The Plan or The Dead End?

[∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram]

Time: 5:38PM
Weather: Raining outside; Clouded and dark, sun more or less setting.
Roughly a Week after Returning from Munich.

OOC: Open to anyone who dares to enter.


The brown leather chair mildly creased as it moulded to the physic of Sturmbannführer Wolfram’s body plopping down against it, his body soon slouching backwards into the back-rest of the chair lethargically. He was tired, aching and hardly felt like sitting in his office, but how ironic would it be to tell the Sturmbannführer to take a break - go home for a rest? The thought of Munich sickened him, his own home, barely a second day in and the small Slavic population of inhabitants banded together into a resistance, causing quite an uproar with dozens dead, many more wounded and a wake of thousands of Reich marks worth of damage.

Sighing heavily, Sturmbannführer Wolfram shuffled his wounded left arm against the black sling it had been placed in, trying to get comfortable with the itchy fabric pulling against his adjacent shoulder, as it supported his arm. “Rest your arm, no work, no play and certainly no battle for you!” were the doctor’s words, a strict in tone in which he spoke to a superior officer, but the quacks had their way, as all man and beast feared the doctor’s wishes. The Sturmbannführer also certainly knew it only took a small detailed signature on a piece of paper, declaring he was unfit for duty altogether, to have his Division squandered into the hands of an inexperienced and tatty Officer from headquarters, rather than one of his own decorated men of the ranks.

Reaching out, Sturmbannführer Wolfram’s right hand heavily clumped against the bottle-neck of vintage cognac resting in the limelight of his desk lamp, the only light lit in the dark gloomy room with a thousand shadows cascaded across it’s uneven walls. “Verdammte Idioten”[/I] he mumbled out angrily to himself, as he reminisced back to the day in Munich, his son’s smouldering face. Heavy handed, he clunked the bottle top against the glass set atop his desk and poured the liquor of Brandy in, sniffing hard, he fought back a dwindling drip of emotion that dared to show, suppressing it into the next best thing; Anger. Screwing the bottle cap back onto the cognac, he carelessly thumped it back down against the tarnished wood and grabbed at his drink, taking a mouthful to wash about his mouth, before swallowing…

Set upon his desk were squanders of papers, documents. A few of the folders were open, photos attached with a detailed rundown of the recipient he was researching, all of which were stamped with Deceased. They were the Slavic Rebels identified by their documentation in their pockets or locals snitching them out, they were scum and the Sturmbannführer was trying to research and locate any of their living relatives, none of which showed on the grid within the past year or more. It was a dead end and the Sturmbannführer couldn’t help but feel his temper boil, he wanted justice, he wanted to rid of the filth.

Clenching at the glass in his right hand, he inhaled heavily and tried not to let his temper get the better off him, as his eyes slithered across the filthy desk scattered with paperwork and documentation. A letter rested at the end, a letter from Obergruppenführer Jaggen, sending his deepest regards - already it was stained by droplets of drink and crinkled at the corners, his desk revealed the top of the icing on what the Sturmbannführer was going through mentally and both physically. Glaring at the letter, he hardly lisped his eyes over the name Wolfrick stated and he snapped, launching his glass of cognac at the wall, he angrily growled and threw his arm across the table, knocking everything to the floor - the desk lamp wobbled and shifted, but everything crashed against the floor loudly; A worried knock erupted on the door from a guard outside, who didn’t need to say anything as Sturmbannführer Wolfram yelled out “Es ist in Ordnung... Es ist in Ordnung…” his eyes closing momentarily as he leant against the desktop, needing some air.


Translations:[/b]

Verdammte Idioten
~ Fucking Imbeciles
Es ist in Ordnung... Es ist in Ordnung...
~ It’s Okay… It’s okay…

[∬: Erik Schneider]

OOC: I'm man enough to face ya .

Rain poured down from the gloomy skies overheard, against the Obersturmfuhrer's sleek black coat and Officer's hat. Droplets of the cold rain rolled down his cheeks as he hurriedly made his way out of the black kubelwagen and across the busy street, into the corridors of the Reich Headquarters. He sighed as he arrived in the main hall of the Reich HQ, and nonchalantly approached a desk awaiting him across the room. Schneider clicked his boots together and threw his right arm up in a salute. "Heil Hitler! I am Obersturmfuhrer Schneider of the 2nd Waffen SS Divsion. May I speak with Sturmbannfuhrer Wolfram?"

The officer who sat behind the desk saluted back and muttered, " Heil Hitler! The Sturmbannfuhrer you say? I suggest you stay away from him for the time being. But that is just my opinion. Leave your weapons at the desk." Schneider was about to blurt out about how he didn't care much for the man's opinion, and that his suggestions didn't matter to the Obersturmfuhrer, but he wouldn't take the risk in insulting a possibly superior ranking officer. Schneider slipped off his MP44 and gently placed it on the desk, before a guard stepped up to the desk and whisked it away. Schneider gulped at the thought of being separated from his trust MP44 which had very well saved his life back in Africa. The German Lieutenant unbuttoned his long coat and slipped it off, placing it on a coat rack as well as his Officer's hat.

