With the Big Boys Now...[Luther/Doc]

[Aksel Bavenn]

Country: Nazi Germany
Area/Setting: P.O.W Camp;
Current Time: 0654
Weather Conditions: Brisk but still.

OOC: Sorry it's a bit short, I'll make up for it in a later post.

Aksel ambled through the harsh exterior of the P,O.W camp, the hair standing on the back of his neck. Within the gates of the camp, even the air seemed different. The stench of fear, defeat, desperation and death rippled through the atmosphere unmercilessly, cutting through the air like a knife. If there is a Hell, mused the boy, then surely this is it.

The fourteen year-old had been sent as a runner to send a message to a certain William Luther who he had been told would be situated in the camp with his men. Perhaps he was one of the men responsible for the howls of pain that seemed to echo through the air, even though the disshevled screamers had long since departed. It was an evil place and the sooner Aksel left it, the better.

He halted as a sudden image passed through his mind. A simple sheepdog running through a field. A split second later it was gone. Aksel clutched his head and closed his eyes in a dull pain; memories that meant nothing to him drifted through his mind every day and they caused him so much pain. So much. He made a mental note to ask that doctor for some more of those tablets sometime. In the meantime, however, he would need to find this Luther gentleman.

The boy shrugged his shoulders and continued down the path.

[☤Theodorijk Wijzemens]

Doktor Dieedrik van de Vlakte was taking a rest from interrogation. He sweat as he stood in the middle of the yard of Stalag 13, in the middle of Nürnberg. He was again in Germany after a short stint in Poland. He was certainly glad to be back in a place where bombing was unheard of and the city bustled with life a few kilometres away from the actual camp. Men from all over the allied and underground forces were imprisoned here. The doctor heard the familiar language of Dutch being spoken between former members of the underground resistance in Amsterdam. He heard the French resistance POWs speaking. The Ahnenerbe-SS officer was even able to understand much of the Russian being spoken by now. Perhaps he would try to learn the language at some point.

The doctor was making his way to the gates of the camp with a single guard at his side to make sure the prisoners didn't try to do anything to him. He had grown close to his guard, Baumman. the man held his K98k closely as the man reached the gate that was opening for a young man, a boy into the camp. Doktor van de Vlakte noticed he was HJ by the black jacket he wore. He walked to the boy and spoke as an officer, making sure the runes of the Ahnenerbe-SS were visible on the sleeves of his black wool jacket. "Junge, was tust du hier, mit einem Gewehr und einer Munition? Zu welcher Maßeinheit wirst du angebracht? Was ist dein Geschäft?"

The doctor was not prejudiced to the young, but he believed they shouldn't be fighting a war without proper training; and the HJ certainly did not get the same training as Waffen-SS, or even the Heer received. He stood straight above the boy and waited for answers.

Translations:
"Junge, was tust du hier, mit einem Gewehr und einer Munition? Zu welcher Maßeinheit wirst du angebracht? Was ist dein Geschäft?"
~Junge, what are you doing here, with a rifle and ammunition? What unit are you attached to? What is your business?

[William Luther]

Luther was sat in a small office at the Concentration Camp, just next to the main gates. In front of him was a pile of paperwork. While he had been in charge for just a small while two pain’s in the arse known as Erhard Strumfelder and Dieedrik van de Vlakte had been around doing a couple of medical experiments and torturing on his charges. He had no problems with them, in fact, as far as Luther was concerned, they should just take bayonets to the lot of them, but he had to make sure everything was tidy, and that the records of the inmates were up to date for the work camps.

He stood up, reaching down towards his rifle in the process, and slipping the thin brown sling over his shoulder. He stepped out into the chilling night sky, and he reached down for the zip on his tunic, pulling it up. The office had been very warm, but it was a stark contrast to the crisp evening. A young boy, armed with a rifle, was stood near the gate, in deep conversation with another man. It took him a few seconds to recognise van de Vlakte. Withholding a moan, he marched over to them, making intimidating clicks with his boot heels on the cobbles with every step. The cadence of screaming’s made him feel strangely comfortable. It was the power. If he said the word, any of them could be killed.


