Preocupied with Jagermeister (Open)

[heinz]

“Jonas Merhoff-MIA” The small pamphlet Heinz carried around read. It was a mystery to him. Wagner was transferred from being a brigade commander in Erich Von Manstein’s Panzer Division in the Eastern Theatre to the 21st, which was commanded by “The Desert Fox” Erwin Rommel. Ever since then, this name, “Merhoff” intrigued him. He had yet to meet the man, who was the previous commander of the brigade that Wagner was assigned to, and Heinz longed to meet the man. He kept that pamphlet around in his back pocket as a reminder to him. Eventually, Heinz would lead his men into battle in an attempt to free Merhoff from the Tommy Scum that threatens Germany. Not now, however. Not now, but later. If it were up to Wagner, he would go to battle now for Merhoff, but his leg slowed him down. He hadn’t been the same since El Alamein. No, not since that Tommy bullet struck him in the Femoral Artery. Since then, Heinz had become colder, more biting, and more surreal. He yearned for battle against the Tommy scum in Africa once more, but he thought against it at the moment. He would, at a moment’s notice, go to fight once more, but his leg hindered him. He would collapse upon it in agonizing pain and misery if he were to do so. Heinz knew this. He was no idiot. He had studied the human anatomy when he was training to become an officer. It was this training that taught him to become noticeable to the smallest of details in battle. Even the smallest detail, such as battle fatigue, could become an opening for attack. Nevertheless though, Hauptman Heinz Wagner would bide his time, create a force large enough to crush even Alexander the Great, and then march upon Old Montgomery’s 8th, and crush them with one fell swoop.

These thoughts raced through Heinz’s mind as he walked down the street corner. He was on leave at the moment with his injury, and he wasn’t enjoying one bit of it. His place was with his men, not on some street corner, pondering Jonas Merhoff. He did decide however, to grab a bite to eat. He was quite a voracious eater and he had no clue on where to go. It had been a long time since he walked the streets of Germany, and it was a picturesque night in Dresden. The sun was fading into the horizon, sending a vivid burst of color into the air. Heinz felt much consolation in the beauty of the night sky. Still, this Merhoff fellow haunted Heinz. The idea of Jonas incarcerated by Tommy scum, and being tortured, kicked, and spat on sickened Heinz. He vowed to himself then and there that he would hunt down the scum who did this to him and kill them, but slowly and painfully. They deserved that kind of a death.

Heinz now stopped and looked up at a sign, which was lit up by a street lamp, which was placed on the corner of an intersection. It read, “Kraus’ bar and pub,” but in German of course. The beautiful aroma of Corned Beef drew Heinz within its doors. His mouth watered with joy as he saw the bar, which had every type of liquor his heart could imagine. He sat down at the bar quickly, rabid and ready to eat. The bar tender, a portly fellow in his mid 50s walked over, saying in a slightly exasperated voice, “Ja?” Heinz was quick to reply, rolling his order off the tongue, saying “Saurer Kraut und ein Glas von Jagermeister bitte.” The man walked back into the kitchen to make the food. To Heinz’s left sat another man, who seemed to be enjoying his meal. Heinz looked over at him and nodded, hoping to start a conversation.

[Werner von Maybach]

„Krause’s Bar und Amüsierbetrieb“. What a wonderful place for a simple soldier to spend his spare time. Werner discovered this little pub while he walked through the streets of Dresden, looking for something to drink. He got send back home for holidays after the last weeks full of heavy fighting and now he really enjoyed wandering through the streets of his peaceful birth place. Quickly he found that small bar with the sign outside that was shaped like a glass of beer.

Inside the pub it was very dark, thick clouds of smoke floated through the air and a strong smell of grilled beef came to Werner’s nose. He could hear loud voices, speaking with a strong Saxon accent. The bar was full of locals, trying to flee from their daily routine. In a corner in the background of the room, three soldiers sat together, playing a game of cards. Werner slowly walked towards an empty seat directly at the counter and sat down. The bar tender, an old and quiet heavyset man, seemed to be busy at the moment and so Werner decided to signal the waitress to come over. The waitress was a very young, Arabic looking girl, not older than maybe sixteen. She had long black hair and despite her age, she was really beautiful. Werner ordered a double schnapps and a portion of whatever smelled that good. Shyly the girl nodded and disappeared in the back of the house, came back after several minutes and putted a big glass and a dish in front of Werner. On the dish, there was a steaming hot portion of corned beef and some mashed potatoes. Although he wondered where this British meat could come from, it didn’t hold him from enjoying this very welcome alternative to the standard Wehrmacht rations. Could things get any better at all?

Soon after, Werner realised a German Hauptmann entering the bar. It was very surprising, to see such a high ranking man inside a pub like this. Usually they used to spent there time elsewhere, in more cultivated environments. But after all Werner had seen in Africa, he didn’t wonder any more.

The officer walked quite slow and had problems moving one of his legs. He looked like being in his mid 40’s and wore a patch over his left eye. He seemed to have experienced a lot. Clearly Werner recognised the insignias of the 21. PD on that Hauptmann’s uniform, Werner’s own unit, but surprisingly he hadn’t met this officer before.

After looking around for a while, the Hauptmann continued his way towards the bar and placed himself right next to Werner, who didn’t really care and just continued finishing his meal. Some moments later, the Hauptmann nodded at Werner and it seemed as if he wanted to start a conversation. Although Werner wasn’t really in a mood for a small talk, he decided to at least introduce himself to the officer. "Guten Abend, Herr Hauptmann. Wir wurden uns noch nicht vorgestellt, mein Name ist von Maybach und ich bin der Zugführer des 3. Zuges, 1. Panzergrenadierkompanie. Freut mich Sie kennen zu lernen. Was verschlägt Sie in eine Bar wie diese?" And without waiting for any reaction, Werner pointed his finger at his empty glass, looked at the Hauptmann and said to the bar tender: "Bitte nochmal zwei davon.".