Schneider brushed his black SS Officer uniform with his pale white hands, before setting off down a narrow corridor, the officer behind the desk eying him. It was obvious the Obersturmfuhrer was entering the lion's den. Must of the men in the division were afraid to even mutter the Sturmbannfuhrer's name, upon hearing off his trip to Munich. Schneider on the other hand, was deeply distressed to hear the tale of how Wolfram's son had been murdered by rebels, and he felt it was required of himself to visit his superior officer in these dark times. Schneider recalled walking through these halls with Wolfram on his way to see Obergruppenführer Jaggen along with Battista. Oh Battista. The two men's bickering had always gotten on Wolfram's nerves, and all 3 men had a falling out and Battista was transferred out of the unit. Even after the 2 men had tried to become friends. Things weren't the same between Schneider and Wolfram after that event, and after Kriegheld took over as second in charge, and the Obersturmfuhrer felt that this was redemption for his previous misdemeanors.

Black leather boots clicked together as Schneider walked properly down the hallway. Hell, Wolfram had even taught Schneider how to walk so well. The young German passed by Jaggen's office and could hear the man's booming voice from within. God, how Schneider despised that man. He could get executed for thinking such a thing, but Schneider didn't mind much. Wolfram, Battista, and himself had even stood up to Jaggen once before, and walked out of the room without a scratch. That day seemed so long ago.

Reaching the Sturmbannfuhrer's room, Schneider halted and raised his right arm up into a perfect salute, something Schneider had improved while serving beneath the Sturmbannfuhrer. "Obersturmfuhrer Schneider of the 2nd Waffen SS Division, requesting audience with the Sturmbannfuhrer." Schneider barked out to two men who stood guard at the Sturmbannfuhrer's office. The guards nervously glanced at each other and then Schneider as they listened to the sounds of shattered glass and objects falling to the floor. Schneider repeated his request, and one of the guards nervously knocked on the door. Wolfram called out that he was alright, before the guard gulped and uttered, "No Herr Sturmbannfuhrer, Obersturmfuhrer Schneider request to speak with you."

[∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram]

Slouched against the desktop, he murmured something beneath his alcoholic breath, whilst his right hand combed backwards through his hair, pushing against the golden grain of blonde that dignified his Aryan purity, along with his white complexion and blue eyes. Hearing the guard speak through the door about Obersturmfuhrer Schneider requesting to enter and acquaint the Sturmbannführer, his head slowly raised to glare at the door. His thoughts began to drill over for a moment, wondering why the Obersturmfuhrer had come to see him? Had the ‘shmuck’ come to gloat? His misfortune in Munich had spread like wildfire and so had the word of giving Sturmbannführer Wolfram space.

Grunting, he balled his hand into a fist and thumped it against the table, his knuckles pushing against the wooden craftwork as he leveraged himself up from the desk - wincing a little as his left arm in the black sling throbbed. Standing, the backs of his legs pushed the brown leather chair back, before he mulled over a thought of what to say. Did he simply tell the Obersturmfuhrer to bugger off? Or did he make good use of him? Glancing to the half closed blind, he watched as the rain trickled against the glass, which pricked a thought.

Turning to the main door, he stepped around the desk slowly, dragging his fingers across the desktop as he began to think about something. “Erzählt, dass er dort wartet” he called out more calmly this time, his chest raising as he took a deep breath to look back towards his desk, shifting around it again to lean down towards the thrown objects and stationary scattered across the floor. Priding his hand against the desk’s edge, he leaned down on one knee and then used his hand to grab at one of the files, slapping it against the desktop to fish up a few more pieces of paper. As he done so, he couldn’t help but feel a little useless with the mere use of one arm, as he tried not to get impatient and just slip his arm out of the sling to try and use -- eventually after gathering several pieces of creased up paper and one light brown folder, he pushed up from off the floor and tucked the paperwork under his armpit to quickly pace towards the main door.

Standing near the door, he turned to the coat-rack and nipped his Waffen-SS Officer’s hat from off the top knob, slanting it down against his head with a twist, before hoisting off his dark sleek leather coat to swing around his shoulders with the use of his one hand, feeling his wrist crack as the heavy material fall against his broad physic. Yanking the left side over his limp arm in the sling, he held at the coat’s front with his left hand’s fingers, whilst he prided his right up into the sleeve. Sighing heavily, he twisted the doorknob and threw it open, pulling the documents that were tucked up beneath his left arm in the sling to shove into the Obersturmfuhrer’s chest “Halten Sie sie” he merely said, but in a very firm tone, hardly awaiting a salute nor’ wanting one.

Turning to the guards that straightened up, more frightful than eager, he fished a hand into his jacket pocket and tossed a bunch of keys at one of the guards, who caught them quickly. “Verschließen Sie die Tür und stellen Sie meine Tasten ins Taubenloch am Hauptschreibtisch” he said once again firmly, but as he spoke, he turned to the opposite guard and stood in front of him, unclipping the man’s holster to pull out the P38 - in doing so, both guards froze and awaited for the mad man to do something silly, but the Sturmbannführer grinned and looked to the Obersturmfuhrer, throwing the sidearm over to him. “Wir werden Zeit nicht haben, Ihr Gewehr am Schreibtisch zu erhalten, deshalb werden Sie das benutzen” he ordered, as he looked back towards the guard he was standing in front of to unbutton a pouch upon his belt, pulling out an extra magazine for the sidearm, but this time, he put it in into his own pocket.

The whole the Sturmbannführer violated the guard by taking his belongings, the adjacent guard was locking the door, trying to avoid eye contact, but it didn’t help. Just alike the first guard, the Sturmbannführer took a waltz of a step over and unclipped his holster to yank out the sidearm, this time, the guard felt like he had to say something - “Herr! Sie werden nicht erlaubt zu haben --”[/I], but in complete ignorance he ignored the guard and briskly turned to walk away, walking straight past the Obersturmfuhrer to mull out “Kommen Sie mit mir Obersturmfuhrer jetzt”, as he turned a corner to begin walking down the corridor to the main entrance… Hardly waiting for anyone.

