Post by Conrad Black on Sept 4, 2009 21:12:54 GMT
Captain Conrad Black drove the Jeep down the winding English road, one hand idly turning the steering wheel in time with the bends while the other scratched his mass of chocolate colored hair which he had parted messily that morning. The lane was mostly quiet, surrounded by farmland and only disturbed with the occasional milk truck or small forest animal scattering in front of the tires. The green vehicle moved at a leisurely but not slow pace, its driver’s destination one of the 3rd Infantry Division’s bases, right smack dab in the middle of nowhere. Conrad drove alone, only his rifle, laid carefully in the backseat, and the whistle of wind around him to keep him company. But Black enjoyed the solitary ride, for now everything was loud and bustled ever since he had arrived in England. His soldiers where already stationed at the base, dropped off by two convoy trucks late last night. Odds were that they were drilling at this very moment, poor bastards. But that’s what makes men. As a great general once said, a pint of sweat can save a gallon of blood.
The ride went on for about another half hour before the base came into sight, perched on a tiny rise in the land that allowed it to be seen from that position. It had a humongous chain link fence around it, topped with menacing looking barbed wire. Not only to keep men out, but to keep them in, Conrad thought, grimly remembering the suicides committed during his basic training. The jeep sank into a valley and Black lost sight of the base, but soon found himself faced by a long path up the hill, a bright white sign at the bottom reading “Warning! Military Installment, All Trespassers Will Be Shot!” Conrad swung the wheel around and exited onto that road, tapering into a dirt path riddled with tire tracks. When he reached the top he was stopped by a road stop, a MP wielding a Grease Gun stationed inside the striped booth. Conrad slowly pressed on the breaks and came to a stop, engine humming. The MP looked at the Captain and said “Papers, sir.” Black obliged and handed his military ID over, the security officer reading over it quickly. “Cleared, sir. Please wait for the beam to be raised. “. “Thankya.” Conrad muttered, shoving his papers back into his pocket and rolling through as soon as the block was moved.
Captain Black drove the jeep through a big gate and followed some signs pointing to a parking area. He came to a small paved clearing populated by vehicles of all types, mostly jeeps exactly like his. Conrad swung the green machine around and pulled into a space between a waste truck and another Willy’s Jeep. He twisted the keys and then twirled them around his index finger, reaching for his dark green dress cap in the passenger seat. After using the rearview mirror to cock it on his head and grabbing his rifle from the backseat Conrad opened the door, got out, and then closed it with the small click of a lock. Black made sure the chamber of his M1 was clear before slinging it over his shoulder and twirling the key once again as he walked toward the main building. Ushered by a MP, the officer opened two glass doors and ended up in a large main hall, not unlike a school. A secretary was seated behind a desk in the center of the room, filing papers busily. Conrad walked up to the desk and slapped the keys down on the wooden surface, making the woman jump and look up at him, a surprised look on her face. “I borrowed a jeep. These are the keys. Make sure to get them where they need ta’ go. “He said slowly and sternly, the secretary grabbing the keys and reading the label. “I need me my office and bunk number, too. Black, Conrad.” She nodded and opened up a filing cabinet, before saying the room number and wishing the Captain a good day. “You too, ma’am.” He said, walking out of the main building.
By the time he arrived at the officer’s barracks the sun had began to beat down, making the back of the Captain’s back sweat. The barracks was a wide, square building with a main hallway branching into twenty rooms, ten on one side, and ten on the other. He found his and unlocked the door, opening it to see what looked akin to a hotel room, except with less decoration and bleak hardwood paneling. A bed was pushed against the right wall, so that one could lie on his side and peer out the window. A few chairs and a table were scattered around, one with a tiny clock perched on the edge. A locker was in the corner to the right of the window, the combination written on a tiny slip of paper on the table. Conrad unlocked it and set his rifle, Bowie knife and one of his leather duffle bags in it before closing it up.
Black shut and locked the door to his bunk and went back to the main building, flexing his cramped fingers. Conrad nodded to the secretary and looked again at his office number, ascending a flight of stairs to find it tucked in the corner of the second floor. Its door was small with a frosted glass window on the front with stenciling reading “Cpt. C. Black” He unlocked it and once again found hardwood paneling, a massive desk and wood-framed window dominating the room. Conrad shut the door behind him and dropped the duffle bag were he stood, sighing half contentedly and half exasperated. An item sat on the desk, looking to be a tiny wicker basket.. In the basket he found a small bottle of Jack Daniels whisky and a cigar box that when opened was filled with high end Cuban cigars. A tag attached to the stem of the alcohol bottle read “Captain, glad to have you with us. –Colonel Bale”. “Fuck yeah!” Black whispered happily, “Gotta love the U.S. Army.”
Conrad opened the window and let a cool breeze circulate through the room before going through his duffle bag and setting the contents onto the floor. He grabbed a cardboard box and unpacked four glasses, two shot glasses, and two beer mugs. Black placed them carefully in a cabinet in the corner, wiping a speck of dust off of one of them. Shutting the cabinet door he grabbed a small bag that chimed with the sound of metal on metal, bringing it over to a corkboard on the wall. I hoped I would have one of these, he thought as he slipped out a handful of Iron Crosses, German awards for bravery in the line of duty, each of them picked off a corpse by him or one of his men. One by one he removed their backs and stuck the pin into the board, creating a full line of captured Nazi ornaments. Stepping back to review his decorating skills the Captain smiled, his moustache curling satisfyingly as from his own pocket he removed a tangled bunch of Erkungsmarks, the German equivalent of dog tags. Conrad strung one on each Iron Cross, reading the names of each one as he hung them. Werner Rachmann, Johannes Gratt, Otto von Kruger. With each name his heart was filled with bloodlust, the want to murder a lying, greedy, Jew-hating son-of-a-bitch right at that instant. Black’s murderous thoughts were only interrupted when he heard a quick knock on the door. “Come in, it’s open. “ He called blandly, a Tennessee accent very clearly coming through.