Translations:

"Guten Abend, Herr Hauptmann. Wir wurden uns noch nicht vorgestellt, mein Name ist von Maybach und ich bin der Zugführer des 3. Zuges, 1. Panzergrenadierkompanie. Freut mich Sie kennen zu lernen. Was verschlägt Sie in eine Bar wie diese?"
"Good evening, Herr Hauptmann. I’m sure we didn’t get to know each other before, my name is von Maybach and I’m the commander of the 3. Platoon, 1. Panzergrenadiercompany. I’m pleased to meet you. What led your way to a bar like this one?"

"Bitte nochmal zwei davon."
"Two more of this, please."

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

OOC: I hope you don’t mind me entering this thread. I haven’t had one with other military men for some time.

Strumfelder’s private car bounced along the cobbled roads of Dresden, the three men inside tired from a long day followed by a long journey. Strumfelder had spent this glorious day watching executions at Buchenwald Konzentrationslager, and killing at least twenty of the Jewish rats, all children, himself. He’d used a rifle, and his shoulder now ached from the heavy shots. He’d seen over fifty hangings, ten of child which had served as a good afternoon’s entertainment. He hadn’t cared for the stench of the burning bodies, it reminded him too much of that day in September…

“Anschlag hier. Ich könnte mit einem Getränk tun.” Strumfelder ordered, as the black Mercedes pulled up outside a small pub. The engine stopped, and his driver stepped out of the vehicle and opened his door, before opening the door of his cameraman, Kunibert Amseln. The three men stepped onto the pavement and stretched their legs in the dark, and straightened their uniforms. Strumfelder smoothed down his jet black trench coat, and rearranged the scarlet band on his sleeve. He took his silver walking cane in his gloved hands, and stepped into the bar.

He was surprised by the atmosphere, mostly of soldiers smoking, drinking, eating and gambling. A few people drained their glasses quickly and left at the imposing site of three SS men. Strumfelder removed his peaked cap, revealing the full extent of his features. His hair was slowly returning to normal, sprouting through the burn scars covering the left side of his face. A large chunk of flesh from his nose was missing, as was his entire eye, and his left ear. All to vainly save a child from his death.

Strumfelder straightened his patch and continued through the bar towards a table near the back. He pushed through the crowd, knocking to the floor a young Asian woman with his cane. “Aus meinem heraus Scheißehaut.” he snapped at her. What were German soldiers doing mixing with these retarded racial inferiors? Did they have no respect for the Führer and his teachings?

The trio carried on and lowered themselves into their seats. “Erhalten Sie mir einen Höhler Whisky und einem Krug Mineralwasser.” he ordered his driver, who nodded and walked to the bar with Amseln. Strumfelder relaxed a little in their absence and looked across the pub at the people he was sharing this evening with. He spotted a man much like himself, bearing an eyepatch. He looked at the uniform, which for some reason he recognised. “Merhoff…” he spoke under his breath. Strumfelder remembered the shooting and the fighting for the girl, then the face of that traitorous man came back to him. Strumfelder remembered removing the Hauptmann’s finger, and then using it as a pen of flowing blood. And then he remembered carving the swastikas into the man’s hands, to eternally remind him of the oath of he swore, and where his loyalties lay.

Translations
“Anschlag hier. Ich könnte mit einem Getränk tun.”
~ Stop here. I could do with a drink.

“Aus meinem heraus Scheißehaut.”
~ Out of my, shit-skin.

“Erhalten Sie mir einen Höhler Whisky und einem Krug Mineralwasser.”
~ Get me a Höhler whisky, and a jug of mineral water.

[heinz]

Soon, Heinz’s meal came out. The steaming Kraut and Pork made Wager’s mouth water with anticipation of taking the first bite, but first, he felt he should address this Von Maybach who sat next to him. He noticed Maybach’s rank, and normally, Wagner would not associate himself with such underlings like the kind Unterofficer, but this was different. Von Maybach was a 21st Panzer Division soldier, which Heinz thought to be the best of the best in war. It was an honor to have a fellow soldier of the same stature next to him. Therefore, Heinz greeted him with arms open, saying, “Guten Abend, Von Maybach. Ich bin Hauptman Heinz Wagner, der Kommandant der 2. Panzergrenadier Gesellschaft und des Verwaltungsbeamten unserer kleinen Brigade, zurzeit für Jonas Merhoff einspringend.” Heinz raised his glass of Jagermeister, which had been refilled at the request of Von Maybach. He smiled warmly. This was different reception than the one he had received in the hospital from that other 21st soldier. Heinz smirked affectionately, saying, “Ich hoffe, dass Sie starken geistigen Getränk mögen. Dieses Zeug hat einen ernsten Bissen.”

Heinz was curious though. Having just been transferred to this brigade, he had still no clue who this Jonas Merhoff was. It haunted him and drove him to the brink of insanity to know what he had done for the brigade prior to his departure. Furthermore, where did Merhoff go? Was he killed? Was he taken in combat? Was he murdered by the SS or someone who was against him? These questions swirled around in his mind, tormenting him, so Heinz decided to break the silence, asking casually, “Wer ist dieser Jonas Merhoff genau?” He then took his glass of Jagermeister, and, tipping his head back, helet the cool analgesic enter his mouth, caressing his throat in its intoxicating goodness. It seemed to have a calming effect for Heinz, who lost the sensation of pain in his leg. He welcomed that numbness that now consumed his wounded leg.

