEKOMMEN, MEINE ZEIT AUF KINDERN ZU VERSCHWENDEN! LAUF!" It never failed, about once a month it happened, some Sergeant would lose his cool and they got the team speech, but McMillan meant it every single time, he didn't want to waste his time on those that would do the rest of them no good in combat. They would either learn to fight with him, or he would break them in the process, and then they could learn.

A quick rolling of the eyes landed the moron in the dirt next to his buddy, the rest of the Sergeants had already taken off and were starting to round the first corner in the field. They Knew when it happened that they were in store for a few laps around the huge field, the two on the ground got up and sulked over toward the edge and picked up the pace. There was never a set distance, or a number of laps, they just kept running until McMillan was tired of the heavy bag again and sent Tessa after them, that made for a quite impressive last lap, followed by hick ups when the water they hastily drank afterward was engulfed to quickly.

McMillan had just made it to his pathetic looking excuse for a punching bag, it had seen batter days, but the man was hard on himself, preferred to be too prepared than not enough for when the time came, when he noticed a dust trail way off in the distance. No one was scheduled in the area other than his superiors. A quick glance at his watch let him know why the Sergeant had snapped, they had been at it for over two hours, time just seemed to fly by. McMillan kept his sight fixated on the rising dust as he reached over toward the nearest canteen, his mouth began to gape a bit. He took a few swallows, the water wasn't even cool, luke-warm at best, then he knew his watch wasn't off, pouring the rest over his head he turned toward the pair of Corporals by the vehicle, with a casual flick of his wrist and a point the two lesser non-commissioned officers and the pair quickly began unloading the truck, separating the gear into the respectful piles based on the seniority of the Sergeants. The men had almost made it halfway around the large grassy area when they heard that fateful whistle from their leader followed by the slightly feared bark from Tessa, she came bounding across the field to round them up, and once the light thumping of her paws could be heard behind them the rag tag group set off full speed to make it back.

Translations:
Sohn von A. a. ..hey Uhr es Sie Idiot!
"Son of a...hey watch it you idiot!"

Vielleicht, wenn Sie nicht so ein kleines Mädchen waren, das wir tatsächlich diesmal genießen könnten, auszubilden.
"Maybe if you weren't such a little girl we could actually enjoy this time to train."

Stehen Sie, auf hören Sie auf, sich zu beschweren, gibt es keinen Gebrauch dafür in Gefecht, und Sie!
"Get up, quit complaining, there is no use for it in combat, and you!"

DIES IST EIN VERDAMMTER TEAMARBEIT JACK ARSCH! WANN SIND SIE GONNA ERHÄLT ES DURCH IHREN DICKEN SCHÄDEL, DER DIESE DIE MÄNNER SIND, DIE SIE sich AUF HUH VERLASSEN MÜSSEN? Ich BIN HIER nicht HERAUSGEKOMMEN, MEINE ZEIT AUF KINDERN ZU VERSCHWENDEN! LAUF!
"THIS IS A FUCKING TEAM EFFORT JACK ASS! WHEN ARE YOU GONNA GET IT THROUGH YOUR THICK SKULL THAT THESE ARE THE MEN THAT YOU HAVE TO RELY ON HUH?! I DIDN'T COME OUT HERE TO WASTE MY TIME ON CHILDREN! RUN!"

[∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram]

The Sturmbannführer’s sat rather quietly on the backseat of the vehicle, his fingers entwined together neatly upon his lap, as he curiously gazed from out of the passenger window, eyeballing a few neatly uniformed guards that opened the barrier quickly to the fast approaching vehicle marked with small swastika flags either side of the hood, with a SS thunderbolt emblem also fixed to the side of the vehicle’s grill upon the front. As the vehicle left the Schutzstaffel’s main headquarters in Berlin, the Sturmbannführer ironically began to tense up; most officers dulled their senses and slackened the moment they were out of their superior’s vice grip, but with the Sturmbannführer, the thought of danger peaked like pin-prick hairs scattered across the back of his neck. He was forever cautious, predominately since the coined September Riots (Munich Riots).

Rottenführer Gerwulf glanced into his rear-view mirror a couple of times, having noticed his superior’s heightened anxiousness and paranoia the moment they were driven into the unknown, the streets of Berlin. Stories of how his superior’s son died tragically had spread like wildfire throughout the barracks, but rumours were soon hushed out of respect to their commander. “Wir sind fast dort herr Wolfram”[/I] the Rottenführer reassured, keeping his eyes fixed upon the road, but Sturmbannführer Wolfram quirked a smirk and continued to gaze from out of his window like a lost soul, watching the ordinary citizens of Germany continue with their every day lives. Every now and again a soldier littered the sidewalk or a newspaper headline stuck up in someone’s shop window brought him back to his senses, reminding him a war was on. For how much longer though? The Sturmbannführer had overheard a couple of advisors in the corridor having quite the intriguing talk; both men didn’t see an end to this war anytime soon, although little words were spoken, the tone to their voices said it all.