”Heil Hitler!” He announced himself by the boy and the man, raising his right in arm in salute. ” Sturmscharführer William Luther Kann ich Ihnen helfen, Herr?

Trannys[/u]

Kann ich Ihnen helfen? – Can I assist you, sir?

[Aksel Bavenn]

Aksel saluted sharply as the domineering figure before him approached. He was an officer, he knew that much, but he did not recognise the unfamiliar uniform. Nevertheless, the boy had been disciplined to respect superiority. The trouble, he thought to himself, was that there was nobody inferior to he himself and so he tended to do rather a lot of saluting.

"Guten Morgen, Sir," he said tentatively."Aksel Bavenn, 175. Brandenburg Hitlerjugend Bann, 3. Stamm, unter Obersturmführer Rheinmetall, Sir. Ich habe an eine Nachricht an eine bestimmte Sturmscharführer. Ein Mann namens Luther, Sir,"

Although he had grown competent - if not wholly fluent - in the German language, his accent still remained extremely conspicuous. His adoptive father had told him he was Danish, although the boy had no memory of living in any...Daneland. Truth be told, he could remember nigh on anything before the past year. Apart from the flashes of light that rippled through his mind every day. The flashes of light that hurt him so much. Perhaps it would be easier to be blind. The memories would never be able to hurt him again...

Suddenly, a second figure appeared at Aksel's side, like a demon emerging from the shadows. A passing stab of fear entered the boy's body as the man saluted to the man he had only seconds earlier introduced himself to. So this was William Luther. Aksel saluted stonily. Words suddenly echoed in his mind. A half-forgotten voice came back to him, light and lilting and soft. "The Germans are like robots, boy. They speak when they're spoken to. If they don't then most likely, they never speak again,"

Aksel did not know from where these words had came but he trusted the voice absolutely. He had heard him speak before, he knew that much. Maintaining his silence, he stared ahead at the newcomer and said nothing.

Guten Morgen, Sir, Aksel Bavenn, 175. Brandenburg Hitlerjugend Bann, 3. Stamm, unter Obersturmführer Rheinmetall, Sir. Ich habe an eine Nachricht an eine bestimmte Sturmscharführer. Ein Mann namens Luther, Sir.
- Good morning, sir, Aksel Bavenn, 175. Brandenburg Hitlerjudgend Bann, 3. Stamm, under Obersturmführer Rheinmetall, sir. I have a message for a certain Sturmscharführer. A man named Luther, sir.

[☤Theodorijk Wijzemens]

Van de Vlakte looked over as The man himself appeared. Luther was one of the SS men Dieedrik had met in the 2nd Armoured Division before he had transferred to the Ahnenerbe. He had heard that the man was fanatical, sacrificing his squad in order to kill a single sergeant to whom he held a personal vendetta.

Then it struck the doctor; he was disturbed by seeing the boy in front of him. He was disgusted, completely, clearly disgusted by the man who would send this boy to war. The wave of realisation swung over him as light goes over dark. He bittered slightly before regaining his stature.

His thoughts shot to something that would keep any attention away from his own behaviour. He remembered that Luther migt want to tell his story. However, the for the moment, Dieedrik would wait it out. He did notice, though, that the boy had a queer accent. Dieedrik caught on to it. It sounded strangely West British. "Von welchem Land kommst du von, Junge? Der ist ein merkwürdiger Akzent, den du hast."

Translations:
"Von welchem Land kommst du von, Junge? Der ist ein merkwürdiger Akzent, den du hast."
~From what country do you come from, boy? That's a strange accent you have.

[William Luther]

Following protocol, Luther first addressed Doctor van de Vlakte. "Herr, ist ihr irgendetwas, dass ich Sie bekommen kann? Ein Getränk, vielleicht? Oder brauchen Sie das übliche Zimmer mit einem der Gefangenen? Ich habe keine Einwände gegen einiger sie das Verschwinden." He had met the Doctor before, on the base of the Waffen-SS, before the medic had transferred to the Ahnerbe where his skills were more appreciated, or something like that. Luther didn't really pay attention, he had more to do than focus on the comings and goings of every single man he ever met.

