The Last Way Out...[Open]

[∬: Felix Odegaard]

Rottenfuhrer Felix Odegaard was a disgrace. A disgrace to Germany, a disgrace to Norway, a disgrace to the Waffen-SS, a disgrace to the whole National Socialist world.

Odegaard just sat there on the hard, cold bench, his cold, fierce blue eyes staring blankly across the Berlin Street. His mind was just as blank as his stare, only names running through it. The names of his men. The names that he had killed. In his left hand he clutched a small object, not noticeable to the common passerby. But the Norwegian knew exactly what it was. It was the only remnants of Klemens Langendorf, the perky soldier who drowned under Felix’s command. They had been charging through the river when the shot burst out of one of the Briton’s rifles, hitting him in the stomach. He had collapsed, quickly being swept downstream, freezing river water invading his fragile, asthma ridden lungs. That was the last few moments of Private Langendorf. Felix blamed himself for it, just like the deaths of almost every one of his deceased Privates. Klemens had had three children at home and a pretty little wife, all of them dutifully waiting for their brave father to come home. But Felix had sent them a letter, marked with the distinct runes of the Waffen-SS. Its messy words had brought tears to the Langendorf family’s eyes, for their brave husband or father had been killed in action, dying under the foolish command of Odegaard, fighting for Adolf Hitler. That was something the Rottenfuhrer could never live with.

Felix adjusted his position on the uncomfortable bench, his eyes still staring at the other side of the cobblestone street. It was quiet; the only sound the chirping of a sparrow perched in the bell tower of the cathedral behind Felix, where each of his men was buried. An automobile roared by, sending up a spray of leaves in its zooming exhaust. A civilian. Rottenfuhrer Odegaard wondered if the occupant of the Volkswagen had lost a family member in the war, or maybe a friend, or a child. He wondered if maybe they were like himself, the weight of so many wasted lives upon his shoulders. He shivered, partly because of his thoughts and partly because of the cold spring air. Felix was clad in a long black civilian coat, made of corduroy material, which hid his Waffen-SS tunic. The only three things labeling him as part of the Nazi movement was his tall jackboots, the SS runes just barely noticeable under the lapels of his coat, and the crisp, clean swastika armband wrapped around his left bicep. His neat, blonde hair was trimmed down to the skin along the bottom, the top gracefully swept back with hair oil and a comb. His left arm was in a splint, the lower bone broken from when he tripped while retreating. The white gauze framed his dark silhouette, making him stand out.

Felix could not take the pain of retreat, cowardice, and death any longer. It was time to play his last card. His eyes still fixed on the other side of the road; he reached his gloved hand into his pocket and grasped the cold metal grip of his Walther P38. The pistol was usually safely tucked within his hard, leather holster, but this time he had hidden it within the folds of his coat, unseen to any passerby. But now it was in full view as his slowly raised it, his hand unwavering as it slowly drifted upward. The cold metal barrel slowly pressed against his shaved temple, ready to end all of his sorrows. He moved his leather-clad finger to the trigger, and slowly wrapped his appendage around it. Shutting his eyelids tight, he slowly squeezed and waited for the impact.

Click

Nothing. Felix was astonished, opening his eyes wide and wondering if this was death, and exact mirror image of life. But he grimly realized that he had forgotten to load the pistol.

[∬: Erik Schneider]

Reclining back into his leather seat, Obersturmfuhrer Schneider slid the door back into place and locked it. The young driver uneasily glanced into the back of his compact Volkswagen. It was met by an unnerving glare which kicked his instincts into action. The engine purred to life and took off down the Berlin street at an easy going pace. Pleased, Schneider turned his attention to his SS uniform. The immaculate uniform reflected well on the high-ranking German, who brushed off invisible blemishes. Relieved that his uniform's condition was fine, he slipped out a canister of hair oil and black comb. His comb was a gift from a family-friend and was littered with runes. He applied the oil in chunks, slowly massaging it into his hair. Delicately, he brushed the comb through his hair, slicking it back and letting it dry for an extra hold.

Normally, he wouldn't be paying so much attention to his physical appearance. However, it wasn't everyday you met with old family friends who had become prestigious political figures. It was dinner he could not miss and one of the rare times in war where he took time off to be with his family. The display was not entirely for the host of the dinner party, but more for his...wife. His dearest wife who he missed so much. It was unimaginable that he hadn't come home to see her in so long. He always carried a picture of his beautiful, Aryan wife in his uniform every time he saw combat. The image kept him going at his lowest and her love kept him strong when he needed to be. She was the perfect SS wife and had found her place in the world long ago.

The automobile sped down a busy street, kicking up water and leaves on the curb. The pitter patter of leaves beat a rhythm onto the top of the Volkswagen as Schneider finished with his preparations and blindly gazed out the window. A depressed man sat on a bench before a church, clad in a long, black coat. For a strange reason he wore Waffen SS jackboots and even stranger... Erik thought he recognized the poor soul. Rottenfuhrer Felix Odegaard was the depressed man upon the bench, concealing in a cloak of darkness. "Fahrer, Zug vorbei zur Seite der Straße."

"Ja, Herr Obersturmfuhrer." The compact, black car slowed to a halt on the side of the road, where an SS-Oberstumfuhrer flung the door open. He stepped out into the rain without hesitation and hastened his pace as he grew more suspicious of the Corporal's actions. Water sprayed out in every direction when his heavy footfalls met the sidewalk as he grew neared to the suicidal man. Schneider was about to close the distance when Felix confirmed his suspicions... and connected the barrel of a Luger with the side of his head. Breaking out into a full sprint now, Schneider hoped he could reach the crazed man in time. He wouldn't bare watch a SS man splatter his brains on the wet sidewalk this night.

"Rottenfuhrer, was tun Sie?" Schneider roared, reaching out for the pistol. Alas, it was too late. The man squeezed the trigger. But instead of a bang and vicious head-injury... the pistol clicked empty. Schneider made contact with the Luger and smacked it out of the Rottenfuhrer's hands. Now, his worry turned into anger. The foolish man wanted to kill himself and couldn't even do it! He grasped the man's coat collars and lifted him forward from his seat upon the bench. "Was hat in Ihren Kopf, Odegaard gekommen? Versuch des Selbstmords!?! Sie sind ein SS-Mann, warum Sie versuchen, sich zu töten? Schändlich!" He spat at the man somewhat angry at his failure and somewhat angry at the prospect of Felix taking his own life.