Soon enough the streets of Berlin were slowly being left behind and the Sturmbannführer found himself looking across an open field. The thought of danger immediately entered his mind, as his eyes wandered upwards towards the skies, wondering if a few fly boys circling within the clouds may have noticed the importance of the vehicle he was travelling in. They may have been daft thoughts, but the Sturmbannführer was never too careful and neither did he underestimate his common foe. “Wo Sie würde mögen, dass ich herr Wolfram abstellte?” young Gerwulf questioned, as the vehicle speedily approached the training field where a group of bodies moved around the field, the faint yapping of a dog in the distance, but most of all, the Sturmbannführer noticed a very rugged looking man at the end of the path. “Es, ist gerade Park irgendwo egal” the Sturmbannführer bluntly instructed, his eyes fixed upon the fast approaching figure awaiting their arrival.

As the vehicle neared Edward McMillan, Rottenführer Gerwulf pulled it up alongside the senior NCO, so Sturmbannführer Wolfram didn’t have very far to walk. The back door popped open before the Rottenführer could even get out to do it for him and quite slowly, the Sturmbannführer pulled himself out, his eyes glaring upon the rough looking man he’d faced many times on the battlefield, but this time, he looked different? Perhaps more masculine? Sturmbannführer Wolfram grinned to himself and closed the back door as he stepped away from the vehicle, approaching the man he’d once considered his worse enemy. “Oberstabsfeldwebel McMillan…” the Sturmbannführer calmly noted, his eyes staring the man down before himself from beneath the visor of his officer’s hat, the atmosphere becoming incredibly intense already, as Gerwulf hesitantly lingered in the background, clearing his throat to linger a hand towards his holster for safety.

As Sturmbannführer Wolfram stepped directly in front of Oberstabsfeldwebel McMillan, he casually lifted his hand for a shake, not expecting and neither wanting the man to salute him, but just shake his hand. “Sie sehen ziemlich gesund aus, ich hoffe, dass Sie gut behandelt worden sind?” he questioned, grinning a little as he done so, expecting the man to give him a firm handshake. Whilst he calmly awaited such a greeting, his eyes wandered curiously over the man’s shoulder and towards his knackered men in the background, before drifting over towards the supply truck being unloaded. It seemed as if the man before himself would have a show to put on for him this afternoon.


Translations:[/b]

Wir sind fast dort herr Wolfram.
~ We are nearly there herr Wolfram.

Wo Sie würde mögen, dass ich herr Wolfram abstellte?
~ Where would you like me to park Herr Wolfram?

Es, ist gerade Park irgendwo egal.
~ It doesn't matter, just park anywhere.

Sie sehen ziemlich gesund aus, ich hoffe, dass Sie gut behandelt worden sind?
~ You are looking rather healthy, I hope you have been treated well?

[∬: Erik Schneider]

The boredom of riding backseat in a Volkswagen as it maneuvered its way through the streets of Berlin hit the Oberstumfuhrer at full force. He a soldier in an officer's boots to say it simply. He need action, blood thirst, and adrenaline to survive from one day to the next. He had the heart of a soldier but the traits and mind of an officer. In most cases, the two went together rather well. But in others, they didn't mesh. Schneider couldn't bare being so far out from the front lines to perform tedious tasks like filing reports or performing inspections. Sometimes, he regretted every becoming an Obersturmfuhrer and would much rather be a respected Senior NCO. However, there was no turning his back on his duty for the Fuhrer and he would learn to accept his role as an officer first fully in the future. For the time being, he wouldn't let such thoughts escape from their prison that rested within his mind.

His rough blond hair had been slicked back with a fair amount of German hair oil so that it completely touched down onto his scalp and formed a small V upon his forehead. Another reason he hated life behind a desk in Berlin. His hair. In combat, his hair mattered little and was usually just a mess of greasy hair slanted slightly backwards. But in Berlin, he had to be combed and gelled to perfection. Schneider could be a gentleman when he wanted and had to be, but he despised the perfection that it brought upon him. The immaculate uniform and hair. He much preferred the chaotic life one lived on the frontlines where your uniforms condition didn't matter, how your hair was worn under your helmet didn't matter, and how you spoke with your men didn't matter. No one was a gentleman in battle. You were a soldier, a brute, a warrior, a beast, or whatever the hell you wanted to be called. His rough goatee was a slight rebellion against such perfection that had been allowed to slip by.

A few minutes passed by before Schneider's view of the city faded to that of open fields and even more passed until they neared their destination. The Obersturmfuhrers turned away from his view out of the backseat's windows and glanced over Jager's shoulder onto the open road. The Schutze was doing a remarkable job of closing the gap between Schneider and Wolfram's vehicles, but making sure to stay far enough apart that should anything happen to one of the vehicles, the other wouldn't be harmed. Both men in the second Kubelwagen knew of the the Sturmbannfuhrer's new found fear after the "September Riots" and were aware that he may still be the target of Slavic resistance movements. By now, much of the resistance had probably been swept clean by superior German soldiers, weapons, technology, intelligence, etc. They were the masters of this world and superior to the rest of the swine that inhabited the world. It was only a matter of time before they fell before the German war machine. Schneider would see to such personally.