OOC: I’m really sorry I’ve left hardly anything for you to write in response, but after writing a page of text, I felt bad if I wrote anymore. Plus, it still leaves it partially open if anyone wants to join right about now, so even if you post one line of response, I understand completely, as I gave you nothing to play on and I’m sorry about that.


Translations:[/b]

Erzählt, dass er dort wartet.
~ Tell him to wait there.

Halten Sie sie
~ Hold them.

Verschließen Sie die Tür und stellen Sie meine Tasten ins Taubenloch am Hauptschreibtisch.
~ Lock the door and put my keys in the pigeon hole at the main desk.

Wir werden Zeit nicht haben, Ihr Gewehr am Schreibtisch zu erhalten, deshalb werden Sie das benutzen.
~ We won't have time to get your gun at the desk, so you'll use that.

Herr! Sie werden nicht erlaubt zu haben --
Sir! You aren't allowed to have --

Kommen Sie mit mir Obersturmfuhrer jetzt.
~ Come with me Obersturmfuhrer, now.

[William Luther]

Luther walked down the dimly lit corridor, wearing the “summer” tunic of the Waffen-SS’s NCO’s. His deep-tanned and thickly muscles arms swung rhythmically as he marched along the corrider. Being a senior NCO meant he had one of the less desirable offices on the edge of the building. The small room he occupied reeked of damp and there was barely enough room to beat a Jew. In his arms was a small cream folder, the division’s insignia emblazoned on the fright in black ink. He took a casual glance at the swastika and felt a flash of pride at what he was part of, a machine that would eventually have complete control over Europe, and sharing the rest of the world with her allies, in a Reich that would last one thousand years.

He stopped outside the office of Sturmbannführer Wolfram’s office and looked at one of the guards. He swung his right arm in the air and nodded as the inferior-ranked man mimicked. He raised an eyebrow in question as he looked at him. ”Ist er darin?” he barked at the Corporal stood in front of him.
” Nein, Herr, er ging diesen Weg.”
”Danke”

The Sturmscharführer jogged down the corridor, into the atrium, his polished boots squeaking on the wooden floor with every step taken. ” Herr Sturmbannführer, Herr Obersturmfuhrer, warten sie bitte!” The senior Sergeant stood to attention in front of his superiors. Mechanically, his heels clicked together and his right arm swung into the air. ”Heil!” He lowered his arm and offered the folder to Wolfram. ” Ich habe diesen Bericht von Auschwitz, Herrn, die Endlösung bewegt sich vorwärts gut.” A grim smile spread over the features of Luther as he thought of the many hundreds of thousands of the…. Inferior people being killed. It made him proud to be called Aryan. He instantly regretted what he had just done, remembering the situation of Wolfram. What the man could do to him made Luther’s stomach churn as he broke his gaze from the senior man.

William turned his attention to Obersturmfuhrer Schneider, and extended his hand. ” Ich glaube nicht, dass ich das Vergnügen, Herrn gehabt habe. Ich bin Sturmscharführer Luther, und Sie sind?” It always paid to make acquaintances with the offiers. With a small amount of luck, it would not be too long before Luther took another step up the rank ladder to the prestigious position of being an Officer, and a true aid to Herr Hitler.

Mustering up his courage, he turned back to the officer. ” Herr Sturmbannführer, meine Anteilnahmen mit Ihrem neuen Verlust. Hoffentlich, aber sollte es nicht auch sein, lange bevor wir diese Slawen beseitigen können.” He was truly playing with the bull here, and hoped that he would not receive the horns.

***

Translations:[/u]

Ist er darin? – Is he in?

Nein, herr, er ging diesen Weg – No, sir, he went that way.

Danke - Thank you

Herr Sturmbannführer, Herr Obersturmfuhrer, warten sie bitte – Herr Strubannfuhrer, Herr Obersturmfuhrer, please wait

Ich habe diesen Bericht von Auschwitz, Herrn, die Endlösung bewegt sich vorwärts gut. - I have that report from Auschwitz, sir, the Final Solution is moving along well.

Herr Sturmbannführer, meine Anteilnahmen mit Ihrem neuen Verlust. Hoffentlich, aber sollte es nicht auch sein, lange bevor wir diese Slawen beseitigen können. - Herr Sturmbannführer, my condolences with your recent loss. Hopefully, though, it should not be too long before we can eliminate these Slavs.

[∬: Erik Schneider]

Soaking fingers slicked back the Obersturmfuhrer's pure Aryan golden hair, as he prepared himself for the Sturmbannfuhrer. Undoubtedly, Wolfram would be in one of the worst moods ever, and Schneider was potentially risking his friendship with the elder, superior officer. As if a friendship even existed anymore. The young officer pondered whether or not the Sturmbannfuhrer cared if Schneider was alive or not. If it was the latter, Wolfram probably wouldn't even answer the door. Schneider made a few adjustments to his perfect uniform and straightened his legs and back out and stood at attention before the wooden door.

The door creaked open, and Wolfram appeared from within tossing a some documents into Schneider's arms and ordering him to hold them. The Obersturmfuhrer couldn't even salute, and it didn't look as if the Sturmbannfuhrer wanted him too, anyway. Schneider just nodded towards his superior, and studied the look on his face. Obviously, he was not the least bit grateful for Schneider's visit, and the Obersturmfuhrer decided it was best not to mention anything about Wolfrick, the son.