- "Driver, pull over to the side of the road."

- "Rottenfuhrer, what the hell are you doing?"

- "What has gotten into your head, Odegaard? Attempting suicide!?! You are an SS man, why the hell are you trying to kill yourself? Despicable! "

[∬: Felix Odegaard]

Felix was surprised by the figure of a man running towards him, shouting something at the distressed Corporal. Odegaard’s eyes widened as a hand came down and smacked the pistol from his grip, the P38 clattering on the pavement. Felix nearly tipped the unbolted chair backwards as he realized it was Obersturmfuhrer Erik Schneider, a high ranking SS officer who had worked with Felix in the Ghettos. His black hair was slicked back heavily, not unlike Odegaard’s own, and glistened as the cold German rain pounded down on the pair. Felix broke out of his shock and quickly bolted up from the bench, shooting his uninjured arm out in a sloppy salute, hoping to not convey any disrespect to the officer. ” Herr Obersturmfuhrer, Wechselkursmechanismus, uh, was… I' trauriger Sir… I m…” Felix muttered, keeping his salute as he seemed to burrow deeper into his coat.

Was hat in Ihren Kopf, Odegaard gekommen? Versuch des Selbstmords!?! Sie sind ein SS-Mann, warum Sie versuchen, sich zu töten? Schändlich!" Schneider roared, looking at Felix in disbelief. Felix, meanwhile, just stood there and babbled, trying to get something out, but not managing too. The Corporal’s mind raced, thinking of how to respond to the rapid, burning questions of the Lieutenant. Felix finally broke away from his salute, his right arm clapping against the side of his coat. What was he to do? A high ranking officer of Adolf Hitler’s own, the SS, had seen the Corporal attempting one of the most dishonorable acts known to mankind. And not even succeed! He had failed at everything! War, battle, the SS, and even suicide! How much of a human failure could Felix be!? And to worsen the already humiliating situation, a ranking officer had watched him fail!

” Herr Schnieder, war ich… ich bin ein falure. Ein kompletter Abfall des arischen Lebens. Ich bin eine Schande in das Drittes Reich. Ich musste versuchen, es zu beenden. Ich hatte auch” Felix blurted out, hoping the officer would respond well. But he decided the odds were against him, and damned himself. ” Geehrter Herr, verzeihen mir bitte.”


TRANSLATION

" Herr Obersturmfuhrer, Wechselkursmechanismus, uh, was… I' trauriger Sir… I m…"

Herr Obersturmfuhrer, I was going...uh...erm...I was doing...I wa...

” Herr Schnieder, war ich… ich bin ein falure. Ein kompletter Abfall des arischen Lebens. Ich bin eine Schande in das Drittes Reich. Ich musste versuchen, es zu beenden. Ich hatte auch”

Herr Schnieder, I was...I am a failure. A complete waste of Aryan life. A disgrace to The Third Reich. I just had to end it. I had to.

” Geehrter Herr, verzeihen mir bitte.”

Sir, please forgive me...

[∬: Erik Schneider]

Embarrassed, the Corporal had jumped out from his superiors grasps and threw his hand into a salute. Somehow, he hoped to find his way out of the situation with his words, but ended up with incoherent babbling. It was disgraceful and pitiful what the young Corporal was doing. Ashamed, Schneider felt the urge to finish the job himself to purge the SS of such a wreck of a man. However, the other half of his brain resisted the urge in hopes of helping his brother. After all, the Aryan race needed compassion to survive and strengthening the bond with a man could shape him into a more competent leader. It was nerve wracking standing in the cool, dark night with a pistol only inches from his fingertips. Good and evil battled it out inside his mind and finally the Oberstumfuhrer came to a decision.

If Felix Odegaard was a lesser man, Schneider would have murdered him on the spot. But, he was merely a man who had allowed his emotions to lead him astray. Not wishing to take a valuable man away from his Furher's valiant efforts at creating an Aryan world, he chose to look out for a brother in arms. His eyes glancing left and right, he spotted no one. Either there was no one to see the act in the dark night or no one had the spine to confront the two SS men. For all that it mattered, Felix was off the hook as long as Schneider never mentioned the act the Corporal was about to partake in. The silence between the two SS men dragged on for a few more moments, before the Obersturmfuhrer finally broke it with a step forward.

He brought his right arm up high and for a second it seemed like he was going to strike down the Rottenfuhrer. Instead, he brought it down gently on Odegaard's right shoulder and grasped tightly. "Sie werden, Rottenfuhrer verziehen. Sie sind ein wertvolles Mannhandeln, was für die Welt in den Waffen-SS recht ist. Ich sehe Sie nicht umzukommen für Schriftsatz, dummes Denken, solange er nicht wieder geschieht," Schneider said lightly. It was a rare side of the man that was only brought out in war for the brothers he fought alongside or with the family he cared for and loved. His rather perfect, pearly whites were exposed as his mouth broke out into a grin. "Odegaard, can' t, das Sie sehen. Dieses war ein Zeichen vom Gott. Er doesn' t wünschen Sie tot sein. Er weiß, was Sie zum Handeln für die mächtigen SS fähig sind. Wir sind God' s-Rennen und -er lieben uns für, was wir tun, Rottenfuhrer."

- "You shall be forgiven, Rottenfuhrer. You are a valuable man doing what is right for the world in the Waffen-SS. I will not see you perish for brief, foolish thinking as long as it does not happen again."

- "Odegaard, can't you see. This was a sign from God. He doesn't want you to be dead. He knows what you are capable of doing for the mighty SS. We are God's race and he loves us for what we are doing, Rottenfuhrer."

[∬: Gero A. Fritz]

OOC: I understand this is a very “heart to heart” moment type of thread, but I couldn’t help myself by entering. Some great posts here guys, really enjoyed reading them.