As Wolfram stepped out of the back of his vehicle, Schutze Jager slowed their own, before pulling the Kubelwagen in close next to the other. Schneider was out into the open area before Jager could even turn the engine off or exit the vehicle himself, anxious for some sort of action. Slamming the door shut, he strut over to the front of his Kubelwagen and watched as Wolfram and McMillan shook hands. Enemies turned comrades, Schneider still had no trust or faith within the Oberstabsfeldwebel. He doubted Wolfram would feel any different about the Irish man in the SS ranks. The notion disgusted the SS Obersturmfuhrer who still contemplated the man's death and humiliation. Smirking at a violent vision of beating the man's skull in with his Stg44 before his Stumbannfuhrer as Wolfram beamed with pride, his eyes wandered past the two men at group of NCOs who were gathering behind McMillan.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

McMillan watched on as that oh so crafty blonde headed structure of respect stepped from his vehicle. Once McMillan realized it was him, his gaze never faltered, well not at first anyway. Wolfram, the man himself, the one and only approached rather confidently, the only man to have ever bested Edward, now approached him in a friendly manner. McMillan then noticed another all too familiar face, it was yet another one and only in McMillan's life, Gerwulf, this was turning into one big trip down memory minefield. Edward swallowed slowly as he paced his gaze back and forth between the pair of memories in the flesh. "Erhalten Sie es auf!" Edward spat over his shoulder, never looking back but hearing his men scurry about. Walfram approached and as Edward was about to snap to, he was in a way halted by the informal gesture, a handshake, from Wolfram, now they were all in uncharted waters.

With a quick look of uncertainty and Edward returned the favor, ensuring that even though he looked worn out and dirty as could be, that if this was some sort of nice way of saying goodbye, it would be a long one at that. "Herr Sturmbannführer, Ich hoffe unsere Zeit auseinander hat nicht erlaubt Ihnen den Trost der Stagnation." Edward said with a swift grin, but not enough of one to seem defiant toward the man, after all, half of the Reason Edward wore the uniform he did was because of Rafael. It was his display of ability that awed McMillan, that showed him that there was still much to learn in the ways of combat.

Then another German Officer joined the trio, Edward didn't recognize him, but he looked like a pretty boy, well groomed, other then that caterpillar that looked like it was trying to creep across his chin. Of course Edward could say the same for Wolfram, but he had proven his worth many times over, choking Edward on multiple occasions, out flanking his flanking maneuver costing many lives, Gerwulf had shot him, but if he recalled correctly, the first grenade Edward threw of this war was at Gerwulf, he never knew if it had done any damage, it was obvious that it never accomplioshed the task it was sent to do. But that was neither here nor there, Edward wanted the past to stay where it was, behind them, and move on. Move on to a direction that could end this war, a direction that would put those that could in the thick of it and those that couldn't on the recieving end of it. An end they could be thankful they brought about. Edward knew the Axis forces would win, so long as Hitler stayed his course and didn't meddle in affairs he had better experienced men handling. "Sowie erwartet werden kann, schließend eine neue Einheit von der falschen Seite vom Draht und alle an. Sie schauen ziemlich gut sich Herr an, vertraue ich, dass Ihr Leben in Reihenfolge ist?" Edward was sincerely curious, it had been a long time since he had seen his Major, longer of a time than had ever transpired on the battlefield, it seemed if they were fated to kill one another it had better chances than a friendship did with the long time lapse.

Edward held his arm back behind him, one of his new Corporals standing by with his belt of gear. Having it handed off, McMillan slid it down his arm and pulled it over his head. He started pulling the tape from his dirty and bloody knuckles, shooting a slow gaze at the unfamiliar face and his lackey. What were they here for? They didn't know Edward, at least not as far as Edward knew...wait! Could this be that man? He did fit the description, slender, aryan, boyish looks, and then Edward rolled his eyes in his head, he had just described almost everyone he had seen in many months, but he was of the same rank, time would tell if it was truely him or not. The medical tape stung a bit as the last layer was pulled off, a few small scabs coming with it. Edward just stuffed them into a cargo pocket and set about on his other hand.





Translations:
Erhalten Sie es auf!
Get it on!

Ich hoffe unsere Zeit auseinander hat nicht erlaubt Ihnen den Trost der Stagnation.
I hope our time apart has not allowed you the comfort of stagnation.

Sowie erwartet werden kann, schließend eine neue Einheit von der falschen Seite vom Draht und alle an. Sie schauen ziemlich gut sich Herr an, vertraue ich, dass Ihr Leben in Reihenfolge ist?
As well as can be expected, joining a new unit from the wrong side of the wire and all. You are looking rather well yourself sir, I trust your life is in order?

[∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram]

OOC: I’m quite tired and I have no muse whatsoever right now, so this post may sound rather bland. Sorry.


A door slammed shut and curiously Sturmbannführer Wolfram twisted his neck to look behind himself towards the arrival of Obersturmführer Schneider; the man was looking immaculate for the occasion, but the Sturmbannführer hadn’t seen the fellow officer for quite sometime, a lot had happened since their last meeting and Sturmbannführer Wolfram gave a mild grin towards the fellow officer awaiting to be formally acquainted once he had finished up with Sturmscharführer McMillan before himself.