Then, from the corner of his uncovered eye, he saw some ruckus at the corner of the room. The three men made their way rather quickly to a seat, knocking over some old, senile woman. Heinz sneered at their audacity. He thought to himself: I may be an egotist, but I at least would treat my fellow man with respect. He then noticed the insignia on the ring leader’s neck, a pair of bolts; the insignia of the Shutzstaffeln. Heinz disliked the SS. They thought they were the best of the best when it came to war. They thought they had the best weaponry, the best armor, and the best soldiers. They had a delusion that the Wehrmacht paled in comparison to their skill. Heinz hated the thought that someone could actually be more tactically adept than he was, and he was sickened inside by the presence of the SS.

[Werner von Maybach]

The bar tender refilled the two glasses and the Hauptmann used the moment to also introduce himself. Werner was pretty surprised to hear that he was sitting face to face with their new, temporarily divisional commander. He heard that their old commander, Hauptmann Merhoff, got captured by the Brits during an assault on a German artillery battery. But divisional commanders kept coming and going and so Werner didn’t really care about these stories. He only met this man once for a short moment and didn’t build any personal links to him. The life’s of the comrades, lying in a foxhole next to him, were a lot more important to Werner and so he wasn’t into these rumours at all.

The officer smiled friendly when he took his schnapps and Werner had a feeling, as if this man wasn’t an all too wrong guy. "Ich hoffe, dass Sie starken geistigen Getränk mögen. Dieses Zeug hat einen ernsten Bissen." the Hauptmann noted. Also Werner now took his drink and toasted the officer, before emptying it. The Jägermeister caused an enjoyable warmth in Werner’s throat and almost instantly had its effect. "Oh ja, das tue ich. Ein geistiges Getränk ist mir immer willkommen. Ganz besonders in der Urlaubszeit."

Both man stayed silent for a moment now and seemed to be lost in their thoughts. Werner slowly turned his glass in his hand, pondering about the day his holidays were ending and he would have to get back into the African hell. Suddenly Wagner broke the silence and asked:
"Wer ist dieser Jonas Merhoff genau?"

Werner turned to the officer and gave a shrug. "Ich denke ich bin nicht der richtige um ihnen diese Frage zu beantworten, Herr Hauptmann. Ich selbst habe Herrn Merhoff nur einmal kurz getroffen. Man erzählt sich aber, dass er ein ausgezeichneter Soldat war."

The door of the bar got opened again and a small group entered the smoked out room. In an instant Werner realised the men all wearing SS insignias, but one of them especially caught his eye. In his hand he carried a silver walking cane and he moved with an arrogance that could even seem provoking to some people. The face of this man was badly deformed by a giant scar. But the most outstanding were his eyes. They were just as cold and death as ice, without any expression in them.

The group of SS- men headed for an empty table in the back of the bar and just when Werner decided to no longer care about them, the leader of the group knocked the young waitress aside because she couldn’t make space for him fast enough. The young girl couldn’t keep her balance and felt to the floor directly next to Werner’s seat. Slowly Werner climbed off his stool, kneeled down besides the girl, took her hand and helped her getting up again. Without saying anything, he threw a long, frowning glance at the SS- officer, before finally sitting down again.

Translations:

"Oh ja, das tue ich. Ein geistiges Getränk ist mir immer willkommen. Ganz besonders in der Urlaubszeit."
"Oh yes, I do. An ardent spirit is always welcome to me. Especially during the holiday time."

"Ich denke ich bin nicht der richtige um ihnen diese Frage zu beantworten, Herr Hauptmann. Ich selbst habe Hauptmann Merhoff nur einmal kurz getroffen. Man erzählt sich aber, dass er ein ausgezeichneter Soldat war."
"Actually, I don’t think I’m the right person to answer your question, Herr Hauptmann. I just met Hauptmann Merhoff for a short moment. But the soldiers reported to me that he was an excellent commander."

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

OOC: You must remember that Strumfelder is terribly disfigured. He has lost an eye (patch) and his face is burnt and blistered. He tried to save Wolfrick Wolfram during a riot and a Molotov cocktail sprayed his face with engine oil. That started my mean streak. I used to be nice…

Strumfelder noticed one of the two Wehrmacht men stand up and help that Asian bitch. He stared in disbelief as he made contact with her. Had he learnt nothing in school? She was inferior. Why was such a women even in a German bar, around German soldiers of the Reich? He hoped that she was being paid pennies. As for that soldier, it was almost as if he was trying to antagonise Strumfelder. He had just spent a day killing vermin. Another bullet really wouldn’t put him back much.

He stared at the man and shook his head in disgust. There was something about their presence in the bar which he did not like, almost hated. They made him feel edgy, alert, something he shouldn’t have to be after a day’s loyal service to the Führer. He didn’t want them in his presence. No.

He stood himself up, replaced his cap, and walked purposely over to the men, his stick tapping the floor methodically with his footsteps. Strumfelder wouldn’t allow men like this in his presence. He was the boss here, yes, he could call the Kripo if he needed. Any second, he could simply ring them and order them to arrest these traitors of the state. At least in cells they couldn’t pursue him, or the whereabouts of Merhoff. Merhoff, that bastard. Strumfelder should just have shot him when he had the chance. But he hadn’t…

The doctor stopped in front of the two men, who were dwelling behind their table, probably criticising him in their heads, or even to one another. But it was him, an SS man who had control over them. He had the Kripo, the Gestapo, RSD at his fingertips if he required them. Strumfelder let his one eye bore aggressively into the men’s faces for a few seconds before he spoke. “Ich schlage herzlich vor, dass Sie zwei Herren diese Stabpfosteneile lassen. Niemand, des 21. Panzer, ist um die SS willkommen, wenn Sie solch einen Verräter eines Führers haben.” Strumfelder let his words tear into the men, showing them that he was not a person to challenge, and he was a person who could make their lives a living nightmare.

“Jetzt verlassen Sie hier schnell, bevor Sie in den Leichensäcken verlassen.”