Without warning, Wolfram slipped Schneider one of the guards P38's, and demanded for Schneider to follow him. Without a second's hesitation, he slipped the sidearm into a holster and took off after Wolfram, who was moving quite quickly for the main hall. Their journey was filled mostly with silence, Schneider not being informed of where they were headed or what they were doing. Why did he require a weapon and why was the Sturmbannfuhrer in such a damned hurry? Schneider didn't dare question Wolfram and realized in good time he would learn what the two were up too. The duo slipped into the main hall, Schneider swiftly pulling on his leather coat and his Officer's hat, and keeping up with Wolfram.

Out of the blue, Schneider heard a voice calling out to the two. A senior NCO approaching from behind. It seemed more like an annoying little child wanting to tag along with the two. The Obersturmfuhrer sighed, and prayed that this NCO wouldn't anger Wolfram much further. He turned on his heels and faced the senior NCO, who he recognized as a certain William Luther. Luther rushed towards Wolfram, like an excited little boy as he saluted before his superiors and shoved some documents into Wolfram's hands. Schneider shot a quick salute, and glanced at Luther, who had quite obviously learned his mistake. Luther turned to Schneider instead, in hopes to avoid Wolfram's anger and greeted himself. "Nice to meet you, Sturmscharführer Luther. Now, if you excuse us, I believe we have business to attend to."

Schneider closed his eyes as Luther began to babble on about Wolfram's son. If he knew any better, he would know not to speak about a death like this to a man like Wolfram so suddenly. It'll most likely get you killed rather fast.

[∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram]

The Sturmbannführer’s legs made a slight chaffing noise as he quickly walked, the sleek fabric rubbing at the thighs mildly, whilst his sleek booted jackboots clapped against the marble surface of the impeccable headquarters he was stationed at; Ironically, even for a Sturmbannführer of the ranks, he had yet to see the higher accustomed officers atop of the building, it was strange, that for a senior Officer he was, particularly in comparison to the Waffen-SS Das Reich, his beloved division, he was actually a mere stepping stone as of that to the glorious and embellished men that worked a mere few levels up - his eyes trailed to the forbidden staircase as he stepped into the open of the main hall, but soon found himself being stopped as someone yelled for him, before blocking his path…

The male saluted, but Sturmbannführer Wolfram couldn’t help but find his eyes wandering down the man’s choice of clothing for such an appalling day; Hardly having the time to salute back, he snatched at the brown folder being handed to him and ever so briefly opened it, looking in. Auschwitz the man noted, as if the Sturmbannführer was incapable of reading the bold title written within, it was a distinguishable title that many proud SS-Men recognised, the planning put into place had taken a matter of years to pull together with the Führer’s blessing in making such an atrocious place to the inferior that dared to break the Aryan race.

Snapping it shut, he looked to the noticeable Sturmscharführer who greeted Obersturmfuhrer Schneider, but as if things couldn’t get worse, he dared to apologise for the smouldering corpse of his son. Sturmbannführer Wolfram perked an eyebrow and glared, his shoulders rolling a little as he adjusted the comfort of his black sling against his shoulder. “Sie haben kaum meinen Sohn Sturmscharführer gekannt und was ist mit dem Sommer Uniformjacke? Sind Sie im afrikanischen Korps jetzt!? - Sie machen eine Spotterei vom Da Reich!” he barked out, obviously far from impressed, before he shoved the brown folder into the Sturmscharführer’s chest yapping out “Halten Sie jenen Ordner - Sie kommen mit uns” he ordered, abruptly turning to begin walking again, hardily acknowledging the front desk jockeys straightening up as an Officer walked by.

Pushing through the door before the guard could open it, his jackboots clacked against the dark marble steps and he came to a stop at the bottom, glancing back momentarily to make sure the two were following, but then he pulled a slight frustrated look as he looked about, his eyes squinting as the rain blew under the shelter of the main entrance. Noticing a kubbelwagen veer up against the curb with a Hauptsturmführer approaching from out of the blue, he seized the moment and pushed from off his heels towards the vehicle, forcing his hand out against the junior officer’s chest to stop the man getting in. “Ich requiriere dieses Fahrzeug!” he boldly stated, staring at the Hauptsturmführer with his piercing blue eyes to watch as the man hesitantly stood there, before saluting with a “Jawohl Herr Sturmbannführer ” to stand straight and not oppose the man.

Looking back towards the two accomplices he’d dragged along, he himself hesitated on the spot, as he noticed the Hauptsturmführer’s sidearm. Merely reaching over with his good arm, he unclipped the holster and watched as the Officer slightly moved to the unease of being man-handled, yanking out his Lugar, the Sturmbannführer merely stated “Ich fordere Ihre Seitenwaffe auch an”, with a plump grin on his face as he watched the man nod, fighting back the urge to say or do something to the mere ignorance of the Sturmbannführer taking his things. Adjusting his coat due to the rain, Sturmbannführer Wolfram turned towards the general direction of the Sturmscharführer in his summer garments and threw the Lugar over to him, just as he’d done with Obersturmfuhrer Schneider and the guard’s P38. “Sie werden das brauchen, kommt jetzt im Fahrzeug, das sie beiden an” he ordered once again, he dropped down into the back of the Kubbelwagen, slamming the door.