After a firm handshake, Sturmbannführer Wolfram held onto the Sturmscharführer’s hand a few seconds longer than required, his eyes piercing holes into the man’s skull before himself, his grip tightening ever so slightly as he held a firm grip with his leather gloved hand. Eventually, his grip loosened and the Sturmscharführer’s hand was set free, the Sturmbannführer quite obviously making a subtle gesture? His baby blue eyes drifting down to look at the man’s hand in search of the ring he gave him the moment they became brothers, he couldn’t quite see whether he was wearing it beneath the blooded tape, but he hoped the man was. The ring stood for more than sentimental feelings.

The Sturmscharführer made a remark about becoming stagnant and Sturmbannführer Wolfram quirked a crooked smile, reaching out to hardily thump the Sturmscharführer on the side of his arm with the flat of his hand. “Dieser Wolf baut müden Sturmscharführer nicht an, aber keiner ließ diesen Wolf für ganz einmal spielen” the Sturmbannführer firmly spoke, before he inhaled sharply through his gritted teeth to glance away for a brief moment, looking towards the Obersturmführer cautiously lingering nearby. “Obersturmführer, kommen. Treffen Sie Sturmscharführer McMillan, ich bin sicher, dass Sie die vielen Geschichten gehört haben…” the Sturmbannführer gestured towards his fellow officer, taking a step back to openly suggest for him to approach and meet the Sturmscharführer for himself.

Whilst he awaited the fellow officer’s approach, Sturmbannführer Wolfram turned to face the Sturmscharführer once again to speak. “Sturmscharführer hoffe ich, dass unsere Anwesenheit nicht dabei ist, Sie von Ihrer Ausbildung heute schließlich abzuschrecken, das ist, was wir hier beobachten sollen. Vielleicht würden Sie bereit sein, mir einige Tricks - haha zu zeigen?” the Sturmbannführer said with a slight laugh, which may have seemed he was joking, perhaps? But he was rather serious, as he began to slowly undo a few buttons upon his long leather coat, rolling his shoulders from beneath his field-grey tunic to drop the leather coat from off his back, swinging it around to his front to bundle up hastily and turn towards Gerwulf’s general direction and throw it over, causing the young soldier to stumble forwards and catch it.

Continuing to undo a couple of buttons upon his immaculate field-grey tunic, the Sturmbannführer soon unclipped his iron-cross pinned to his chest and placed it into one of his tunic pockets, not wanting it to become scratched or tarnished from whatever endeavours he may succumb too with this brute of a male before himself. “Obersturmführer, nehmen Sie Ihre Tunika weg, ich nehme an, dass Sie etwas heute auch lernen” the Sturmbannführer ordered with a wry grin, his own tunic completely unbuttoned by now, revealing a tight black top under so many layers of uniform garments, defining his broad chest, but he didn’t take the grey-tunic off just yet, as he turned to the Sturmscharführer, noticing his men get a little excited in the background behind himself, after witnessing the Sturmbannführer somewhat challenege the Sturmscharführer to giving him something to learn?

Sturmbannführer grinned to himself, feeling like a young officer again, getting rather cocky and breaking the rules some, he wasn’t here today for a formal acquaintance, he was here to see the Sturmscharführer, perhaps tie up some loose ends? High command wanted a detailed report on the man’s progress and his trust ability in the division, the Sturmbannführer was just about to test that, to see whether the man before himself was here for more devious Allied plans or was he really here to fight with the Nazis? Perhaps the game he had in mind would test everything they needed to know. “Wie steht's mit spielen wir ein Spiel Sturmscharführer?” he questioned inquisitively, probably expecting the man before himself to be completely shocked by how forward he has been, completely disregarding his own rank and superiority to challenge the man to a game? To expect to learn something from him? Had the Sturmbannführer lost his mind!?



Translations:[/b]

Dieser Wolf baut müden Sturmscharführer nicht an, aber keiner ließ diesen Wolf für ganz einmal spielen.
~ This wolf does not grow tired Sturmscharführer, but neither has this wolf played for quite sometime.

Obersturmführer, kommen. Treffen Sie Sturmscharführer McMillan, ich bin sicher, dass Sie die vielen Geschichten gehört haben…
~ Obersturmführer, come. Meet Sturmscharführer McMillan, I am sure you have heard the many stories...

Sturmscharführer hoffe ich, dass unsere Anwesenheit nicht dabei ist, Sie von Ihrer Ausbildung heute schließlich abzuschrecken, das ist, was wir hier beobachten sollen. Vielleicht würden Sie bereit sein, mir einige Tricks - haha zu zeigen?
~ Sturmscharführer, I do hope our presence isn't going to deter you from your training today, after-all, this is what we are here to observe. Perhaps you would be willing to show me a few tricks - huh?

Obersturmführer, nehmen Sie Ihre Tunika weg, ich nehme an, dass Sie etwas heute auch lernen.
~ Obersturmführer, take off your tunic, I expect you to learn something today too.

Wie steht's mit spielen wir ein Spiel Sturmscharführer?
~ How about we play a game Sturmscharführer?

