Post by William Luther on Oct 18, 2008 1:17:46 GMT
”Greetings, Englischer”
Luthers’ English wasn’t perfect, nor was McMillan’s German, but they got along. He had to make sure the “raw recruit” was loyal to the SS and to ensure he was up to standard. He had no doubt about it; he had heard many a tale about Edward S. McMillan and now was truly getting a display.
The German felt relatively safe. There was a good twenty different soldiers around the edge of the rain soaked parade ground, all good marksmen and each toting either a SMG or rifle. If McMillan tried anything, he would be dead within a step. Luther slowly walked around the man and eyed him up and down. He had a very good build, a brick shithouse. He stopped suddenly and rapped the mans leg with a wooden cane he had picked up. ”Vat is thisss? Mud! Your uniform should be imam…Imamac… Clean!” Although his English was better than many around the camp it still definitely didn’t allow him to speak with the more complicated vocabulary.
”Vhile you are viz us, you vill be representing die Fuhrer, Ja? Are you proud to vear our uniform? Are you proud to be fighting for our var machine?” His voice was harsh, it disgusted William that the man had abandoned his army, and his friends, if he had had any, to fight with the Germans. A true man would have stayed. A true man would have fought until the brink of death and then given it a push more. ”Heels together, right arm up. Heil!”
”Now let me tell you something. You come to our army and abandon die enemy. Ve do not trust you in the slightest. Can ve be blamed? You are going to be our… Bitch” That seemed the appropriate word to use. ”By time I and a select group of others am through vith you, there vill be doubt you doubt in your loyalty. But be prepared. Your life vill be hell.”
Luthers’ English wasn’t perfect, nor was McMillan’s German, but they got along. He had to make sure the “raw recruit” was loyal to the SS and to ensure he was up to standard. He had no doubt about it; he had heard many a tale about Edward S. McMillan and now was truly getting a display.
The German felt relatively safe. There was a good twenty different soldiers around the edge of the rain soaked parade ground, all good marksmen and each toting either a SMG or rifle. If McMillan tried anything, he would be dead within a step. Luther slowly walked around the man and eyed him up and down. He had a very good build, a brick shithouse. He stopped suddenly and rapped the mans leg with a wooden cane he had picked up. ”Vat is thisss? Mud! Your uniform should be imam…Imamac… Clean!” Although his English was better than many around the camp it still definitely didn’t allow him to speak with the more complicated vocabulary.
”Vhile you are viz us, you vill be representing die Fuhrer, Ja? Are you proud to vear our uniform? Are you proud to be fighting for our var machine?” His voice was harsh, it disgusted William that the man had abandoned his army, and his friends, if he had had any, to fight with the Germans. A true man would have stayed. A true man would have fought until the brink of death and then given it a push more. ”Heels together, right arm up. Heil!”
”Now let me tell you something. You come to our army and abandon die enemy. Ve do not trust you in the slightest. Can ve be blamed? You are going to be our… Bitch” That seemed the appropriate word to use. ”By time I and a select group of others am through vith you, there vill be doubt you doubt in your loyalty. But be prepared. Your life vill be hell.”