IC:

Unterscharführer Fritz hastily strode along the cobbled road, yanking the fabric to his winter coat tightly about his torso, whilst plumes of condensed air bellowing from his lungs as the bitter chill set into his bones. The nights were drawing in faster now and the days were thinning out gradually, not only could it be told by observing the weather or daylight hours, but the people of Berlin displayed such discrepancies too; Shops closed earlier, everyone painstakingly walked slower through the bitter cold weather and the rump smell of the bakeries littered the dormant chilled air, as a whole manner of warm food was being prepared for the cold nights ahead.

Ironically, the Unterscharführer enjoyed the cold nights and better still, the winter climate. It brought a freshness to the Fatherland, ridding the weeds, dying plants and separated the sheep from the goat within the animal kingdom. It was these critical months that the strongest emerged and the weak ones were singled out. The Fatherland had no place for weaklings, not during this time of crisis; Berlin had to flourish, Germany had to conceive it’s born right to conquer and it’s people had to hold their heads up high and be proud for their heritage, being Aryan and under the firm steel wing of the Third-Reich.

“Heh!” Gero murmured to himself, as he thought of the patriotism he didn’t have for the country. Aryan this, Aryan that, German this, German that - He couldn’t well give a damn for the national socialist view for a better Germany; Gero was dragged into this war and faced with no other choice then to join the Schutzstaffel, Waffen-SS to be precise, he endured as much of the foolish pretence for an ideological white supreme Germany as best he could. In his eyes, the pay was good, the food was far better then the Werchmact had to offer and the respect gained by the socialist pigs when they saw the charcoal black tunic and red lined trimmings of a Unterscharführer’s shoulder boards from the Waffen-SS - Well, the respect was remarkable. It even earned him free drinks and pudding in the local tavern, being a servant to ridding the scum off the streets. Pah!

Abruptly a commotion across the street caught the Unterscharführer’s nimble ears, causing the man to slacken his pace and near enough draw to a halt, his attention focusing over towards two men stood alongside a small bench; Gero was quick at evaluating situations, being a man on the frontlines, he had to think fast and assess each situation with the finest of combs. The Unterscharführer’s eyes darted to the weapon on the floor and watched in anticipation as what seemingly began to look like an officer, berate a subordinate. At first glance, the two men looked like bawling civilians who may have had a little too much drink with their ration tokens for alcohol, but keeping a firm stare, Gero understood the situation better every slur of the moment unfolding. It was indeed an officer, junior officer, talking to what seemingly began to look like a soldier - with the stiff salute and hesitant demeanour, the Unterscharführer betted within his mind that the man ranked no further then a Schütze.

Sighing quietly to himself, Unterscharführer Fritz felt the need to indulge himself within their business, having recognised the junior officer from the Das-Reich. The soft clapping of Gero’s jackboots echoed along the street, as he quickly trotted across the cobbled road, approaching the two men who were quietening down from the avid raised voices a sheer moment ago. “Ist alles ganz richtig Herr?” the Unterscharführer questioned with a husk tone, whilst he tucked his long coat back into place upon his torso, attempting to keep the warmth in every nook and cranny he could, before straightening his field grey SS-hat by the visor, but more so, tilting the headdress backwards so his face was more revealed to the two men before himself.

Gero’s eyes lisped over the officer within their presence, but didn’t salute. It wasn’t an insult, Gero genuinely reserved such antics for the courtyard and barracks, roaming the midst of Berlin didn’t seem like the ideal place to go flaunting pleasantries - but Gero was an odd man towards respecting authorities in any case. He’d already been thrown in the slammer for urinating up an officer’s automobile once before. “Ist das Ihrig?” he questioned soon after, kneeling down to pick up the discarded P38, glancing to the two men awkwardly as he arose with the sidearm clutched between his gloved hands, wondering what was really happening here.


Translations:[/b]

Ist alles ganz richtig Herr?
- Is everything alright gentleman?

Ist das Ihrig?
- Is this yours?

Gero's back!!! <3

I'm loveeeddd!!! <333

Lies and blasphemy! Lies and blasphemy!

[∬: Felix Odegaard]

Felix panicked as soon as he saw Schneider’s eyes move toward the P38 on the ground, as the Corporal’s head was immediately filled with so many vile thoughts. He imagined the lieutenant reaching down for it, loading a fresh clip, and then gunning the suicidal Corporal down with the pistol. Felix Odegaard’s body would just lie their, until some churchgoer or priest found him, collapsed before the cathedral’s bench, lying in a dark pool of his own blood. But he suddenly realized that the same thing would happen if the young man had committed suicide, and thanked the lord that he had been forgetful enough to forget to load his own pistol.

Felix stood there, his cold blue eyes fixed on the junior officer, and his locked on the Corporal. But suddenly Schneider stepped forward with a seemingly great step of his jackbooted leg and raised his arm high above Felix’s head. A look of horror overcame the young corporal, his eyes widening and his mouth grimacing. He waited for an intense impact but instead, a light pressure was applied to his shoulder, and a gloved hand gripped it firmly. ” Sie werden, Rottenfuhrer verziehen. Sie sind ein wertvolles Mannhandeln, was für die Welt in den Waffen-SS recht ist. Ich sehe Sie nicht umzukommen für Schriftsatz, dummes Denken, solange er nicht wieder geschieht.” Schneider spoke, his mouth turning up into a friendly grin. Felix’s mouth also curled, exposing his shiny white incisors, mostly out of pure relief. "Odegaard, can' t, das Sie sehen. Dieses war ein Zeichen vom Gott. Er doesn' t wünschen Sie tot sein. Er weiß, was Sie zum Handeln für die mächtigen SS fähig sind. Wir sind God' s-Rennen und -er lieben uns für, was wir tun, Rottenfuhrer." Schneider continued sounder friendly now. Felix smiled wider now, realizing that he would be forgiven for his foolish, suicidal actions. The Rottenfuhrer was about to reply, but was quickly cut off by a civilian.