[∬: Erik Schneider]

Schneider lingered behind the Kubelwagen for a few more moments until his commanding officer finally ordered him over to meet the Sturmscharfuhrer. Hesitantly, he obeyed the order, and began to close the large gap between himself and his fellow soldiers with a few large strides. Although, not exactly excited to meet the traitorous man, he had to oblige out of duty and loyalty as well as reputation. It would not look good that he had disrespectfully ignored the introduction. Rumors could easily begin within the lower ranks of fear of the man or in the higher ranks of insubordination. Either one would leave a bad tasted in the Obersturmfuhrer's mouth, something he had gotten enough after returning from rehabilitation to the new nickname Iron Lung Schneider, or Obersturmfuhrer Iron Lung, or Erik the Iron Lung. There were dozens of variations.

"Ja, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer. Ich habe… viele Geschichten gehört. " Schneider cautiously eyed the two men before him. The tales of their crazed blood lust for one another didn't exactly ring true. The stories would make one expect the two foes to be at each others necks, but they stood like colleagues, or even...friends? He reached out his hand for a informal greeting, following Wolfram's actions. "Grüße, Sturmscharfuhrer. Ich bin Obersturmfuhrer Schneider." Carefully, Schneider searched the man's face for any sign of knowledge or awareness of the Obersturmfuhrer's tales. His own rumors had spread through the division almost as much as that of Wolfram and McMillans'. He gave a firm, confident handshake that lasted a few moments before finally releasing the man's hand. His face lacked any emotion, concealing any sign of hatred or disgust, something he had learned from training.

The Lieutenant was surprised, to say the least, when his commanding officer threw away his long coat and tunic and then shocked when he was ordered to do the same. With a nod of agreement, Schneider hastily undid the buttons of his field grey tunic, exposing a field grey service shirt that he wore under his tunic. It was rather bland and featured a breast pocket and collar, but was practical as it was usually hidden by a tunic anyways. As he finished the process of unbuttoning his tunic, he slid it off from his shoulders and handed it to his Schutze that was standing near the trio, eager to listen to the conversation. It was an unusual feeling to be standing in only his service shirt, almost like he had shed his clothes and was now standing bare naked. He tucked the bottom of his shirt in tighter to prepare for what was in store.

Blue eyes darting between the German and Irish man, the two beasts, Schneider pondered what was in store for him today. Both men before him were much more experienced than him a young and slightly cocky officer. He took a particular notice in Wolfram's face, almost as if he was feeling the same way. As if he had once been in Schneider's shoes once. With all the stories and rumors, the Obersturmfuhrer realized he probably wouldn't be able to go toe and toe with either of the men. But at his best, he could at least come close. Breaking the silence, Wolfram asked the Senior NCO if he wished to play a game. The surprise didn't hit the Lieutenant quite as hard, but he followed his commander's orders. There was a secret past between the two SS men, one that Schneider was not fully aware of.

Translations:

- "I have heard... many stories. "

- "Greetings, Sturmscharfuhrer. I am Obersturmfuhrer Schneider. "

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

The overly apparent hand shake set McMillan a bit on the uneasy side, and that stare from his commander was all to eerily familiar, none the less had Wolfram had some devious plan, Edward was fairly sure he would have carried it out by now. But it didn't worry him too much, his performance for the SS had been flawless since he walked in the door. Edward knew what Rafael was looking for as well, the last time the two met it was given as a gift, many months ago, Edward knew he wanted to see the ring, but he wouldn't not yet anyway. McMillan had needed it resized, his thick knuckles were just a bit too oversized for a fit, but he couldn't bring himself to have someone alter the ring.

Edward smirked ever so slightly as the Sturmbannführer reassured him that although he had been away that he was still very much the great leader he used to be, maybe even stepped up his game a bit. Then he reached down into his shirt through his collar, grabbing the silver chain he had purchased specifically for that reason, and with a slow and purposeful lift he pulled the ring from inside it's haven so that it dangled just below eye level. "Ich habe noch es Herr erhalten, könnte mich selbst jemanden, damit für ein zu lassen, die Größe von nicht bringen herumfummeln ändert. Es ist besonder, hat es nicht wollen riskieren. Ich hoffe, dass Sie Herrn verstehen." he stated with a serious and almost sorrowful look on his face, he hoped his initiative to keep the trinket in it's normal state would be alright with it's giver.

Wolfram called to the other officer that had arrived and the man approached and introduced himself in just the same informal matter as Rafael had done. McMillan wasn't big on all the respectful royalties that came with rank, granted he still had the respect none the less, but it almost seemed like a waste of time to him, if you had earned the rank, then you would be given the respect, but he would never let on his opinions, that action never tended to end well, especially on this side of the war.

As the man approached McMillan started to reach out to greet the Obersturmfuhrer, but paused momentarily, he did look the part. Then he shook the man's hand firmly, but shortly, new faces were still a bit odd to Edward, many still didn't like him, and he never really knew who all fir into that category. "Obersturmfuhrer Schneider, Vergnügen, Sie Herr zu treffen." he said with a quick nod. I was indeed that man, the lunger among other names, although he had been poked and prodded about his unfortunate loss of a lung, it wasn't as bad as loosing a son, another subject McMillan wouldn't ever bring up...with anyone. But Edward still respected Schnieder, not only for the rank, but the man fought to the very last ounce of strength he could muster, says a lot about a man's character and fortitude, if they had more men of that caliber this war would have been over by now.