Translations:
“Ich schlage herzlich vor, dass Sie zwei Herren diese Stabpfosteneile lassen. Niemand, des 21. Panzer, ist um die SS willkommen, wenn Sie solch einen Verräter eines Führers haben.”
~ I heartily suggest that you two gentlemen leave this bar post haste. Anyone, of the 21st Panzer, is not welcome around the SS, when you have such a traitor of a leader.

“Jetzt verlassen Sie hier schnell, bevor Sie in den Leichensäcken verlassen.”
~ Now, leave here quickly, before you leave in body bags.

[heinz]

Maybach responded to Heinz’s question, telling him that Jonas Merhoff was an excellent commander. Heinz smiled, trying to emulate his predecessor, saying “Tatsächlich sieht es aus, dass ich große Schuhe habe, um mich zu füllen.” Heinz then took another sip of his Jagermeister. The cool liquor coated his throat and warmed his body; it made the anxiety of the every day shoulder slip away into oblivion, and for once, Heinz felt comfort. That is, until Maybach stood up to help the poor woman, whom the SS officer callously knocked over, up. It was a benevolent thing to do, Heinz thought. However, it was a bit impetuous. You never cross the Shutzstaffel. Heinz did not like these SS, especially the officers. They were megalomaniacs, and a great source of opprobrium. They often times thought they were entitled to their position; to their egotism. Heinz however, being a veteran for over twenty five years, knew this was not the case. Heinz had paid his dues, he was entitled to pride; not these SS men. It sickened him. The very thought of them sickened Heinz.

In fact, at this present moment, the very thought of Hitler sickened his mind. He signed up to serve Kaiser Wilhelm, and while, at the time, Hitler seemed to instill hope not into just the German populous, Heinz saw Hitler as a raving lunatic in some ways. Indeed, Hitler was a smart, calculating tactician, but nothing seemed to be enough for Hitler. No gain of land could satisfy the beast that was Adolf Hitler. Heinz enlisted his services to transform Germany from a bankrupt country, weakened by the Treaty of Versailles, into a strong, dominant country of peace and tranquility. At first, war seemed to be a new window for glory for not only Heinz, but for Germany, yet as days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years, Heinz grew tired of the constant bloodshed. He would however, fight for his country, not for Adolf Hitler’s agenda. That was the difference between SS men and Wehrmacht. The difference was the sense in loyalty. The loyalty of the SS was solely to the 3rd Reich and the Nazi Party, whereas, Heinz, as well as the 21st Panzer and the Wehrmacht as a whole, was to the well being of the Motherland. That difference made Heinz’s stomach turn with disgust.

Maybach sat back down slowly, glaring at the deformed SS officer as he did so. Heinz however, kept his eyes downward, concentrating on his empty glass. He was seething with anger at this point at the SS officer, and if he applied any more pressure with his right hand, he would surely crush the glass. Then, Heinz’s ears caught the sound of a cane against oak floor. He knew what it was. He knew that he could not avoid this confrontation which was about to occur, and honestly, Heinz welcomed it. He did know that he could be labeled as a traitor to the Reich for defying an SS man, but at this point, he did not care. If he were to die a traitor, he would take that servile, pathetic excuse for a military man down with him. Heinz let go of the shot glass and moved his right hand, in an attempt to find his combat knife, which was, as it always is, located in a sheath on the back of his belt, which was under his gray trench coat, which avidly displayed the 21st’s insignia. He, at this point, welcomed a fight, if it were to come to that.

Then, the SS officer spoke. His words were sharp, piercing Heinz’s integrity. Heinz again, looked down at his cup. The words traitor infuriated the veteran, and he tried to ignore the acrimonious petulance, which stood behind him. His attempt, however, failed when the officer ordered him to leave now, or face serious repercussions. Heinz pushed his seat back from the bar stand, and stood up. He then proceeded to size up the officer. The man was not as tall as the 6 foot 2 Wagner, and he was seriously deformed, having a visible scar, a patch on his eye, and blisters from a 3rd degree burn covering most of his face. Heinz, too, had an eye patch, which he now touched, looking into the cold, vacant eyes of the SS officer. In truth however, Heinz had perfect sight. On the contrary, the Hauptman wore the patch to maintain night vision in his left eye, just in case he were in dire need of sight in some situation. Now however, he removed the patch, placing it in his pocket. The light pierced his eye, causing him to blink profusely in an attempt to gain vision back. If he were to kill the officer, Heinz thought, he was going to do it with full sight. Heinz smirked wryly, knowing full well he had a slight advantage with a knife at his disposal. He then proceeded to speak, his words precise and rancorous, saying “Ich bin Hauptman Heinz Wagner von 3. Brigade der 21. Panzer Abteilung. Wir werden an dieser Errichtung bleiben und unsere Mahlzeit essen, egal was die ähnlichen von Ihnen an uns denkt. Tatsächlich sollte ich Ihre Zunge ausschneiden und es zu den Hunden füttern, um die 21. Verräter nach Deutschland zu nennen. " Heinz moved his hand under his trench coat, grasping his combat knife, ready to fulfill his promise if provoked further.



Translations
-Tatsächlich sieht es aus, dass ich große Schuhe habe, um mich zu füllen.

"Indeed, it looks like I have big shoes to fill."


-Ich bin Hauptman Heinz Wagner von 3. Brigade der 21. Panzer Abteilung. Wir werden an dieser Errichtung bleiben und unsere Mahlzeit essen, egal was die ähnlichen von Ihnen an uns denkt. Tatsächlich sollte ich Ihre Zunge ausschneiden und es zu den Hunden füttern, um die 21. Verräter nach Deutschland zu nennen. "

"I am Hauptman Heinz Wagner of the 3rd Brigade of the 21st Panzer Division. We will stay at this establishment and eat our meal, no matter what the likes of you thinks of us. In fact, I ought to cut your tongue out and feed it to the dogs for calling the 21st traitors to Germany."