” Ist alles ganz richtig Herr?” The unknown man spoke, cutting both of them off. Felix was about to snap at the man, but quickly realized he was an SS man. The Unterscharfuhrer crouched down and picked up Felix’s Walther P38, looking concerned. ”Ist das Ihrig?” he asked Schneider, thinking that it was his. Es ist meins, danke Sir. Felix spoke uneasily.



TRANSLATIONS

Es ist meins, danke Sir

It is mine, thank you sir.



Um...who is Gero?

[∬: Erik Schneider]

In the dim light, he watched as he brought a smile to the Junior NCOs face. To think only a few moments ago, he was preparing to end his own life in vain. Luckily, God had lead Schneider to one of his fateful German soldiers to save his life. And in that second of reflection, he knew that deep down, the Third Reich would live on forever. The Fuhrer would bring about a new era. An era of the Aryans. Forever, would the Earth stay strong and proud and never be destroyed by the lesser races ever again. For the lesser races would be eliminated in the valiant war. It was a time where the strong would step forward to squash the weak as they always should. For once, survival of the fittest would truly be in effect. Only the strongest would survive after Germany's finest hour.

The smile of relief on Felix's face was cut off by the voice of a newcomer. Grimacing at the prospect of the civilian ruining the moment of pride and admiration, Schneider rolled his eyes and turned to face the man. It was not who he expecting it to be standing behind him in the rain and he was mildly disappointed. He was in the mood for some "extermination" of a lesser man for interrupting such a glorious moment of achievement for the Reich, even if it was only shared by two SS soldiers. Now, there was a third to add to the collection. Surprisingly, Schneider was unaware of the man ever being in the unit. It was as if he was some kind of Lone Wolf who had passed under the radar until that moment. Squinting his eyes to make sure, he confirmed it was an unknown Unterscharführer in the SS after all. Strange, why wouldn't Schneider recognize a NCO from his unit even if he was only but a Sergeant.

Before he could reply to the rather rude interruption, Felix took a step forward and answered the question that was directed to Schneider. The Corporal crouched down and grasped the P38, the weapon that had almost ended his life. The Oberstumfuhrer had made a studious effort to link NCO's and officers names to their pictures and descriptions. But, this was one man he couldn't quite place his finger on. Perhaps, there was an unknown explanation for that or possibly Schneider had failed somewhere along the line. He couldn't recall every single name on his list, but he was certainly making a conscious effort to. Especially, when it involved men directly under his command.

"Alles ist fein jetzt, Unterscharfuhrer. Ich vermute, dass Sie die frühere Rauferei, es waren einfach ein Missverständnis sahen," Schneider responded coolly with some annoyance in his voice. Partially some from the Sergeant's sudden appearance and partially from Schneider's inability to recognize the NCO. As he felt the rain soak his uniform and drench his slicked, blond hair he reached the conclusion that dinner was going to have to be rearranged. By now, he would have already been in his Volkswagen and speeding to see his wife once more, but he realized it was already far too late. "It is good to see a fellow Aryan serving the Fuhrer in the Waffen-SS. I can not recall your name though, Unterscharfuhrer. Or what platoon you serve in. Would you care to enlighten me? " the quizzical Lieutenant asked, his eyes burrowing deeper into the man.

- "Everything is fine now, Unterscharfuhrer. I suspect you saw the earlier scuffle, it was simply a misunderstanding. "

- "It is good to see a fellow Aryan serving the Fuhrer in the Waffen-SS. I can not recall your name though, Unterscharfuhrer. Or what platoon you serve in. Would you care to enlighten me? "

[∬: Gero A. Fritz]

The Unterscharführer glanced between the two men quietly, but soon laid his eyes upon the stiff and worried looking man before the nonchalant officer. “Ah hier sind Sie dann Junge und bitte, ich bin nicht ein Offizier” he responded warmly and correctively towards the young man’s insinuation of calling him a ‘sir’, something that was only informally used amongst the commissioned officers. Gero was nothing but a Sergeant, having been a Rottenführer himself not too long ago, so being mistaken for a sir was quite flattening, but far from complimenting Gero who despised the authority of the officers who didn’t know what they were doing half the time.

Slowly handing over the P38 to the young man, giving the soldier a firm look as he done so, the Unterscharführer soon found himself being glared at by the officer lingering close by, stiffening an awkward stare that trailed about his facial features, as if he was trying to recognise his face perhaps? A questionable look displayed by an officer was always worrying, but to the Unterscharführer, it made him feel somewhat powerful inside. It was the unknown that most people were afraid off and the officer, Obersturmführer stiffening a look towards him, completely gave the man’s curious intentions away almost immediately…

Gero’s lips coiled into a grin as the officer felt the need to explain himself, as to the scuffle? Something the Unterscharführer did not witness, but the thought of the fellow Obersturmführer feeling the need to appease his conscience and explain of his actions to a mere Unterscharführer was amusing; Perhaps Gero illuminated a vibe that stiffened men’s backs? Perhaps, but the Unterscharführer merely nodded to the officer’s explanation, not really needing to hear it, but nodded none the less - before the Obersturmführer pulled a very quizzical look and shot a question at himself. It seemed as if Gero’s suspicions right upon the officer, he was baffled to whom he may be and the Unterscharführer let out a small breath, wondering how the officer had not foreseen him before within the division? Perhaps the tactical unit he was apart off was under wraps? A secretive force? No, couldn’t have been. More then any thing, Gero stared at the officer putting the man’s curiosity simply down to ignorance of not paying enough attention. That’s what Gero thought anyhow.

“Unterscharführer Fritz, Das-Reich, Taktische Einheit; einsamer Wolf” the Unterscharführer answered boldly, but didn’t salute again. Instead, the Unterscharführer casually undone a button upon the chest of his coat and slipped a hand into the underlying compartment to pull out a silver case of cigarettes. Clunking it open, he pulled one out and placed it upon his lips, before noticing the two men and for once, didn’t seem rude; “Zigarette?” he offered, giving the officer a crooked look for a brief moment, already knowing the man’s name, so didn’t peruse in questioning him any further; The Unterscharführer wasn’t exactly comfortable within the presence of officers, but thinking the young man was about to murdered or executed on the spot - having seen the sidearm and close engagement between the two, the Unterscharführer felt the need to diffuse the situation. Thankfully, it had never escalated in the first place and now he was stuck within the officer’s company, the boy was fine however.