Wolfram, yet again, pulled another trick out of thin air, McMillan never could figure out what the man was up to, he was good, no great at his craft, and one of the many reasons he was so feared and respected. Now he had the Obersturmfuhrer taking of his tunic and asking about a game. What could he possibly be conjuring up in his mind? McMillan pondered as he looked on, his curiosity had peeked already, now the three of them were standing there, halfway out of there uniforms and Wolfram was wanting to play a game, McMillan all of a sudden felt outnumbered, not the first time it had happened, but the first time it had while he was unarmed...well the second actually he remembered as Gerwulf caught the corner of his eye. He could hear his men start to murmur amongst themselves a bit behind him. Well it was time to be the man they all knew, full throttle and game for whatever they could throw at him, course his throttle was ready but his gas tank was getting toward the empty side, after all they had been at it for almost two hours straight. None the less he smiled and nodded. "Ein Spiel? Zählen Sie mich in Herrn, aber welche Sorte des Spiels haben Sie in Gemüt gehabt?" McMillan pulled his gear from across his chest and set it next to his feet, he was still the only one without a pistol, or any weapon for that matter, the one lunged Schnieder couldn't run or fight for too long without passing out from lack of oxygen, and a duel would be a bit one sided.

Edward slid the ring back under his shirt and began running scenarios through his head, wondering if Gerwulf would be itching to shoot him once more...he laughed at himself on the inside and shot a quick smile at the Rottenführer, he decided the traditional wink might just set the man off a bit.




Translations:
"Ich habe noch es Herr erhalten, könnte mich selbst jemanden, damit für ein zu lassen, die Größe von nicht bringen herumfummeln ändert. Es ist besonder, hat es nicht wollen riskieren. Ich hoffe, dass Sie Herrn verstehen."
I've still got it sir, couldn't bring myself to have someone mess with it for a resize. It's special, didn't want to risk it. I hope you understand sir.

"Obersturmfuhrer Schneider, Vergnügen, Sie Herr zu treffen."
Obersturmfuhrer Schneider, pleasure to meet you sir.

"Ein Spiel? Zählen Sie mich in Herrn, aber welche Sorte des Spiels haben Sie in Gemüt gehabt?"
A game? Count me in sir, but what sort of game did you have in mind?

[∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram]

The Sturmbannführer remained quiet for a brief period whilst the two men acquainted formally and respectfully, the Nazis were loyal dogs of war, they had a demeanour and manner in which they performed their duties; sure, all military regimes followed a chain of command or code of conduct, but Germany thrived on loyalty and kept their dignity, even in the bleakest of times in which the war had taken them through so far. Failure never came twice from a candidate, most probably because failure was never accepted and that candidate found themselves a shallow grave, but it was with such pride and courage Germany, such high standards were kept amongst the ranks.

Once the Sturmbannführer had removed his leather coat and completely unbuttoned his tunic, he waited patiently for the fellow officer to do the same and remove his own tunic, before taking his own off. The Sturmbannführer wore a tight black top beneath the field-tunic, with a cunning brown leather body-harness that holstered his P38 beneath the left shoulder secretly, something that wasn’t so secret anymore obviously. Grinning, the Sturmbannführer rolled up his field tunic and once again twisted his body to throw across to Gerwulf, who stood nervously on the sideline, not quite approving of the two officers strip-down towards someone quite dangerous and unpredictable? Someone Gerwulf hated with vengeance, remembering the very day he was recruited amongst the ranks, only to be spat at…

Once both of the officers were stripped of their tunics and no lapels or collar-tabs were amongst either man to decorate them as superiors, being officers of the Waffen-SS, the Sturmbannführer nodded to himself to continue with his suggestion of a game - something that would test Edward McMillan’s loyalty and trust for high command, the Sturmbannführer knew how things stood between them, but high command wished for clarification and the Sturmbannführer was about to risk everything to prove his judgement on recruiting Sturmscharführer McMillan as a fully fledged member of the Waffen-SS as being the right thing to do.

The Sturmbannführer still wore his leather gloves however, which made him look quite menacing in conjunction with the black fitted t-shirt and minute-pistol holstered beneath his armpit. “Ja, ein Spiel” he repeated, only now just noticing the ring he gave the Sturmscharführer a good few months ago, that hung around the man’s thick built-up neck, making the ring seem ten times more important than if it were screwed onto his finger. Suddenly, the trademark devious grin appeared and the Sturmbannführer stepped closer to Edward McMillan, (sorry if I assumed you was carrying a combat knife here, I did read you took off your gear) and reached out with his gloved hand to abruptly grab at Edward’s combat knife situated upon his hip, yanking it out from the confines of it’s sheathe to quirk another grin. The Sturmbannführer was already testing the waters with the man, wanting to see if he would react defensively, step over the line towards his commanding officer? He wasn’t being a bastard, he was genuinely already testing the man’s trust, respect.