Leaning forward, he looked to the driver who nervously smiled via’ the rear-view mirror. “Nehmen Sie uns zum jüdischen Getto sofort” he requested, which caused the driver to worriedly nod and look straight. The Sturmbannführer grinned, leaning back again as he opened the brown document that was once laid upon hid desk; The file was of one of the few known and identified deceased rebel Slavs that were the cause of the Munich riot - his son’s death. In small writing towards the bottom, it stated “Ivan Petrov”, the brother of the deceased Slav was sent from Chełmno Extermination Camp with a group of Slavs to work in a factory within Berlin. They have been provided temporary accommodation in the Ghetto, until of course they can work no more, they would be sent back for the proper extermination they was meant to receive the first time in being sent there. But this man held great value to Sturmbannführer Wolfram’s plan - perhaps the only remaining link in finding out where the Slavic Rebels safe houses and numbers were.

OOC: Not much to go on again, sorry. Trust me, things will get much better, just trying to get the whole story bit out of the way with and then we can have some fun.


Translations:[/b]

Sie haben kaum meinen Sohn Sturmscharführer gekannt und was ist mit dem Sommer Uniformjacke? Sind Sie im afrikanischen Korps jetzt!? - Sie machen eine Spotterei vom Da Reich!
~ You hardly knew my son Sturmscharführer and what is with the Summer Tunic? Are you in the African Corps now!? - You are making a mockery of the Das Reich!

Halten Sie jenen Ordner - Sie kommen mit uns.
~ Hold that folder - you are coming with us.

Ich requiriere dieses Fahrzeug!
~ I am commandeering this vehicle!

Ich fordere Ihre Seitenwaffe auch an.
~ I am requisitioning your sidearm also.

Sie werden das brauchen, kommt jetzt im Fahrzeug, das sie beiden an.
~ You'll be needing that, now get in the vehicle, the both of you.

Nehmen Sie uns zum jüdischen Getto sofort
~ Take us to the Jewish Ghetto immediately

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

OOC: You guys are being a bit rough Luther, ain’t you?

Strumfelder felt his body move slightly to the right as the Stöwer’s powerful engine swung them around a tight city corner. The Ärtzlichstabsfeldwebel’s body pushed against his clothing, causing him minor discomfort. His entire body, though mainly his hands, legs, face and neck, had been attacked by flaming engine oil. It had been twenty seconds before it had been extinguished, which had left it to literally cook his skin. His right eye ball had been burn out, so they removed it and he now wore a slightly itchy eye patch. It was hard to adjust to walking and moving with just one eye, and it was and would ever be a constant reminder. He’d seen himself in a mirror two mornings ago, and was shocked by just how much he’d changed. His face was blotchy, and varying shades of red and pink. Many parts, such as the point of his nose had been burnt away and amputated, and his profile had completely changed. Strumfelder wore tight fitting black gloves to conceal the state of his hands, his left middle finger missing. He stuffed the empty finger hole with cork, so at a distance he didn’t look too disfigured.

He’d been released from hospital two days ago, with strict instructions to bath in antiseptic each night, and to apply sulfa powder when ever possible. His skin was healing, but he had blisters over his face which would burst, and he had to mop up the liquid with a small handkerchief. His wife hadn’t seen him yet. He’d made up the excuse of staying a few days longer, trying to find the right words to tell her, and not to risk the baby. But now he was planning to get some revenge for all this discomfort. The 50hp jeep he was sitting was owned by the Berlin Gestapo, and so was he driver. The man had been wide eyed when he caught his first glimpse of his passenger, but Strumfelder’s manor had kept him quiet. The doctor had a friend high up in the Berlin Secret Police, and had been given a call by him yesterday, trying to see how he was. The Ärtzlichstabsfeldwebel had wanted to keep everything quiet, but inevitably it would leak out. He was actually glad for the call. When Strumfelder had mentioned about he suspicions of Slavic rebels, the Gestapo officer had mentioned about two Slavic brothers who had travelled to Munich a day before the trio. One had been killed in the rioting, the other returned home. He’d gone to visit the officer just two hours ago, was given the Slavs small set of paper, his address, and a chauffeured Stöwer. The officer had more or less stated that the Gestapo would turn a blind eye to whatever fate would dish the Slav in the next hour.

They span around the next corner again a little to fats for the Doctor, but he said nothing. The sped towards the Ghetto, where this bastard lived, and would die. They sped past the Berlin Schutzstaffel Headquarters., where Strumfelder noticed something. “Ziehen Sie, jetzt hoch.” He barked. The jeep swerved over, and Strumfelder stepped out into the rain. It felt remarkably soothing against his face, but he daren’t lift his head to high. He approached a parked but started VW Kubel, and rapped on the glass. He placed his hand inside his tightly done up rain coat and removed the small, mustard coloured passport card.




Translations:

“Ziehen Sie, jetzt hoch.”
~ Pull up, now.

[William Luther]

OOC: You’ve said you gave me a Luger and a P38. P38’s were made by Walther.

Luther tried his hardest to maintain a straight face in the outburst. Showing a sign of shock, a sign of fear would doubtlessly lower his standing in the officer’s view. Mercifully, the bollocking wasn’t a particularly long one, and his years spent as a trooper meant that he has mastered the art. William decided not to pass comment, though. The last thing he wanted would be to get into a full on war of words with the officer. It would certainly not be good for his health. He was however, taken aback at the sharp order of his superior – You’re coming with me.

He hesitated slightly as he walked past the door. A jacket was hung on the pegs that seemed to be about Luther’s size. He took it and pushed his right arm into the sleeve, and zipping it up over his chest as he stepped out the door. Instantly, he was met by a barrage of rain, the sort that is aided by the wind so much it seems to be going horizontally. He squinted into the darkness as he stood along side Schneider. His mind ran through the various things that the Sturmbannführer could want with the two men. Perhaps through desperation he had fallen into homosexuality? Perhaps the two men would get raped? He doubted it, but it never paid to be negligent.