[Werner von Maybach]

In the moment, he gazed at the SS- officer, their sights crossed for a short moment and Werner became the strong feeling that this man wouldn’t just ignore his provocation. The officer stared at him angrily and shook his head to show his disgust. Slowly he started walking towards the two Wehrmacht soldiers sitting at the bar.

In his minds eye, Werner could already see the confrontation coming. Situations like these where the reason, why he still had the rank of an Unteroffizier, although Werner already served in the army for over 4 years now. And in most cases, these situations had something to do with a bar, some schnapps and an arrogant officer. For a short moment, he remembered an altercation with a Hauptfeldwebel, back in the days when Werner was only a normal Obergefreiter. The reason for that argument was a beautiful blonde woman and everything ended with Werner smashing a beer glass into that man’s face. Because of that happening, Werner got demoted back to Gefreiter and he received two weeks of strict arrest. This time, he took up strongly not to loose control again.

While the SS-man approached, Werner looked at Wagner for a short moment, trying to read his thoughts. The Hauptmann had his view focused on his glass and in the first moment it seemed, as if he wouldn’t care about everything at all. But than Werner saw the wrists of the man next to him blooming white from exertion and he knew that the situation didn’t leave the Hauptmann completely cold.

Stopping right in front of the two men, the SS- officer raised his voice. He spoke in a very hard tone and seemed to be very assured of himself. In the moment, he called them traitors, Werner couldn’t even believe his own ears. Who the hell did this guy think he was? Did nobody teach him, to show at least a bit of respect to higher ranking officers like Hauptmann Wagner was one? Werner grimly smiled while imagining how his father would react, if getting disrespected like this. Generaloberst Josef von Maybach was a very conservative and militaristic thinking man, plus a completely choleric person. Because of that, Werner often enough had his own problems with him back in the past. And if someone acted like this officer just did, it would be even like showing a red rag to a bull.

Hauptmann Wagner’s sharp and confident voice took Werner away from his thoughts. He saw the Wehrmachts officer standing up from his seat and stopping directly face to face with the SS-man. Slowly, the Hauptmann removed the patch from his eye and starred deeply into his opposites face. The air in the small bar was thick enough, you could easily cut it into slices. Werner noticed Hauptmann Wagner grabbing into his pocket and taking out his combat knife, so he quickly also upraised from his stool now. Within seconds Werner analysed the situation. The Hauptmann wasn't a small man but he seemed to have serious problems with moving his leg. And this ugly SS-guy was accompanied by two more of his men. Hopefully Wagner wouldn't do anything stupid in his blind anger now. Carefully Werner grabbed the Hauptmann's arm and gently pressed him down.

"Herr Hauptmann, bitte. Es gibt noch viele andere gute Bars hier in Dresden." And a bit louder he added, "Ich habe sowieso keinen Hunger mehr. Eher das starke Bedürfnis zu duschen. Lassen Sie uns irgendwohin gehen, wo die Luft besser ist."

Translations:

"Herr Hauptmann, bitte. Es gibt noch viele andere gute Bars hier in Dresden."
"Herr Hauptmann, please. There are plenty other good bars here in Dresden."

"Ich habe sowieso keinen Hunger mehr. Eher das starke Bedürfnis zu duschen. Lassen Sie uns irgendwohin gehen, wo die Luft besser ist"
"I'm not hungry any more at all. I do just feel the strange need to take a shower. Let's just go somewhere, where the air is better than here."

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

Strumfelder’s jaw dropped slightly aghast at what had just been spoken to him. Who the hell did this man think he was!? One never challenged the will of the SS, the will of the Führer’s elite. If this man wanted a fight, Strumfelder would gladly give it to him. With every Kripo and Gestapo officer he could find! He would not let such words against Germany go without punishment. That would be a crime in itself.

He rose his cane in a swift movement and swept the table before him clean, sending drinks and food clattering loudly to the floor. In an instant, the bar fell silent, everyone looking towards the SS doctor and the man trying vain to oppose him. Strumfelder began breathing heavily with anger, the fury rising up inside him. He reached down to his side and dropped his cane, with a loud knock. He then quickly drew his pistol and raised it up, pointing the muzzle at the chest of the idiot before him.

“Ich weiß, wem sind, nicht ausgenommen einen Mann, der vorgesehen wird, um mit den Juden zu sein. Wächter des dieses Stabes, benennen das Kripo sofort und erklären ihnen, dass ein SS-Mann von einem Pöbel der Kommunisten bedroht wird, die als Soldaten verkleidet werden. Ich schlage dann vor, dass jeder, sofort verlässt.” Strumfelder made it clear that everybody could hear what was being spoken. He also smiled as he spoke.

Gently he raised the muzzle of the pistol, and fired twice, both shots hitting the ceiling. With that, there was a mix of screaming and shouting as the occupants of the bar fled, all trying to squeeze through the small door at the front. With luck, they would spread the story Strumfelder had spoken. After all, they knew no different. And any soldier who had been in the bar would run, wary of being picked up by the police as Socialist bastards.

Strumfelder’s cameraman appeared by his side, his pistol also drawn. His driver had moved outside, moving to grab a small machine pistol stored in the glove compartment of the car. Behind the bar, Strumfelder could hear the bar owner whispering frantically into a phone. He too should have been shot, for letting such men into his premises. Now that he was in the driving seat, Strumfelder relaxed some what. These men were unarmed, and Strumfelder and Co. were tooled up well indeed. Maybe he should shoot the pair now? No witnesses. And he would get recognition for killing two of the Führer’s enemies bravely.

He smiled and pointed the pistol at the skull of the more junior of the two men. “Heil Hitler.” he spoke, beginning to slowly squeeze the trigger.