Whilst he awaited for one of his cigarettes to be taken or declined, the Unterscharführer squinted against the drizzle of rain blowing into their general direction and turned his head. On closer inspection, the Unterscharführer was very rough looking, far from neat and pristine. Shabby hair, stubble growing through and a couple of holes within the back of his coat; Well! It only left the imagination to tell what his tunic looked like under the outer garments. Gero was a rough diamond, good at what he does, but a major lack of respect to the Nazis and their ideological thinking for white supremacy. At the end of the day, Gero was just doing his job.


Translations:[/b]

Ah hier sind Sie dann Junge und bitte, ich bin nicht ein Offizier.
- Ah, here you are then boy and please, I'm not an officer.

Unterscharführer Fritz, Das-Reich, Taktische Einheit; einsamer Wolf.
- Unterscharführer Fritz, Das-Reich, Tactical unit; Lone wolves.

Zigarette?
- Cigarette?

[∬: Felix Odegaard]

OOC: God-modded your looks slightly Gero, based on your avvy. Sorry.

Felix smiled at the Unterscharführer as he took back his pistol, the cold metal grip cooling his sweating palm. He unbuttoned the top two buttons on his thin coat to tuck the Walther in the inside pocket, nodding as the NCO muttered "Ah hier sind Sie dann Junge und bitte, ich bin nicht ein Offizier." Although he didn't show it, Felix was astonished by the man's actions. The Sergeant did not look like a SS man, more like the kind who would write poetry. Tiny bits of stubble clung to his chin, and tiny holes in the back of his coat made it seem as if the garment had hung in a moth-infested wardrobe for a rather long time. Felix's coat was the complete opposite, the black fabric rolling and shiny, for he had only bought it about three days ago. The NCO introduced himself to Schneider, before pulling a silver cigarette case, offering one to the two SS men before him. Odegaard accepted, warmly uttering a "Danke." He dug within his pockets for his lighter, which, when found, served to light the cigarette.

The Norseman had always enjoyed lighting tobacco, seeing the tip explode into a tiny fireball. When he was small, Felix would always wonder if there was a miniature metropolis on the tip, and whoever light it, let it be his father, brother, or late uncle, brought and end to it by sending it up in flames. Childhood memories often flooded back to the Norwegian, reminding him of the old times. But not the better times. Serving in the Waffen-SS was to be the goal of any young Aryan, and to achieve this, well, it was a great improvement on even the most happy of childhoods. Felix watched the embers float away from the tip of his cigarette, being quickly extinguished by the light rain. He brushed a stray strand of blond hair from his eyes, his whole head a messy mop because of the downpour. He was about to say something but was quickly cut off by the shouts of a frightened Hitlerjugend boy sprinting down the street at full speed, waving a rattle around in his hand.

"Luftangriff! Luftangriff! Gelangen Sie an die Schutz!" The boy screamed at the top of his lungs, quickly bolting down the street. Felix made a quick effort to stop him, but he quickly outran Odegaard's grasp. Felix tripped on a loose cobblestone in his effort, going down hard on his left knee. He raised his head, cradling his hurt kneecap in the process. What he saw astonished him. Three British bombers appeared on the horizon, a faint buzzing sound invading his ears. Felix rose to his feet and turned to the two higher-ranking men and warned: "Mit allen respektieren Sie, schlage ich vor, dass wir für das nächste shelter." Odegaard yelled, wondering how to define shelter in his mind.

The three bombers had reached the outskirts of the city by then, dropping small incendiary bombs. Plumes of smoke and fire rose from the outline of Berlin, painting an ugly picture on the dark sky. The planes reminded Felix of massive, malevolent insects hovering in the sky, dropping acid excrement down on the unsuspecting aphid of Berlin. This was the first time Odegaard had ever witnessed a areal bombardment on this big of a scale, and terror welled up within his chest. Utterly confused, the young man turned to his superiors for help.

TRANSLATIONS

"Air raid! Air raid! Get to the nearest shelter!"

"With all due respect sirs, I suggest we head for the nearest shelter."

[∬: Erik Schneider]

The Unterscharfuhrer's lips twisted into a cocky, insulting grin as the Obersturmfuhrer, baffled by this man's presence in the 2nd SS, questioned him. A smug grin that Schneider wouldn't hesitate wiping, no beating, off the man's face. This arrogant bastard had the balls to silently disrespect a superior officer. He hadn't thrown it out into the open, but reading his facial expressions and reactions was all that needed to be pieced together to figure the German out. Judging by his personal appearance, this man was not one to realize his Aryan heritage. An ignorant fool who had luckily avoided such scrutiny in the past. Perhaps, he would need to be a bit more cautious with ways he reacted around superiors, even if it was a simple smile. The Oberstrumfurher's face remained one of neutrality and calmness as he made a mental note on Unterscharfuhrer Fritz.

"Die taktische Maßeinheit. Das erklärt sie. Es hasn' t gesehen vieler Tätigkeit, da ich verwundet wurde," the Oberstrumfuhrer replied to the man with a nod. Could Fritz possibly feel that his reputation preceded him. The man hadn't seen action since Schneider got a bullet in his lung and if he did, it wasn't of much importance. To face the truth, Fritz hadn't done something worthwhile of a nod from his superiors for a while. And here he was, flashing an arrogant smile before his Lieutenant and not even bothering to give a courteous salute. But, he couldn't completely judge the man from first impression. In fact, he almost hoped he was wrong... he hated Aryans who brought dishonor the Aryan race.

His eyes darted towards the NCO's coat, watching as he pulled out a silver case of cigarettes and offered it to the men. Fritz crookedly looked at Schneider, casting his blaming eyes on the Lieutenant. Could he possibly think Schneider was the one attempting to murder the Rottenfuhrer? Than he was a fool. Feeling no need to explain himself any further to a low-ranking man, who might find out that a Lieutenant's word meant so much more than an NCOs. Managing a grin at the thought, Schneider turned his head and blurted out a no to the offer.