He stepped forwards as Wolfram took command of the vehicle. If the officer was resistant, it would be a beautiful opportunity to strike somebody high ranked. Everybody wanted to do it. However, the Hauptsturmführer willingly went along with Wolfram’s suggestion, and Luther put an arm out catching the barrel of the spinning pistol. Thankfully, the safety catch was on, otherwise he could have found himself short of a finger. He weighed it in his hand. It was certainly not like the rifle he was accustomed to fighting with, but it was not uncomfortable. Indeed, it was something he could get quite used to wielding. He would have to put in a requisition.

Squeezing into the back of the car on the right of Wolfram he pulled on the seatbelt and took a cautious glance into the folder. Without a doubt, the photo of the man paper-clipped to front page was dead. Indeed, the vast majority of his brain was missing. He had a quick read of the type-written German. Ivan Petrov. Living in Berlin and working his arse off for Deutschland. He read in silence before slowly speaking. ” Ich nehme es wir sind dabei, uns mit Petrov, Herrn zu befassen. Wir werden ein wenig Gespräch haben, oder sind wir dabei, den Abzug auf dem Bastard zu ziehen?” He asked cautiously. Perhaps if he got thrown out the car now, it wouldn’t be all that bad. The Sturmbannführer and seemed to have lost his mind, and maybe staying at base would be good for him. But then again, leaving now may prove costly for him.


Ich nehme es wir sind dabei, uns mit Petrov, Herrn zu befassen. Wir werden ein wenig Gespräch haben, oder sind wir dabei, den Abzug auf dem Bastard zu ziehen? - I take it we’re going to be dealing with Petrov, sir. We will be having a little talk, or are we going to pull the trigger on the bastard?

[∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram]

OOC: Okay I made a thread and everyone seems to want to join, we now have five people trying to post in this thread... Too many people...

If people are to take part in this thread, I'm going to be bit of a vigilante and take the law into my own hands, but there is good reason, as I'm fed up of waiting around for people to post and with five people in one thread, things seem very chaotic now.

From the next post (not breaking posting order already) it will be;
- Erik
- Wolfram
- Erhard
- Luther
- Vlakte

Anyone who wishes to drop out, please do so now. Thanks. Oh and anyone taking days to post (I'd give it two or three days), then the next person in line should post. Hope everyone is okay with me appointing these standards for this thread? I'm just annoyed that everyone feels the need to join this thread.......

Not nice knowing you have to wait four posts before you can start yours. eek. In IO terms, that's waiting a few days for a simple post.

EDIT: Vlakte I may have to ask you to either edit your post or drop out, I'm actually in a vehicle outside of the building - so your post would be ignored, as it wouldn't have coincided with an interaction towards Wolfram.

- Raf

[∬: Erik Schneider]

OOC: Sorry not much time, a bit rushing to get through with the post so someone else can post.

Just as expected, Wolfram briefly assaulted the Sturmscharführer verbally, to which the Senior NCO was too terrified to respond you. Schneider slowly gestured for the man to just walk away before angering the Sturmbannfuhrer any further, but just then Wolfram announced that the man would be coming along with them. Shocked, the Obersturmfuhrer just shrugged and followed along as they strolled out into the street that was taking a beating from the downpour of rain. The wind whipped some of the rain into the man's face as if a hail of bullets were hitting him.

The trio rushed over to a kubbelwagen and Wolfram ordered the Hauptsturmfuhrer that they would be using his vehicle as well as his Luger, which was tossed to the rather confused Sturmscharfuhrer who was a bit hesitant to follow his superior's orders. Schneider stood in silence watching the Sturmbannfuhrer bark out orders to the Hauptsturmfuhrer, before they all piled into the back of the kubbelwagen .

Schneider managed to slip in first, and took the far left side of the seats, Wolfram in the middle, and Luther on the right. Sighing with relief to be out of the rain, the Obersturmfuhrer removed his cap to reveal his glistening gold Aryan hair, guiding it back against his scalp with his right fingers. He loosened the grip on the documents he had been demanded to hold, and let the Sturmbannfuhrer slip them out of his fingers and open up to reveal file on a Ivan Petrov, along with a few pictures of the man. Looked to be a Slav, what were they doing wanting to visit this man? Wolfram's son had been murdered by a group a Slavs! Must have been linked to this bloody bastard. Their "visit" wasn't going to be too pretty.

A rapping came onto the window, and a startled Obersturmfuhrer turned to lower it down to reveal a disfigured face. Schneider couldn't tell who the man was until his eyes glanced downwards to a mustard colored passport that read....Erhard Strumfelder! Half of the man's face was severely disfigured and burned. Schneider grimaced before gaping. This had been the man who had worked on Schneider back in the hospital after Africa...and potentially saved his life. "Strumfelder? My god, what happened to you?"

[∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram]

OOC: Really sorry for the late post, my Internet went down and I had to go buy a new router. Oh the humanity!