Translations
“Ich weiß, wem sind, nicht ausgenommen einen Mann, der vorgesehen wird, um mit den Juden zu sein. Wächter des dieses Stabes, benennen das Kripo sofort und erklären ihnen, dass ein SS-Mann von einem Pöbel der Kommunisten bedroht wird, die als Soldaten verkleidet werden. Ich schlage dann vor, dass jeder, sofort verlässt.”
~ I do not know who are, except a man destined to be with the Jews. Keeper of the this bar, call the Kripo immediately and tell them an SS man is being threatened by a mob of communists disguised as soldiers. I then suggest everybody leaves, immediately.

[heinz]

(OOC: I may portray Heinz as ready to die, but in reality, I am not ready for Heinz to die. I hope to God Strum remembers that...)

Things got out of hand quickly after Heinz threatened the SS officer. Werner Von Maybach had suggested, after Heinz reached for his knife, that they leave the establishment and go somewhere else. Werner had a calming tone, which was also laced with a sense of urgency. It quickly won over Heinz’s conscience, and the brazen Wehrmacht officer let go of his combat knife. He was just about ready to leave when the SS officer flipped Heinz’s table out from under him, causing an uneasy silence to come over the bar. The officer then proceeded to pull out his Mauser C96. It was an impressive pistol, as most Mausers are, and Heinz stared down the barrel, which was pointed at his chest. Heinz rose his gloved hands into the air then, showing his acquiescence to the will of the SS officer.

If the SS officer had asked him to leave at this point, he would have, but the cold viper in Strumfelder had different plans. He fired a few shots into the ceiling of the building, causing onlookers to gasp in fear and apprehension as to what would happen next. As he did this, he told the bar keeper to call for the Krimnalpolizei. Things were escalating quicker than Heinz had anticipated for, and soon, Heinz would either be looking at a lifetime in prison due to the viper’s blatant lie of being a communist. He knew he could not protest this case to any member of the Kripo, as they were amongst the ranks of the Einsatzgruppen, and ultimately, the SS. Their leader, Artur Nebe, was appointed to his position by the head of the SS himself, Heinrich Himmler.

The words of this snake not only worried Heinz, but the infuriated him. This viper had challenged Heinz’s integrity. Heinz, who was for over 25 years a loyal soldier to the Reich, was now being slandered as a communist traitor. He may die here today, but he would not die a communist. He would die a loyal nationalist to Germany. Heinz spoke in a perturbed monotone, saying “Bestimmt, um mit den Juden zu sein? Ein Kommunist? Sie wahnhafte Schlange. Ich bin Hauptman Heinz Wagner, und ich weigere mich, ein Verräter am Reich zu sterben! Ich habe mehr als 25 Jahre des Dienstes für Deutschland. Mein Vater starb, Deutschland während des Ersten Weltkriegs verteidigend. Ich habe anscestors wer starb für Preußen und das Bündnis des Rheins, und Sie wagen, mich ein Verräter zu etikettieren? Gehen Sie voran, töten Sie mich, aber wie mein Vater vor mir, ich werde als ein loyales Thema dem Reich, nicht einem Verräter sterben.”

As the people filed frantically out of the bar, most likely going to tell the doctored story that this viper had told them to make himself look like a hero, another man walked in with a luger drawn and pointed it at the two. Another man, whom Heinz could see through the glass window, was reaching into the glove compartment of a black Volkswagen. Heinz could not discern what he was going to grab, but he could clearly see a magazine protruding from the small compartment. He focused his eyes a bit, trying to ascertain what type of gun it belonged to. He then recognized it as an MP40 magazine. Heinz couldn’t help but laugh internally at this. How many guns does this man need to finish me off, Heinz thought. Hell, one Mauser C96 bullet will kill me, why the hell does this viper need a 30 round MP40 to kill me? On the outside however, Heinz remained vigilent to the movements of the snake of a SS officer. His face was all but stoic as Heinz watched the officer move his pistol from Heinz’s chest, pointing it at Werner. Like a viper, he coiled back, ready to strike Werner with his noxious bite. He began to squeeze the trigger, letting out a snide “Heil Hitler” as he did so. Heinz knew at this point he would have to speak up. Heinz tried to defuse the caustic situation by moving his right palm downward, motioning for the snake to drop the Mauser. He began to speak again, hoping this SS officer would use what deluded, self righteous conscience he had left, saying calmly yet in a biting tone, “Sie verhärten sich Giftschlange, wenn Sie irgendjemanden hier töten sollen, mich töten. Werner hat nichts Falsches getan außer, in meine Anwesenheit am falschen Platz und in der falschen Zeit zu sein. Er hat nichts getan, um Sie zu provozieren; ich habe. Erlauben Sie ihm, zu verlassen, und mich zu nehmen. Töten Sie mich. Ich möchte lieber sterben als die Schande tragen, labled ein Verräter nach Deutschland zu sein.” Heinz then nudged the SS officer’s arm, moving it enough that the Mauser was pointed at him and not Werner. Heinz also knew that such an SS officer would feel that his pride was threatened by such an act of opprobrium, and like the viper he was, the officer would lash out at him, giving Werner enough time to escape. Heinz was ready to die; he would not tolerate being a traitor.


Translations
Bestimmt, um mit den Juden zu sein? Ein Kommunist? Sie wahnhafte Schlange. Ich bin Hauptman Heinz Wagner, und ich weigere mich, ein Verräter am Reich zu sterben! Ich habe mehr als 25 Jahre des Dienstes für Deutschland. Mein Vater starb, Deutschland während des Ersten Weltkriegs verteidigend. Ich habe anscestors wer starb für Preußen und das Bündnis des Rheins, und Sie wagen, mich ein Verräter zu etikettieren? Gehen Sie voran, töten Sie mich, aber wie mein Vater vor mir, ich werde als ein loyales Thema dem Reich, nicht einem Verräter sterben.”