Luther caught the tail end of the Hitler Youth's speech, and Luther raised an eyebrow in interest. "Luther? Ja, das ist ich. Wie ist diese Nachricht, Junge, und wer ist es davon? Schnell jetzt!" He barked at the youth, giving him a look saying 'If you displease me, I will shoot the messenger.' The boy looked quite diminutive in the dark compound, but Luther knew the training they went through. He wished, sometimes, that he was a little younger, and could have been a member of the Hitler Youth when he was a boy, to better ready him for war, but he was sound in the knowledge that what he was doing was essential, building up the Thousand Year Reich for boys like Bavenn here.

Bavenn. It occured to the SS soldier now how similar it was to the name Bevan, the one his nemesis Rhys Bevan had worn. Luther had undertaken on himself to kill every trace of the man. He knew there was a brother, and a cousin, and he had heard talk on the Royal Welsh Fusilier base of a third Bevan brother. Coincidence, surely?


Translations[/u]
Herr, ist ihr irgendetwas, dass ich Sie bekommen kann? Ein Getränk, vielleicht? Oder brauchen Sie das übliche Zimmer mit einem der Gefangenen? Ich habe keine Einwände gegen einiger sie das Verschwinden. - Sir, is their anything I can get you? A drink, perhaps? Or do you need the usual room with one of the inmates? I have no objections to a couple of them disappearing.

Luther? Ja, das ist ich. Wie ist diese Nachricht, Junge, und wer ist es davon? Schnell jetzt! - Luther? Yes, that is me. What is this message, boy, and who is it from? Quickly now!

[Aksel Bavenn]

"Ich bin Dänisch, Sir," said Aksel in answer to the tall man's question. "Ich bin der edle Hitlerjunge, aber vor ein paar Monaten, aber ich bin bereit zu kämpfen, wie alle Jungen der reinen arischen Geburt, Sir,"

He waited for words of encouragement from the man but he very much doubted he would be rewarded with any. Luther spoke hurriedly to the first man in fast speech that Aksel didn't quite catch. Never mind, he told himself. It was unlikely that it concerned him.

Luther suddenly turned on him, almost causing the boy to jump in surprise. He saluted hurriedly, not wishing to give the man any reason to beat him as an old officer of his had once done, and handed him a sealed envelope.

"Ich habe aus Herr Obersturmführer Rheinmetall, Sir. Er sagt ... sie dafür bereit sind," Aksel barely concealed a shrug. "Er sagte, Sie würden wissen, was das bedeutete,". He looked the man up and down; he was battle-scarred to say the least, an ugly man whose eyes seemed to pierce through to his soul. The man was dangerous, he knew that much. But perhaps sticking to the dangerous was the best option in warfare. He felt certain that the man would be able to look after him. Aksel looked him up and down once more. If only he could look after himself, he mused, noticing a particularly brutal gash across his rugged cheek.

"Haben Sie viele Männer getötet, mein Herr?" he asked innocently, his gaze never wavering from directly before his hazel eyes, hoping the answer wouldn't be as horrific as he knew it would be.

Translations

Ich bin Dänisch, Sir. Ich bin der edle Hitlerjunge, aber vor ein paar Monaten, aber ich bin bereit zu kämpfen, wie alle Jungen der reinen arischen Geburt, Sir.
- I am Danish, sir. I joined the noble Hitlerjunge but a few months ago but I am as ready to fight as any boy of pure Aryan birth, sir.

Ich habe aus Herr Obersturmführer Rheinmetall, Sir. Er sagt ... sie dafür bereit sind. Er sagte, Sie würden wissen, was das bedeutete.
- I have been sent from Herr Obersturmführer Rheinmetall, sir. He just says...they are ready. He said you would know what that meant.

Haben Sie viele Männer getötet, mein Herr?
- Have you killed many men, sir?

[Daniel Brennan]

Mod-Post:

CP:
Aksel: 6CP

Luther: 5CP

Doc: 5CP


~Dan