IC:

Sturmbannführer Wolfram ran his index finger down the page regarding Ivan Petrov, briefly reading over the dossier of reports concerning his so-called skills and talents from being a shoe maker, to blacksmith and wood crafter. It was a complete mystery, as to how the man was believed by the imbeciles allowing him to live! His mug-shot clearly showed a greasy looking man, with the crooked and low brow the Slavic bastards had - he was no more than a crook and thief, sliming his way through the system to stay alive. He should have been killed a long time ago, but ironically, the Sturmbannführer was thankful he wasn’t…

Sturmscharführer Luther nosed a look at the dossier and report sitting upon his lap, passing a remark upon wreaking revenge. Closing the folder, Sturmbannführer Wolfram slowly looked to the male and grinned, his trademark look said it all, but then a thumping against the window caught his attention and the Sturmbannführer sighed heavily, looking towards Obersturmführer Schneider’s window, becoming angrily impatient with the continuous hold ups; Watching as an SS-sleeve protruded through the window to pass ID to the Obersturmführer, causing the Sturmbannführer to nudge him and mutter out “Was ist das Problem Obersturmführer?” he questioned with a tone to his voice, but the man merely leant against the window to reveal who it was - Erhard Strumfelder.

Immediately, Sturmbannführer Wolfram leant over Obersturmführer Schneider’s lap and looked up towards the man standing in the down-pour; Fortunately, he could hardly make out the man’s face from the grim light behind his shoulders, but none-the-less, looked as if he could see him properly. “Strumfelder! Was machen Sie aus Krankenhaus!?” he once again questioned with a tone to his voice, but more concerned for the man than anything else; Secretly, Sturmbannführer Wolfram had put in a few good words on having the highest of treatment for the man, the guilt of what had happened to him laid upon his shoulders somewhat, but so did the blame - had this man failed to save his son? Disregarding such petty thoughts of blaming the man, who clearly showed he put his life first in saving his bloodline, was heroic more than anything else… But they were reassuring thoughts, as the Sturmbannführer gritted his teeth to the illuming What-If’s in the back of his mind; Such as what if this man had used his son as a human shield?

Breaking his pursed lips, he quickly spoke as to not keep the man standing there. “Kommen Sie! Kommen Sie in der Front, an werde ich auf dem Weg erklären” he requested hastily, not wanting to keep them held up any longer than they needed. Leaning back against the backseat again, he momentarily went silent as he felt his left arm throb painfully in the black sling it was laying within; The painkillers were wearing off and so was the alcohol, in which the Sturmbannführer’s breath smelt off. As to not worry the two men sitting either side of him, he pulled a blank expression to his face and made it look as if he had an itch, as he wriggled a finger into the sling, rubbing at his arm.

Once Strumfelder had fallen into the car, he passed the brown folder forwards from in-between the two front seats towards the soaked man, in hope to enlighten him of the events that had occurred in Munich. “Lesen Sie dies, habe ich es fertig gebracht, Ort einen Ivan Petrov in den Elendsvierteln zu erhalten. Bruder zu einem der rebellischen Slavs zurück in München... Er ist unser einziges BleI” he said quickly, as to fill in the man whilst he read the detailed log of the report, but at the same time, he spoke it loudly as to fill in the two men sitting either side of him - like they didn’t know already. His eyes darted to the driver who sat quietly listening, causing the man to clunk the Vehicle into gear and pull away…


OOC: Forgive me for god modding you into the car, but if you want it changed so you return to your jeep, just say and I’ll edit my post. I just wanted to try and at least get the car moving into the right direction.

Translations:[/b]

Was ist das Problem Obersturmführer?
~ What is the problem Obersturmführer?

Strumfelder! Was machen Sie aus Krankenhaus!?
~ Strumfelder! What are you doing out of hospital!?

Kommen Sie! Kommen Sie in der Front, an werde ich auf dem Weg erklären.
~ Come! Get in the front, I will explain on the way.

Lesen Sie dies, habe ich es fertig gebracht, Ort einen Ivan Petrov in den Elendsvierteln zu erhalten. Bruder zu einem der rebellischen Slavs zurück in München... Er ist unser einziges Blei.
~ Read this, I have managed to obtain location of an Ivan Petrov in the slums. Brother to one of the rebel Slavs back in Munich... He is our only lead.

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

His assumptions had been proved correct. It was Wolfram, with Schneider Strumfelder was surprised to see. There was one other man in the small and cramped VW, a Sturmscharführer judging by his collar. Strumfelder did not know the man, nor did he have a burning desire for them to become acquainted. As Schneider pulled the window down Strumfelder flashed his pass; few people recognised him now. The officer looked shocked to see him and wanted to know what happened. Strumfelder ignored him, nor did he salute at the superior. He wanted to see Wolfram.

The pair hadn’t met since Munich and the Medic wasn’t sure how he would be received. He had meant to protect this man’s son, the only other thing he seemed to place any affection into after the SS. Yet the boy had ended up getting killed. Wolfram might blame him for a lot, or not at all, but Strumfelder wasn’t optimistic. The boy had died painfully, and Strumfelder felt it his greatest failure to date. It had hardly been a difficult duty after all. He feared loss of respect from the men, but more importantly Wolfram. The man might lash out, though that could be hard with a wounded arm. He could transfer the Medic, or at worst, engineer and accident for him to walk into. Strumfelder had seen many men die, many of whom he’d been trying to save, but this boy had quite an effect on him. He hadn’t had a restful night sleep in days, the boy always returning to haunt him. But Erhard had come to one firm conclusion. All this worry, all this pain, all these problems had been engineered, by a group of rebels. And Strumfelder wanted to destroy everything these rebels stood for, and wipe every one of the bastards of the face of the earth. That is what they deserved. For years he had turned a blind eye to the Nazi purging machine, but now he saw just what sense it made. And he was part of it.