The tapping of small shoes against the sidewalk caught the Erik's attention, before he turned to glance at a speedy German boy. Shouting at the top of his lungs about an air raid, the boy made a quick dash between the trio and kept on running. Schneider took a step back in a quick reflex as Odegaard grasped at the young Hitler Youth boy's collar. The Corporal tumbled over on a loose cobblestone in the failed attempt and the young German vanished down the street in a hurry. Dropping to Odegaard's side, he gave his fellow SS man a helping hand back up on his feet...only to spot the three British bombers on the horizon.

Felix yelled about finding shelter over the growing roar of the British engines, which was Schneider's cue to take over. Thinking quick he assessed the situation and took control."Leider sind wir nirgendwo nahe einem korrekten Luftangriffschutz. Glücklicherweise können wir unsere Weise zur folgenden besten Sache bilden. Einer der Keller eine Straße vorbei in den Appartementkomplexen. Bewegen Sie sich heraus!" Glancing over his shoulder, he watched with a bit of awe as the bombers managed to make it past the Flak towers that guarded the city he called home. Flumes of smoke and fire rose on the outskirts of town, spitting insult into Schneider's face. With a scowl, Schneider signaled the two men to head for shelter.

Schneider assured a confused Felix and gently urged him forward with a hand on his back down the street. The three SS men crossed the empty street in a desperate attempt to make it to what could be considered "shelter". It only took a few moments for the men to make it around the bend in the road and follow a group of civilians who were crowding the entrance of a cellar. Emerging from the distance, Schneider assumed control to ensure everyone got in peacefully. Reacting to the presence of military, the citizens reorganized themselves and entered into the underground shelter with an orderly fashion. At last, with everyone inside, Schneider roared an order for the other two men to get into shelter before he followed in. Locking the door, he turned to face a crowd of about thirty or so jammed into the cellar. "Jeder, beruhigen unten und halten auf stille Art. Nicht, versetzen dieser Keller liefert die beste Abdeckung in diesen Sektor von Berlin in Panik. Solange wir don' t erleiden einen direkten Schlag, wir ist tadellos fein. Mit diese Bomber werden schnell beschäftigt und Deutschland revanchiert sich auf ihren britischen Inseln als Ausgleich. " A few cheers broke out at the last sentence, a few vengeance seeking men wanting a reaction to his sudden bombing.

The seconds turned to minutes, as everyone waited in silence. The sounds of British bombers grew nearer and the Obersturmfuhrer grew suspicious on a bombing of the apartment complexes. Those British bastards weren't aiming for the factories...they wanted to demoralize the German citizens by killing their own. Schneider cursed their horrible luck and contemplated leading everyone out of the area... but it was too risky. Disappointed, he shot Odegaard and Fritz a glance that said it all. The British bombs...were coming for them. He gave a slight nod to brace and wait for impact, which led to the worried cellar gatherers to do so as well. Now it had occurred to everyone that they were going to be hit, but no one panicked as they seeked cover within the crowded cellar.



- "The tactical unit. That explains it. It hasn't seen much action since I was wounded. "

- "Unfortunately, we are nowhere near a proper air raid shelter. Fortunately, we can make our way to the next best thing. One of the cellars a street over in the apartment complexes. Move out!"

- "Everyone, calm down and keep quiet. Don't panic, this cellar will provide the best cover in this sector of Berlin. As long as we don't suffer a direct hit, we will be perfectly fine. These bombers will be dealt with swiftly and Germany shall retaliate on their British isles in return. "

[∬: Gero A. Fritz]

OOC: That’s fine Felix. He looks how he does in his avatar and signature.


The Rottenführer gladly accepted a cigarette and Unterscharführer gave a warming smile, as if to subliminally reassure the young man that he would be fine; Unterscharführer Fritz wasn’t one for man-handling oaths for officers and would quite happily spend a few weeks repenting his sins within one of the SS’s failed attempts for a prison rehabilitation block or simply be served a demotion for his unruly ways in a sharp attempt to smack some sense into someone who was no lesser than a wife-beater in Gero’s eyes. It was usually the arrogant and ‘fearless’ officers that treated their spouse with such temperamental backhanding and unfortunately, Obersturmführer Schneider currently fell into that category; His demeanour was demanding, from what Gero had witnessed, he was no lesser short than having the young man flogged or shot within the street and more so, his sneering glares spiked an unnerved tangent within Unterscharführer Fritz’s mind.

Smirking as the Obersturmführer snapped a decline to his cigarette, Unterscharführer Fritz slid one out from beneath the elastic strap holding the cigarettes in place and simply squeezed it between his plump lips. Snapping the silver case closed rather loudly, the Unterscharführer glared at the officer from the corner of his eye and retraced his hands back into his inner pocket, replacing the silver case back to it’s original spot. From out of no where, the Unterscharführer rolled the flint to his lighter and engulfed a flame to his tobacco, as if by magic, he’d produced a lighter from the thick atmosphere he was caught within. Grinning to himself, Unterscharführer Fritz took a long drag on his cigarette and glanced between the two males littering his eyesight, before a young boy came trotting along the cobbled street, foretelling the news of a air-raid that was about to erupt.

The Rottenführer reached out and accidentally tripped in the process, but amazing watched as the Obersturmführer stepped over to help the soldier up; Was he getting his hands dirty? Unterscharführer Fritz merely pulled a surprised look, removing the cigarette from his mouth whilst his eyes wandered the skies in search of the ever approaching bombers. There must have been a dozen heading for Berlin. About time? A prosperous, yet daunting thought to have at such an immediate place of danger, the Unterscharführer didn’t wish to see Germany crumble, but perhaps some of the thick-headed-buffoons would have their senses knocking, in understanding that their enemy should never be underestimated. A mere plausible fact that Germany needed teaching, invading here, invading there, picking fights with nations that could have been their brethren in such an escapade; The Russians were the Unterscharführer’s only immediate fear, he knew they wouldn’t stop until every ounce of breath in their body depleted in having revenge to what Germany had done to their motherland, perhaps the ‘wise-cock’ who was within their company would learn a thing or two? The Unterscharführer doubted it.

