Passing the time...[Open]

[ulrich]

Date: 6th of December, 1939
Location: Nuremberg, Germany

Ulrich Löffler sat quietly by himself in a small restaurant in Nuremberg. He was glad to be home. It was a small period of leave he had been given after the Poland Campaign. He had seen many people die, even shot himself. His arm was good as new though now. Ulrich was dressed in his Wehrmacht uniform and cap. It had been a long time since he had seen the streets of his home town, he never thought he would have seen it during the long, snowy nights in Poland.

When he had come home, his mother greeted him warmly, she was still a nurse at the local hospital. The Jews, the scum of the Earth were locked away in their dirty, ghetto like they should have been long before. Ulrich thought he looked very good in his gray uniform and freshly polished boots. He snapped back to reality as the waitress brought him a fresh plate of Wiener schnitzel and potato salad.

"Thank you," he said with a smile.

Wiener schnitzel, his favorite dish. A piece of pork breaded and fried, a side of potato salad with a rich dressing. He dug into the food, enjoying every bite. He drank some warm coffee that had been set out before him earlier. Since he came home, he had not talked about Poland, not even to his cousin Wilhelm. The young boy had asked him how many men he killed, and did he see anyone die. Ulrich had simply shook his head and walked away. He did not enjoy killing, and certainly did not enjoy talking about it.

He remembered his father telling him stories about the Great War. Now that he had seen combat and killed people, he knew that the terrifying stories had all been so real for his father. The man had been decorated for killing people, and Ulrich would probably be as well. It was not the best job, but he enjoyed serving his country and fighting the enemies of his beloved Deutschland. After finishing the meal, he left four Reichsmarks and fifty Reichspfenning. He also left one Reichsmark for the waitress.

Ulrich exited the restaurant and walked up to a man who had a cigarette.

"Excuse me sir, do you have an extra cigarette?" he asked.

"For a fellow soldier! Sure!" replied the Older Man as he handed Ulrich a cigarette and a lighter.

Ulrich lit the cigarette and took a drag.

"You were in the military?" asked Ulrich.

"Yep, I was in the Army during the Great War," said the Older Man.

"I just got back from Poland," replied Ulrich.

The two sat their for a while talking about the military and tactics for a while. They swapped stories and shared a couple of laughs.

[∬: Felix Odegaard]

Felix drained the tea from a small porcelian cup, setting it down on the table he was seated at. The Rottenfuhrer had made himself cockily at home, propping his booted feet up on the table and reclining back in his seat. Out a large window on one side of the resteraunt the ancient city of Nuremberg stood, it's old cathedrals decorated with swastika flags in celebration of the invasion of Poland. From where Felix sat, he had a good view of the small Waffen-SS recruiting agency that he was assigned as a seceretary. Felix was fresh out of basic training, and had to work there until they assigned him a combat unit.

He had to be immaculatly dressed every moment of his seceretary job, and lunch was his time to loosen up. Felix's "Death's Head" cap was set down next to his empty tea cup, and his rather tight belt hung unclasped around his waist. No weapons where permitted in the recruiting agency, and he carried nothing and would be reissued them when he finally got out to the front.

"Uh, Herr, here is your meal..." The waitress said, setting down a plate of vinegar potato salad and a slice of pork meatloaf topped with a fried egg, Felix's favorite. He was growing to appreciate German cuisine more and more. "Danke, Frauline, you mind wrapping a peice of apple strudel up for me?" Felix said, and the waitress hurried off to fulfill his takeout order. Odegaard ate fast, a habit learned in bootcamp, and was finished with his meal in just a few minutes. After retrieving his apple strudel and paying the bill, he dabbed some egg yolk off of his lip and watched a Wehrmacht soldier rise and exit the resteraunt. Another serviceman... Felix thought, even though he was not particularly fond of the Army. The other soldier dissapeared out the door and started chatting with an older gentleman, both of them smoking. Felix half smiled, winked at the waitress, and followed the Wehrmacht man's steps.

The friged air was a suprise to Felix, and his pale cheeks immediatly flushed with color. Slapping his cap on his blonde hair, the SS man turned on his bootheels and walked to the two soldiers. "You don't happen to have a smoke for me, gentleman?" Felix asked, smiling meekly.

[ulrich]

The older man looked at the SS Sergeant and smiled.

"Of course," he said pulling another out of the case.

"Good afternoon Rottenführer," said Ulrich looking at the man's rank insignia on his trim, black uniform.

Ulrich had encountered many Schutzstaffel men in Poland and Berlin. Most of the Commanding Officers were uptight, hate-filled men. Ulrich liked them though, they were highly trained and did their job well. He remembered witnessing them execute whole villages without warning. They were truly die Fuhrer's most elite men. They were devoted and dedicated men, a lot of the friends he had made in the Hitler Youth had joined up with the SS, and he was proud to have known the ones that did.

Ulrich was infantry though, and that's where his loyalty resided. He would stick up for a fellow infantryman over an SS man.

"So are you freshly back from Poland or are you stationed here?" he asked the Rottenfhürer.

Ulrich took another drag of his cigarette and exhaled into the chilled night air. He loved his hometown more than any other place in the world. Nuremberg was truly his heaven on Earth.