The ride went on for about another half hour before the base came into sight, perched on a tiny rise in the land that allowed it to be seen from that position. It had a humongous chain link fence around it, topped with menacing looking barbed wire. Not only to keep men out, but to keep them in, Conrad thought, grimly remembering the suicides committed during his basic training. The jeep sank into a valley and Black lost sight of the base, but soon found himself faced by a long path up the hill, a bright white sign at the bottom reading “Warning! Military Installment, All Trespassers Will Be Shot!” Conrad swung the wheel around and exited onto that road, tapering into a dirt path riddled with tire tracks. When he reached the top he was stopped by a road stop, a MP wielding a Grease Gun stationed inside the striped booth. Conrad slowly pressed on the breaks and came to a stop, engine humming. The MP looked at the Captain and said “Papers, sir.” Black obliged and handed his military ID over, the security officer reading over it quickly. “Cleared, sir. Please wait for the beam to be raised. “. “Thankya.” Conrad muttered, shoving his papers back into his pocket and rolling through as soon as the block was moved.
Captain Black drove the jeep through a big gate and followed some signs pointing to a parking area. He came to a small paved clearing populated by vehicles of all types, mostly jeeps exactly like his. Conrad swung the green machine around and pulled into a space between a waste truck and another Willy’s Jeep. He twisted the keys and then twirled them around his index finger, reaching for his dark green dress cap in the passenger seat. After using the rearview mirror to cock it on his head and grabbing his rifle from the backseat Conrad opened the door, got out, and then closed it with the small click of a lock. Black made sure the chamber of his M1 was clear before slinging it over his shoulder and twirling the key once again as he walked toward the main building. Ushered by a MP, the officer opened two glass doors and ended up in a large main hall, not unlike a school. A secretary was seated behind a desk in the center of the room, filing papers busily. Conrad walked up to the desk and slapped the keys down on the wooden surface, making the woman jump and look up at him, a surprised look on her face. “I borrowed a jeep. These are the keys. Make sure to get them where they need ta’ go. “He said slowly and sternly, the secretary grabbing the keys and reading the label. “I need me my office and bunk number, too. Black, Conrad.” She nodded and opened up a filing cabinet, before saying the room number and wishing the Captain a good day. “You too, ma’am.” He said, walking out of the main building.
By the time he arrived at the officer’s barracks the sun had began to beat down, making the back of the Captain’s back sweat. The barracks was a wide, square building with a main hallway branching into twenty rooms, ten on one side, and ten on the other. He found his and unlocked the door, opening it to see what looked akin to a hotel room, except with less decoration and bleak hardwood paneling. A bed was pushed against the right wall, so that one could lie on his side and peer out the window. A few chairs and a table were scattered around, one with a tiny clock perched on the edge. A locker was in the corner to the right of the window, the combination written on a tiny slip of paper on the table. Conrad unlocked it and set his rifle, Bowie knife and one of his leather duffle bags in it before closing it up.
Black shut and locked the door to his bunk and went back to the main building, flexing his cramped fingers. Conrad nodded to the secretary and looked again at his office number, ascending a flight of stairs to find it tucked in the corner of the second floor. Its door was small with a frosted glass window on the front with stenciling reading “Cpt. C. Black” He unlocked it and once again found hardwood paneling, a massive desk and wood-framed window dominating the room. Conrad shut the door behind him and dropped the duffle bag were he stood, sighing half contentedly and half exasperated. An item sat on the desk, looking to be a tiny wicker basket.. In the basket he found a small bottle of Jack Daniels whisky and a cigar box that when opened was filled with high end Cuban cigars. A tag attached to the stem of the alcohol bottle read “Captain, glad to have you with us. –Colonel Bale”. “Fuck yeah!” Black whispered happily, “Gotta love the U.S. Army.”
Conrad opened the window and let a cool breeze circulate through the room before going through his duffle bag and setting the contents onto the floor. He grabbed a cardboard box and unpacked four glasses, two shot glasses, and two beer mugs. Black placed them carefully in a cabinet in the corner, wiping a speck of dust off of one of them. Shutting the cabinet door he grabbed a small bag that chimed with the sound of metal on metal, bringing it over to a corkboard on the wall. I hoped I would have one of these, he thought as he slipped out a handful of Iron Crosses, German awards for bravery in the line of duty, each of them picked off a corpse by him or one of his men. One by one he removed their backs and stuck the pin into the board, creating a full line of captured Nazi ornaments. Stepping back to review his decorating skills the Captain smiled, his moustache curling satisfyingly as from his own pocket he removed a tangled bunch of Erkungsmarks, the German equivalent of dog tags. Conrad strung one on each Iron Cross, reading the names of each one as he hung them. Werner Rachmann, Johannes Gratt, Otto von Kruger. With each name his heart was filled with bloodlust, the want to murder a lying, greedy, Jew-hating son-of-a-bitch right at that instant. Black’s murderous thoughts were only interrupted when he heard a quick knock on the door. “Come in, it’s open. “ He called blandly, a Tennessee accent very clearly coming through.