Gripping the combat knife between his coiled leather fingers, the Sturmbannführer turned and almost aggressively, launched the combat knife into the dirt a rough six foot away. The blade protruded from the dirt, obviously setting the waypoint for something significant to come? “Die Japaner haben eine sehr ähnliche Kultur zu unserem eigenen, sie, sind prideful und loyale Themen gehorsam, wenn es zum Respektieren der Gewalt oder Tradition kommt. Wir konnten Deutsche als derselbe betrachtet werden, wir sind Vorgesetzter, wir haben Stolz und Klasse” he started, speaking more directly to Edward, rather than everyone else around them, but spoke loud enough for all to hear. “Die Japaner haben auch einen gut respektierten Sport bekannt als sumo, der jemandes Mut, Kraft und Lebensstil prüfen würde, der sich an die Gesetze der Tradition hält” he continued, pausing briefly to look between all of the faces who were listening intently.

Taking a step towards where the combat-knife laid half into the ground, the Sturmbannführer continued to speak. “Ich bitte uns nicht, ein Spiel von sumo zu haben, aber wir konnten sicher das Spiel zu unserer eigenen Zuneigung reformieren und jemandes Kraft, Mut und Loyalität prüfen?” he suggested, looking towards Edward and Erik with a questionable look, hoping they would agree, but before they could, he decided he’d lay down the new rules of the reformed game he had in mind to them. “Es würde kein Treten, Gebrauch des Kopfs physisch oder der als Bewaffnung zu verwendenden Materialien geben. Dem Lochen würde zum Körper, nicht erlaubt das Gesicht, einschließlich Ellbogen und der einfachen Regel dieses Spiels, ist, Ihren Gegner aus dem Ring zu bekommen; etwas, das wir in den Schmutz leicht ziehen können, indem wir einen Sandsack nehmen und es spalten, öffnet sich” he lastly added, awaiting for their verdicts.

Translations:[/b]

Ja, ein Spiel.
- Yes, a game.

Die Japaner haben eine sehr ähnliche Kultur zu unserem eigenen, sie, sind prideful und loyale Themen gehorsam, wenn es zum Respektieren der Gewalt oder Tradition kommt. Wir konnten Deutsche als derselbe betrachtet werden, wir sind Vorgesetzter, wir haben Stolz und Klasse.
- The Japanese have a very similar culture to our own, they are obedient, prideful and loyal subjects when it comes to respecting authority or tradition. Us Germans could be considered the same, we are superior, we have pride and class.

Die Japaner haben auch einen gut respektierten Sport bekannt als sumo, der jemandes Mut, Kraft und Lebensstil prüfen würde, der sich an die Gesetze der Tradition hält.
- The Japanese also have a well respected sport known as sumo, that would test one's courage, strength and lifestyle abiding by the laws of the tradition.

Ich bitte uns nicht, ein Spiel von sumo zu haben, aber wir konnten sicher das Spiel zu unserer eigenen Zuneigung reformieren und jemandes Kraft, Mut und Loyalität prüfen?
- I'm not asking us to have a game of sumo, but we could certainly reform the game to our own liking and test one's strength, courage and loyalty?

Es würde kein Treten, Gebrauch des Kopfs physisch oder der als Bewaffnung zu verwendenden Materialien geben. Dem Lochen würde zum Körper, nicht erlaubt das Gesicht, einschließlich Ellbogen und der einfachen Regel dieses Spiels, ist, Ihren Gegner aus dem Ring zu bekommen; etwas, das wir in den Schmutz leicht ziehen können, indem wir einen Sandsack nehmen und es spalten, öffnet sich.
- There would be no kicking, use of the head physically or materials to be used as weaponry. Punching would be allowed to the body, not the face, including elbows and the simple rule of this game, is to get your opponent out of the ring; something we can easily draw into the dirt, by taking a sandbag and splitting it open.

[∬: Erik Schneider]

The Oberstrurmfuhrer stood off to the side, silently awaiting Wolfram's commands. The Sturmbannfuhrer exposed his black short-sleeved shirt, in contrast to Schneider's pain white standard issued shirt. Perhaps the higher rank gave Wolfram the privilege of choosing his own undershirts. The tight shirt showed off the man's muscles which gave him a much more menacing look than the Obersturmfuhrer. Slowly and methodically, Schneider rolled up the sleeves up his arms to form a tight fold of fabric above both his elbows. Soon after, his collar and the first few buttons on his shirt were undone to create a much more informal feeling much like the Sturmbannfuhrer.

Wolfram broke the short, yet eerie, silence between the three SS men with a simple yes. The response hardly answered the infamous McMillan's question, but no one dared speak out against it. Schneider stood still and watched as the scene unfolded before his eyes. McMillan was abruptly disarmed within seconds as the Stumbannfuhrer stepped forward before the man. The knife had been cleanly yanked out of its sheath in a moments notice. It was almost as if Wolfram was attempting to start a fight or at least a hostile reaction, which Erik assumed must be the reason behind it all. The Sturmbannfuhrer was intentionally provoking the man in an attempt to judge his loyalty and trust. That was the most probable, if not definite, reason behind their inspection of McMillan. And the upcoming game would most likely be an extension of this, one Schneider would also partake in.