-Destined to be with the Jews? A Communist? You delusional snake. I am Hauptman Heinz Wagner, and I refuse to die a traitor to the Empire! I have over 25 years of service for Germany. My father died defending Germany during World War One. I have anscestors who died for Prussia and the Confederation of the Rhine, and you dare label me a traitor? Go ahead, kill me, but like my father before me, I will die as a loyal subject to the Reich, not a traitor.

Sie verhärten sich Giftschlange, wenn Sie irgendjemanden hier töten sollen, mich töten. Werner hat nichts Falsches getan außer, in meine Anwesenheit am falschen Platz und in der falschen Zeit zu sein. Er hat nichts getan, um Sie zu provozieren; ich habe. Erlauben Sie ihm, zu verlassen, und mich zu nehmen. Töten Sie mich. Ich möchte lieber sterben als die Schande tragen, labled ein Verräter nach Deutschland zu sein.

-You callous viper, if you are to kill anyone here, kill me. Werner has done nothing wrong besides being in my presence at the wrong place and at the wrong time. He has done nothing to provoke you; I have. Allow him to leave,and take me. Kill me. I would rather die than bear the ignominy of being labled a traitor to Germany.

[Otto Wolff]

(( I'm just here to calm down the situation and make sure that nobody gets shot. Gestapo does not usually meddle in situations such as this one, I know, but Otto is a police officer at heart and his sense of duty is quite strong. ))


Otto stomped angrily along the street in his uniform, scowling as he advanced. It was already quite late and he was feeling tired from all the travelling and work. Right now he dearly wished he would have taken the offer for a car to drive them back to the hotel, but he had figured that a brisk walk would make his slowly developing headache go away Instead the pain on his temples was getting worse and the walking was just making Otto irritated. The Gestapo were swamped with work these days and Otto disliked being sent to Dresden. He did not like the city and he would have much more enjoyed continuing his work in Berlin where he could at least relax in the comfort of his own home after work. Everything about this place irked Otto and he was relieved to think that he would be out of Dresden in a day or two, back home in Berlin again.

Luckily Otto did not have to suffer this assignment all on his own, as he had taken his good friend Erich Brenner with him. The younger man held the rank of Kriminalsekretär in the Gestapo and these days Otto rarely went anywhere without his faithful assistant. Brenner was around thirty years old and hence much younger than Otto, but Otto had found that the young man was a dependable and vigilant man to work with. Sometimes a situation required Otto's calm and steady approach but sometimes Brenner's quick actions were the better option for the task at hand. They had learned to work together well over the years and most of the times Otto much enjoyed Brenner's company. Right now his mere presence and overflowingly happy mood just made Otto's headache worse and Otto kept shooting dark glances towards his companion.

Both of the them were wearing the dark uniforms of the Allgemeine-SS, not something that they usually did. For this particular task it had been more fitting to distill some fear and respect in the populace instead of working discreetly. They looked much like any other general SS-officer around and they carried the intimidating Totenkopf on their caps. The insignia on Otto's collar designated that he held a rank similar to Obersturmführer, although the different colour of his uniform clearly separated him from the Waffen-SS. Otto usually disliked wearing his uniform and much preferred when he could just use his comfortable plain suit. He often kept yanking the collar of his jacket without even realizing it and Brenner would always remind him to stop it.

Luckily the walk from the local office of the Gestapo to the hotel was not very long and they were already nearly at their destination when Brenner first spotted something. There were several people crowding outside of an establishment that looked to be a bar, not something that would have looked too strange in itself, but the people were clearly in something of a distress. People were talking among each other hysterically and soon a middle-aged man spotted both Otto and Brenner. "Dort! Herr Offiziere, bitte! Es gibt etwas, in der Bar geschehend, dort schoss! Sie rufen die Polizei, die ich denke.. Aber erfreuen Sie, tun Sie etwas!", the man pleaded, slightly daunted by the appearance of the uniformed men but most likely deciding that pretty much any help was welcome right now.

Otto and Brenner exchanged confused glances, but Otto had worked as a police officer for many years before joining the Gestapo and his natural instinct of doing his duty quickly got hold of him. "Wie viel Leute dort noch innen sind? Werden sie alle bewaffnet?", Otto asked as he stopped near the crowd. Everyone's eyes were now on them and at once people started explaining the situation, Otto had a hard time catching anything intelligible. Brenner did what he usually did, he raised his voice instead of Otto. "Ruhig, bitte! Lassen Sie diesen Mann erklären, was weitergeht!"
The crowd fell silent quickly and Otto nodded at the middle-aged man who had first noticed them. "Erklären Sie bitte."

"Ich weiß nicht was geschah, schoss jemand zweimal. Es gab.. vielleicht fünf Männer, ich denke. Oder mehr liefen wir gerade, als jemand eine Pistole anzündete. Ich sah nicht wie viele ihrer eine Waffe haben, aber jemand schrie etwas über einen SS-Mann, der wird bedroht. Und ich weiß nicht, wo der Eigentümer ist jetzt.. verschwand er gerade. Ich hoffe, dass sie ihn nicht schossen, ist er ein guter Freund von mir!"
Otto raised an eyebrow and nodded, the situation seemed quite confusing indeed. But if someone from the SS was being threatened, Otto would surely come to his aid. "Rufen Sie den Kripo herbei, wenn jemand so noch nicht getan hat. Lassen Sie diese Leute abrücken, wir wissen nicht was geschehen könnte."

He pulled out his Luger and Brenner followed his example, both men moved to the door of the establishment. Otto's eyes met with an SS-man next to a Volkswagen, he could see the man was armed with a small machine pistol. Confused, Otto raised his brow and nodded at the man. "Soldat, lassen Sie diese Leute eine sichere Entfernung jetzt wegschieben", he ordered the man, in his mind the SS-soldier was naturally arming himself to help with the situation inside the bar and Otto did not want this to get messy. He emphasized his words by nodding towards the crowd before settling again on the more urgent task at hand. Otto glanced briefly inside the bar from the window, counting at least four men standing inside the premises. From here he could not quite say who was armed at the moment, but the situation seemed to be in something of a standstill currently. Hopefully these fools would know better than to oppose officials of the Staatspolizei or there would be hell to pay. If necessary, Otto would show that this old dog still had a bite to match his bark.