Wolfram turned him, slightly shocked and ordered him into the front of the jeep. Strumfelder obliged, his wet mackintosh soaking the fabric seat. He was just about to mention Petrov to the Sturmbannführer, when a file was pushed into his lap. The Medic smiled at the printed name. The jeep lurched off; obviously this driver was no better than his last. The Gestapo driver could wait for hours for all Strumfelder cared; he had eyes in his head, and could see that his passenger had disappeared.

“Ivan Petrov. Vor kurzem gebracht von Chelmno. Vor entschied, eine Reise nach München mit seinem Bruder zu nehmen, was, acht Tagen. Er kam, sein Bruder wurde getötet im kleinen Aufstand von einem tapferen Kripo Offizier zurück.” Strumfelder reached for his holster, and drew out the Luger pistol. The one he’d already killed two men with. He lifted it up to the light of the windscreen, and slotted in an eight round magazine into the handle with a clearly audible click. “Ivan Petrov. A bald, zum toter Mann zu sein.”



Translations:

“Ivan Petrov. Vor kurzem gebracht von Chelmno. Vor entschied, eine Reise nach München mit seinem Bruder zu nehmen, was, acht Tagen? Er kam, sein Bruder wurde getötet im kleinen Aufstand von einem tapferen Kripo Offizier zurück.”
~ Ivan Petrov. Recently transferred from Chelmno. Decided to take a trip to Munich with his brother what, eight days ago? He returned, his brother was killed in the small riot by a brave Kripo officer.

“Ivan Petrov. A bald, zum toter Mann zu sein.”
~ Ivan Petrov. A soon to be dead man.

[William Luther]

OOC: Couldn’t think of much to write, so here’s something to get us moving along.


The car journey went by in near silence, Luther could feel the tension in the air and was glad when the automobile pulled to a halt in the Ghetto. It was not the first time he had been in this ghetto, but the last time had not ended too well for a pair of Jewish would-be assassins. He let a small, grim smile play over his lips at that thought. Remaining in the car, he pulled out the handgun, flicking the release catch and dropping the magazine out of the hollow handgrip. Pushing on the top bullet for the umpteenth time he checked the magazine was full and he slipped it back into the gun, cocking it the second it was securely in the pistol. Keeping it in his hand, he opened the black doors and stepped out into the maw that was the crowd. ” Aus dem Weg, Schaum, zeigen etwas Rücksicht!” He yelled, forcing his way through the crowd. A stick of a man was on the floor infront of the Aryan, and he tried giving a brief smile. Luther was not impressed as he looked down on the man ”Bewegen Sie sich!”

The old man started to try and gather his ragged blanket from of the floor, but he was too slow. Luther released a savage kick, sending the man flying out of the way into a puddle of mud. Looking around, he took in the grim view that was the ghetto. Everything appeared to be a shade of grey or brown, the carrion-eaters the only thing that threived in this place. Dark clouds filled the sky, threatening to pour more rain over the place, as if it needed it. The buildings were in terrible condition, with the plaster peeling off of the walls, and the whole area stank of death, blood and excrement. It was indeed one of the placed where you didn’t want to spend a minute longer than necessary. He turned around and stretched a hand into the car. ”Herr..”


Translations:
Aus dem Weg, Schaum, zeigen etwas Rücksicht!
Out of the way, scum, show some respect!

Bewegen Sie sich!
Move!

[∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram]

OOC:
Not to sound impatient or pushing, but remember, if the person fails to post over the 3 day limit, the next person in line can just post. This includes if I fail too post also, regardless to whether it's my thread or not. It's unfair anyone should be kept waiting and with 4/5 people in the thread, this is moving incredibly slow - thanks Nathan for killing the car journey, that would have taken up a lot of time in the following posts, pointless writing about it.

So again, just continue the posting order if that person fails to post within 3 days. Sounds harsh, but with a lot of people in one thread, allowing them to post when-ever is going to allow it to drag -- it already is at this rate.

So Erik, you've still got a day left.
- Raf

[∬: Erik Schneider]

OOC: *Smacks head* Forgot I go after Nate, and I have been busy these past few days. Sorry about that guys.


A disfigured Strumfelder completely blocked out the Obersturmfuhrer, and focused entirely on the man by Schneider's side. Sighing, Schneider pretended as if the even hadn't happened and allowed the Doctor to gone with his conversation with the Sturmbannfuhrer. Intrigued eyes observed closely as Strumfelder was directed to the front seat, and Wolfram began to introduce him to the files. So they were going after one of the Slavs from Munich, or at least the brother of the one. Not a very difficult thing to guess, Wolfram wanted revenge. A moment of realization came over the young Nazi, that their venture into Munich had changed them...forever. The man who had helped Schneider live to see another day, when he thought his days were numbered... was now now fiddling with his Luger. Who would've guessed that a doctor wanted to kill a man...no one.

A second man joined in with Strumfelder, and began to prepare his Luger for the events that were obviously coming. All 3 of the men in the car enjoyed the idea of murdering the "scum". Personally, Schneider did too... a few years ago. Now the man wasn't so sure in the Fuhrer anymore, and the "scum". But he didn't dare show it, especially before a man like Wolfram. No doubt the Sturmbannfuhrer cared little about the "scum" before Munich, but now he wants to murder them. Or was it only the Slav Rebels. They were "scum" in the Fuhrer's eyes. The whole world was in his eyes. That's why Schneider realized the Nazis weren't going to win this war. They were fighting the entire world. Schneider slipped the Luger out of it's holster. He was probably equally demented as the 3 men with him. He just enjoyed the killing.