[∬: Felix Odegaard]

Felix nodded to the older man in thanks as he rummaged through his pocket to produce the Rottenfuhrer a cigarette. "Good afternoon to you too, Herr Feldweble." Felix said with a sly smile, giving a small, informal two fingered salute. Although the Wehrmacht did not have any superiority over the Schutzstaffel, the Norwegian thought it good taste to show respect to a senior NCO. The older gentleman held out a lit cigarette for Felix, and he took it and sat down next to the Feldweble.

"So are you freshly back from Poland or are you stationed here?" The Wehrmacht man asked.

"Strange story, actually" Felix replied, puffing his cigarette. "I'm fresh out of basic south of Frankfurt. I immigrated to Germany a few years back. I'm originally from Oslo, Norway. Stationed in Nuremberg while they sort me into a combat unit. How about you?"

The Rottenfuhrer was almost finished with his cigarette, the smoke pouring out of his nose and mouth to form a musky cloud around his cap. He wished he would have taken part in the invasion of Poland, he was eager to prove himself and other foreign volunteers under fire instead of just filing folders and pushing pencils. He would win honor for the Odegaard family, whose lineage could be traced back to great viking warriors and musket wielding infantry for the 1700's Kingdom of Scandinavia. He finished the cigarette, dropping it into the snow and crushing it with the tip of his jackboot.

[ulrich]

"I have been with the Wehrmacht since '38. I was in Poland for the whole invasion," replied Ulrich.

He remembered the first day there vividly. He had only fired his weapon at someone once, in Berlin. But in Poland he had to kill many people. He remembered pushing back the strong-willed, but ill-equipped Polish soldiers. He had been just a Grefeiter in Poland, nothing special. He had killed sixteen men during the duration of the invasion, possibly more if his grenades had hit anything. He had shot Expert in Basic with his rifle, and it showed, most of his shots had hit someone somewhere.

Ulrich had taken a lot of young men from their families. The most carnage he saw was when they attacked Warsaw. He remembered killing civilians who had taken up arms to defend their country. He remembered the Morale Officer shouting in the dead of night how the Polish should give up and come to the German lines, they would be taken care of. And taken care of they were. Any Polish that surrendered were shot dead by machine gunners or snipers.

"Combat is something you will never forget," said Ulrich with almost a dead stare in his eyes.

He remembered when he was hit in the arm, He was sprinting across a street in Warsaw when a Polish officer caught him with his pistol. It had burned badly, and the Medic digging out the round had nearly gotten his arm ripped off by Ulrich's grip. It had been a memorable experience to say the least.

[∬: Felix Odegaard]

"You seem like a good soldier. I respect you." Felix said, staring at the dreamy Feldweble with hard eyes. Felix's eyes where arguably the most recognizable feature of his, along with his short, straw-coloured hair and small, sharp nose. His eyes were the colour of fijord ice, a gleaming baby blue with a somewhat evil shine. The Rottenfuhrer always kept himself immaculate, his hair always combed, pale skin clear. His clothes were also crisp, always pleated and washed in regulation order. Even the hunter green handkerchief within his pocket was folded the regulation order. To many, his somewhat obsessive cleanliness was regarded as annoying. To him, it was SS policy.

A few moments later, the distant sound of clicking shoes and shouting voices made itself heard. Felix raised a blonde eyebrow at the sound until he realized what it was and schmunzled. Hitler-Jugend. The future of Nazi Germany. The first of the brown-shirted youth turned the corner, marching in strict goosestep, two boys holding the HJ flag on each side of the marching block. They couldn't be more than 13. Their leaders, about 15, took turns belting out marching orders. Felix smiled and hopped to his booted feet, thrusting his arm out into a Nazi salute and shouted "Sieg Heil, my young comrades!"

One of the leaders turned and looked at the beaming SS man. "Sieg Heil, Herr! Boys, turn, right side, salute!" The block of HJ turned on their heels and thrust out their arms into a salute. "Heil Hitler, Herr Rottenfuhrer!" They said in chorus.

What a wonderful land Nazi Germany was.

[ulrich]

"Ahhh the Hitler Youth, the future of our Reich!" said Ulrich.

He still had the knife he was issued during his days with them, his uniform was also locked safely away in his mother's closet. It was covered in plastic and cleaned often.

"I was one of the first Hitler Youth, I remember parading, it made me feel like I was a real soldier," said Ulrich with another toothy grin.

On the front he had not smiled often, he almost forgot what it felt like to smile for joy. Killing and watching others die tends to rot any man's youth from the inside out. The Rottenfuhrer obviously commanded more respect from them than he did. After all, the "Protective Echelon" were the most elite units that the German military had, they were protectors of the Reich, and all Ulrich was to die Fuhrer was a piece of canon fodder that could live one day or die another. But Ulrich knew he would prove himself like his father had.

Ulrich remembered his father in the sharp, gray-green uniform of the Imperial Army, parading his shining boots and polished Iron Cross. Ulrich hoped to earn one before this war was over, or before he died.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

BOO-YA!

Loffler - 6CP

Odegaard - 5CP

-JT