"GESTAPO!", Brenner yelled from behind the door before he pushed it open with his other hand. Both Otto and Brenner made sure to keep their weapons handy and Otto glanced inside the bar carefully. "Staatspolizei! Legen Sie Ihre Waffen dieser Moment weg!", Otto commanded, his strong voice echoing from the walls of the buildings. After he was sure that the men inside the bar certainly knew that the police had arrived, both he and Brenner stepped inside the bar with their Lugers ready.

Otto's piercing dark eyes scanned over the men inside the bar as he kept his Luger ready. He now saw that all the men in question were soldiers, two of them from the Wehrmacht and two from the SS.
"Herren, hingestellt Ihre Waffen", Otto repeated his command in a calm but firm voice, surely these men would be reasonable enough to listen to him, they were all soldiers of the Reich, anyway. It would not surprise him if this was just another one of those ridiculous drunken brawls the soldiers often got themselves into. Whatever it was, Otto was determined to put an end to this foolishness.


Translations:

"Dort! Herr Offiziere, bitte! Es gibt etwas, in der Bar geschehend, dort schoss! Sie rufen die Polizei, die ich denke.. Aber erfreuen Sie, tun Sie etwas!"
"There! Herr officers, please! There is something happening in the bar, there was shooting! They are calling the police I think.. But please, do something!"

"Wie viel Leute dort noch innen sind? Werden sie alle bewaffnet?"
"How many people are there still inside? Are they all armed?"

"Ruhig, bitte! Lassen Sie diesen Mann erklären, was weitergeht!"
"Quiet, please! Let this man explain what is going on!"

"Erklären Sie bitte."
"Do explain."

"Ich weiß nicht was geschah, schoss jemand zweimal. Es gab.. vielleicht fünf Männer, ich denke. Oder mehr liefen wir gerade, als jemand eine Pistole anzündete. Ich sah nicht wie viele ihrer eine Waffe haben, aber jemand schrie etwas über einen SS-Mann, der wird bedroht. Und ich weiß nicht, wo der Eigentümer ist jetzt.. verschwand er gerade. Ich hoffe, dass sie ihn nicht schossen, ist er ein guter Freund von mir!"
"I do not know what happened, someone shot two times. There were.. maybe five men, I think. Or more, we just ran when someone fired a gun. I did not see how many of them have a weapon, but someone was yelling something about an SS-man being threatened. And I don't know where the owner is now.. he just disappeared. I do hope they did not shoot him, he is a good friend of mine!"

"Rufen Sie den Kripo herbei, wenn jemand so noch nicht getan hat. Lassen Sie diese Leute abrücken, wir wissen nicht was geschehen könnte."
"Call in the Kripo if someone has not done so yet. Have these people move away, we do not know what might happen."

"Soldat, lassen Sie diese Leute eine sichere Entfernung jetzt wegschieben."
"Soldat, have these people move a safe distance away, now."

"Staatspolizei! Legen Sie Ihre Waffen dieser Moment weg!"
"Staatspolizei! Put away your weapons this instant!"

"Herren, hingestellt Ihre Waffen."
"Gentlemen, put down your weapons"

[Werner von Maybach]

[OOC: I know, it’s a kind of a crappy post, but I honestly didn’t know what to do here. You better never disturb your superiors while arguing.]

In the moment, the SS- officer pulled out his gun and pointed it towards Werner, the Unteroffizier was absolutely stunned. In the background, the other SS- man also took out a machine pistol and readied it. Werner's thoughts where running and he slowly moved his arms up, showing that he wasn't a threat to anyone here. But nevertheless, the SS- man slowly started to pull the trigger. Were these men completely insane? It seemed as if there was no other explanation possible at all.

Panic arose inside Werner. Suddenly he felt a strange cold and his throat was absolutely dry. After all this dangerous situations he survived on the battlefield, was he supposed to die here, in a smoked out bar in his hometown, shot by a German? The whole situation was that unreal, Werner awaited to wake up in his warm bed every moment.

Now Wagner took the word again. Slowly he threw away his combat knife in an attempt to calm down the situation and carefully grabbed the hand of the SS- officer, turning the barrel of the Luger into his own direction. It seemed as if he had chosen to save Werner's life by giving away his own. And now the Hauptmann even offered himself directly to the SS- man in some kind of a trade. Werner didn't knew if he had to be happy about that, because he would surely feel traitorous to get out of the bar now and leave the Hauptmann alone with these maniacs.

But before the SS- officer could answer to the Hauptmann's offer, the door of the empty bar got opened again and a loud voice was yelling "Gestapo!". Werner was standing with his back to the door and so he couldn't see what was happening there. He couldn't help himself but he had the strong feeling that he had heard this voice before, although he wasn't able to identify it in that moment. Now the same man spoke again, ordering everybody to relax and take away the weapons. It seemed to Werner, as if the whole situation had calmed down a bit now. So he found it safe, to slowly take his hands down again and to turn around to have a look at who just entered the bar.

There where two men standing in the entrance area of the small building, wearing black SS uniforms. One of them seemed to be a bit older and had the rank of a Kriminalkomissar. Werner didn't know these Gestapo ranks all too well but he knew that Kriminalkomissar was a quiet high one. The other Gestapo- man was armed with a MP 40 and pointed the weapon towards the group standing at the bar. Quiet surprisingly, Werner didn't recognise any of the two men. It seemed as his mind had played a trick on him, because he had been absolutely sure to not hear that voice for the first time in his life.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

Closing time!

Wagner - 11CP

Maybach - 11CP

Strum - 9CP

Wolff - 3CP

-JT