Watching as the Obersturmführer burst into life, after being humbly questioned by the slight panicking Rottenführer, Obersturmführer Schneider took haste and lead the way to a cellar across the street - The Unterscharführer contemplated on making his own way out of the situation, the railway station wasn’t too far from their standing and the Unterscharführer vividly recalls the large basement space they have underground, for when he worked there a short time before adjoining into the war, without a choice. Grunting, Unterscharführer Fritz merely followed the two men hastily making their way to a building cellar, praying the damned fools don’t get him killed the moment the building collapses atop of them.

Turning the corner, Unterscharführer Fritz dismally witnessed a few dozen men, woman and children cramming into the cellar in a unfashionable way. It didn’t take a moment for the Obersturmführer to do what he done best and the threatened crowd bowed their heads and done as they were told. Unterscharführer Fritz tried to help calm the situation in his own way, by smirking and pushing a few people through the cellar opening who differed and became hesitant on whether it would be safe enough or not; He couldn’t blame them for thinking twice at the last moment. Eventually, it was the two soldier’s turn to get into the basement and Unterscharführer Fritz gladly obliged, stepping down into the grim darkness of the poorly lit cellar, coughing as a wisp of dust whipped into his throat.

“Gehen Sie zurück! Gehen Sie zurück! Verbrauchen Sie den Abstand am Rücken!” he bellowed out, watching as the people worriedly began to sift back into the dark cellar, using up the pockets of space towards the back; As the officer dropped down into the cellar, locked the doors and made a cheerful speech, one that had a couple of disgruntled old men ready to question the officer, but rather mumbled amongst themselves instead, the Unterscharführer looked away and abruptly noticed the Obersturmführer looking at himself the young Rottenführer wearily. This was no time to have a personal vendetta and the Unterscharführer decided to make the first step in attempting to respect the officer… A rarity.

Approaching the Obersturmführer slowly, making his way through a couple of people littering the walk, Unterscharführer Fritz came to a halt before the man and turned his back to the crowd of worrying people, as to conserve what privacy he could when speaking to the officer. “Obersturmführer... Einer von uns sollte den Eingang schützen, diese Leute sind panicking, es nimmt nur einen von ihnen, um eine verrückte Spur für die Tür zu machen, wenn die Bombardierung näher wird und wir uns alle in viel mehr Gefahr finden können, als wir jetzt sind” he suggested, praying the officer didn’t bite his head off or otherwise, he was looking out for their safety and hoped the officer understood his reasoning for someone to guard the entrance. Whilst he stood there, he began to undo the buttons to his moth-ridden coat and drape it from off his shoulders, revealing an immaculate black SS-Tunic beneath; If he was going to serve this officer, he may as well show he’s well disciplined, a mere attribute shown from his neatly tucked and grooved uniform. The Unterscharführer was just ashamed to be in the SS, hence the dirty coat acting like sheep’s clothing…

Translations:[/b]

Gehen Sie zurück! Gehen Sie zurück! Verbrauchen Sie den Abstand am Rücken!
- Move back! Move back! Use up the spacing at the back!

Obersturmführer... Einer von uns sollte den Eingang schützen, diese Leute sind panicking, es nimmt nur einen von ihnen, um eine verrückte Spur für die Tür zu machen, wenn die Bombardierung näher wird und wir uns alle in viel mehr Gefahr finden können, als wir jetzt sind.
- Obersturmführer... One of us should guard the entrance, these people are panicking, it only takes one of them to make a mad dash for the door when the bombing gets closer and we may all find ourselves in a lot more danger than we are now.

[∬: Felix Odegaard]

OOC: Sorry, kind of a weird post 0.o

The city of Berlin spun around the young Rottenfuhrer as Lieutenant Schneider helped him to his wobbly feet. A massive array of subdued grays, browns, and blacks that made up the world around him mish-mashed together in his foggy vision. Erik and the Unterscharfuhrer where muttering something to each other, clogging Odegaard’s slightly panicking mind with even more static.


The trio of SS troopers began to sprint down the street (Well, Felix stumbled.), the corporal realized that they where heading for the apartment complex on Falkensturm street. The apartments where little more that big, reddish buildings made of stout brick and mortar. They where arranged in order of quality, the much more high class and expensive buildings standing proudly at the edge of the corner, and gradually degraded into small, seedy shacks stuffed with ugly thugs that didn’t even have the right to be called Aryan. The rooms themselves ranged from massive four bedroom suites with multiple rooms to small enclaves with nothing but a sleeping mat, oil stove, and scum-filled toilet. Felix was familiar with the apartments from strolling down the streets in free hours, taking in sights of the daily life of the patrons of the great German apartments. Felix took the life of the Germans as much more exiting then that of the Norwegians, although many of the Nazi citizens did not hold the same infectious “Relax” attitude of the people of Odegaard’s homeland. The Germans always seemed to be doing something, if it was cleaning, exercising, listening to the radio, or, as in the SS’s case, constantly at war with someone.

Felix was relieved as the three men entered the basement of the more high class apartments, pushing past abandoned shopping bags and an empty salesman’s desk. Odegaard thought these apartments where too much like hotels, as if you live in one on Monday and another by Friday. They pushed through a door clogged by frightened civilians. Felix tripped once again, ending up face first on the cold, hard cement floor. He hit his forehead hard on a fire poker lying on the ground, and slowly blacked out as babies cries and Schneider addressing the crowd buzzed dully in his ears.