Quickly turning, he launched the knife six feet away into the dirt. Schneider's eyes reacted to the rather aggressive action and fixated onto the gleaming blade of the knife. The combat knife partially buried itself in the dart as if it were piercing human skin and had become the new center of attention as everyone's eyes followed it. Quickly, Schneider's eyes averted back to his commander as he gave a rather lengthy statement about the Japanese and a exotic game called sumo. It was mainly directed to McMillan, but he had allowed the rest of the German men into the conversation as well. It caught Schneider off guard as he compared the Germans to the Japanese and announced they would partake in one of their games. But nonetheless, he was interested in the new game.

The Sturmbannfuhrer took a step closer to the combat knife, before looking back at his comrades with a suggestion that felt more as if he was asking the two men. Erik gave a look of agreement, feeling as if they should alter the rules to make it more German anyways. At least, it wouldn't entirely be a Japanese game. Before either man could respond, he laid down a new set of rules for this Sumo game. It was a game of simply knocking an opponent out of a ring which centered mainly around wrestling. "Ja, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer. Lassen Sie uns dieses Spiel des Sumos spielen
" Schneider quickly answered first, before cocking his head to the left to glance at Jager. "Schutze, nehmen Sie einige der Männer, um einer Rückseite einige Sandsäcke zu holen, um diesen Sumoring für Sturmbannfuhrer Wolfram zu bilden. "

The young private gave the only answer he could, a yes, before taking a few volunteers from the NCO lineup to locate a couple of bags of sand. Schneider's eyes followed the Schutze as he complied with the Obersturmfuhrer's orders. As the men vanished into the distance, he turned back to his two comrades. "So Sturmbannfuhrer, das von uns soll das erste sein zum zu kämpfen? Ich kann nur hoffen, dass mein trusty Lungenflügel wieder hält" he questioned his superior, giving a devilish smirk as he tapped his knuckles on the left side of his ribs. He had acquired the tradition of tapping his ribs before going into a fight as a good luck charm to boost the men's morale. Everyone had heard how his lung had taken a bullet and miraculously recovered to the fullest extent, so he used his reputation for better purposes.

Translations:

- "Let us play this game of Sumo."

- "Take a few of the men to bring a back a few sandbags to form this sumo ring for Sturmbannfuhrer Wolfram."

- "So, Sturmbannfuhrer, which of us shall be the first to fight? I can only hope my trusty lung will hold up again."

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

McMillan watched and listened expecting a description of this game, but instead received an all too eerie yet familiar face to face with the Sturmbannfuhrer. McMillan dared not step back or look to unsettled by the proximity, or lack of it for that matter, but the swift jerk that took his blade would have had him breaking an uneasy sweat, thankfully he had already poured a bucket full out of his body while training that day. He held his breath until it was tossed to the ground a short distance from them. His lower jaw slid around in his head a bit while he exhaled profusely. Well that wasn’t pleasant. he thought to himself. Even though Rafael and Edward had many different opportunities to end it all for the other, and there was some odd form of respect between them having always left the other still breathing, it still wasn’t easy to be so close and expect everything to turn out alright. Wolfram had bested him before and that made him quite possibly the most dangerous man in this area of the war. His stories were wide known, his reputation went even further, and the ocean of men willing to lay down their lives for him was staggering to put it mildly.

Now they were going to take a few sandbags, something that the Irishman couldn’t get easily, he had to search for most of them himself to create his training field. Not that they weren’t readily available, but only so to the Aryan soldier of the unit. So far no unnecessary harm had been dealt his way, he only had the stories that had been beefed up to thank for that. It was indeed the lunger. From the way he mentioned it, the lung must have healed up. The man had earned his place in the book of worth while individuals so McMillan didn’t mind him so much, twas a short book, but an honor to make the pages of it…if there actually was such a book. Maybe his story was beefed up before it made it to McMillan as well. None the less the man took a round through a lung and still served, didn’t matter the details. He did seem rather eager though and Edward didn’t mind finding out what the man was capable of accomplishing in close quarters combat.

Wolfram explained the rules of the game, and the way it would be handled in a gentle manner, to prevent any duty hindering wounds, a good call, if the were adhered by. ” Ergreifen Sie einige Immobilienmänner, dürfte ebenso dieses seltene Vorkommen genießen.” McMillan stated over his shoulder, might as well dish out a small morale boost to his men while he took a beating, god knows they never liked him on his training days, well at least not the ones that hadn’t seen it pay of in combat that is. He could hear his subordinates trudge off to the small hill where they usually sat in the mornings before a long day of bruises, cuts, pulled muscles, and the occasional lecture.

Edward walked over toward his knife that had been thrust into the ground from an all too easy looking toss from Rafael, the man was talented, no doubt about it. All wounds heal with time, you’ve been through worse… he thought to himself …hopefully. he nodded as he wiped a handful of sweat from his forehead. If all else failed at least they would all leave there smelling horribly. He smiled to himself, but knew that no one would appreciate the joke like he wouild.



Translations:
Ergreifen Sie einige Immobilienmänner, dürfte ebenso dieses seltene Vorkommen genießen.
Grab some real-estate men, might as well enjoy this rare occurrence.

[Nathan Whyte]

Only 4 posts apiece, but they were all very nice.

Raf - 6CP
Erik - 6CP
JT - 6CP