***

Eleven year old Felix Odegaard laid on his bed, his unruly blond hair plastered allover the pillow propping up his head. He nibbled on a large piece of cracker, crumbs falling on the front of his knitted red and white patterned sweater. He stared out the open window opposite his bed, aimlessly staring at the brilliant blue Norwegian sky. Felix’s room was a mess, toys and clothes tossed haphazardly across the pinewood floor. But his prize hung upon his carved bedpost: A brilliant recreation of the Prussian battle dress of the Great war, Pickelhaub helmet and all, recreated for the size of a small child. He loved the thing, and put it on every day after day school and played outside in green grass, always damp with dew. A carved toy bolt-action rifle lay at the foot of his bed, made painstakingly by his uncle for his seventh birthday before he was blown to bits by a British water mine set for German ships that his merchant ship accidentally triggered. As young Felix took a sip from the glass of water on his bedside table, a small buzzing noise alerted his fresh ears from outside the window. He crawled to the foot of his bed, raising the toy rifle menacingly at the three specks growing in the sky. It was a long and practiced tradition of Felix to point the toy at strange objects, poking them with the dull tin pretend bayonet. But as the specks drew closer, Felix dropped his pretend weapon and tried to scream out in surprise, but not a peep came out of his gaping mouth. The specks morphed into ugly wasp-like insects, double the size of a grown man. Felix smashed down the glass pane of the window and bolted for the door of his room, throwing it open, but just another door took its place. He threw that one open too, and the next, but the attempt was futile. The insects where already prying their way through the window, their pinchers working back and forth, bright green venom dripping from their talons. They attacked young Felix, digging claws deep into his young, pale flesh. The boy collapsed to the floor, and the raw bits of meat that where left of Felix where quickly picked off by the massive flying wasp-like creatures.

***

Rottenfuhrer Felix Odegaard awoke with a jolt, his face pressed against the cold stone of the basement floor. He propped himself into a sitting position, wondering what was inducing his clumsiness and unconscious hallucinations. He pulled himself over to the wall, laying his sweat-drenched back against the wall. Dreading the advancing bombers, he wondered what had occurred during his unconscious time.

[∬: Erik Schneider]

Dust was shaken lose from the walls of the cramped cellar as the British bombers unleashed their payloads on the city of Berlin. Schneider's body rejected the tiny particles of soil as he violently coughed into his left hand, enclosing it into a fist to crush the pesky vermin in the German air. The situation was deteriorating in the crowded underground shelter as fear of death brought forth mutiny. Schneider's eyes scanned the dimly lit cellar with caution, searching for any troublemakers in his mist. Fritz burst out from the crowd abruptly and converged on the Oberstumfuhrer's position. Cautiously, Fritz turned on the rest of the crowd to whisper something in private to his superior.

Nodding at the "elite" soldier's words, Schneider watched as the man undid his disgusting coat to reveal a finely trimmed and neat uniform. It was like watching a caterpillar emerge from his cocoon into a butterfly as Erik felt a smirk form on his face. Perhaps, Fritz was trying to show a bit of dignity and dedication for his country and Fuhrer? "Gutes Denken, Unterscharfuhrer. Bringen Sie sich nahe der Tür in Position und steuern Sie die Masse. Zu wohin wanderte Odegaard weg?" Schneider loosened his grip on his sidearm as Fritz took his spot towards the front of the cellar. The Germans in the cellar were like wounded animals that had been cornered... Schneider had to be careful as he took slow steps into the heart of the crowd.

As the noise of the approaching bombers engines drowned out the sound in the cellar, the Lieutenant found the Corporal on the ground unconscious. Dropping down onto his right knee next to the man, he rested Felix's arm over his shoulders and lifted him off from the ground. Fear ran rampant in the crowded cellar and Schneider swore he could smell it as he lugged the soldier off towards the front of the cellar. A scream overpowered the British engines roar and suddenly all chaos broke loose. With astonishing force, the civilians jammed into the back of the cellar washed over it like a wave. Schneider and the unconscious Corporal were tackled to the cold, stone cellar floor and trampled.

In a burst of rage, the Obersturmfuhrer shot up off the ground and slid his luger out from it's holster. "Erhalten Sie zurück! Erhalten Sie zurück! Jetzt! Sie sind nicht Tiere! Sie sind Deutsche! Tat wie es für Bumsengrund!" he roared, shooting a lone bullet up into the dirt ceiling of the cellar that was supported by wood. The bullet embedded inches into the thick layer of dirt and wood, bringing the wave to a halt. Glancing over his shoulder, Schneider spotted a conscious Odegaard leaning against one of the cellar's walls for support. Slowly, Schneider took a few steps over towards his comrade and outstretched his hand to the Corporal. As he pulled a disorientated Odegaard off from the wall, his eyes glared into the crowd...who seemed to be contemplating overthrowing the group of soldiers.

As the two men uncomfortably worked their way to the front, breaking through the wave of infuriated and fearful civilians, they caught site of Fritz. Schneider could only pray the man was having better luck at keeping the crowd under control. The droning sound of aircraft engines reached an all time high as the two inched their way through a parted crowd until suddenly... the cellar erupted in a fiery explosion that seemed to come out of nowhere. Thrown forward by the shock, Schneider pushed the Rottenfuhrer towards the front of the cellar at Fritz's feet before collapsing on the cellar's freezing, stone floor. His head ricocheted off it like a bullet before being brought back down onto it at a lesser force. The shock brought in a cloud of darkness as the Oberstumfuhrer helplessly faded away from the world.

Ears ringing and disoriented, Schneider awoke only moments later. Blood was dripping down into his eyes and ran down his face like a river. The cellar was a mess of wood, dirt, and corpses as he tried to inch his way forward. An incendiary bomb had hit the house directly, caving it in and setting it alight. The pressure must have caved in the cellar, burying the inhabitants under its weight. Struggling to crawl towards the entrance of the cellar, Schneider realized his feet were buried in wooden supports and dislodged soil. Cursing his luck, Schneider listened to the grim premonition of his death. The front of the apartments was falling apart from the fire and threatening to completely bury the cellar in debris. Gritting his teeth, he attempted to free himself from the debris but realized it was hopeless. "Hilfe! Hilfe!"

- "Good thinking, Unterscharfuhrer. Position yourself near the door and control the crowd. Where the hell did Odegaard wander off to?"

- "Get back! Get back! Now! You are not animals! You are Germans! Act like it for fuck sake!"

- "Help! Help!"

[Daniel Brennan]

Mod Post

Nice, long posts guys. Shame it didn't go on longer. *Shakes fist at the sky*

CP:
Felix Odedgaard (Someday I'll learn to spell it off by heart!): 10CP

Gero Fritz: 10CP

Erik Schneider: 11CP


~Dan