For you, the war is over...

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

Country: Nazi Germany
Area/Setting: POW Camp
Current Time: 10:30
Weather Conditions: Cold, Clear Sky, Snow on the ground.

OOC: This is set at a prison camp, which gives a wider area for us to roll play, rather than a cooler....

Strumfelder bounced around slightly, as his Mercedes entered the small town of Luckenwalde, 30km south of Berlin. The cobbled streets battered the suspension, as they passed along the high street, people moving about as if a war wasn’t even on. This town’s sanctuary came in the form of the POW camp just outside it, where the Allies feared to bomb. The car drove through at a slow pace, and Strumfelder noticed a small crowd huddled around a Hitler Youth band playing in the main square. It was a good sight to see the nations youth enjoying serving their leader.

As soon as they entered had they left, and the car headed southwest through the German countryside. After no more than two minutes, the car turned left, and just down the small lane Strumfelder could see the wire fences of Stalag III-A. They continued down, passing a truck on the way. They reached the main checkpoint and the entrance, and came to an abrupt halt. The door was opened, and a Wehrmacht Stabsgefreiter saluted him. Strumfelder returned it, for once, and handed over his papers. “Gutenmorgen, Herr Unterärtzlichführer. Ihre Papiere scheinen im Auftrag. Guter Tag.” Strumfelder nodded, and strode towards the administration building, as his car was driven away by his chauffer. He stepped underneath the barrier keeping the compound separated from the rest of the prison, and entered into the large building.

The camp Kommandant, a large and overweight man, sat behind a large oak desk, but stood up abruptly once he saw the SS uniform. He relaxed slightly once he saw Strumfelder wasn’t superior to him, and quickly tried to recapture his composure, even though he was faced with a man with only one eye, and a severely burnt face. “Kann ich Ihnen helfen?” he snapped. Strumfelder’s eyes narrowed. “Vor das Gestapo würde einen Mann hier ungefähr zwölf Stunden geholt haben. Ein Amerikaner, der schlecht in seinem linken Bein verletzt wurde. Wo ist er?” The Kommandant turned to one of his attendants, also a very rounded man. [/b]“Er ist im medizinischen Mittel, in der Nordecke des Lagers. Meine Männer behandeln ihn dort.”[/b] He spoke with a strong Czech accent. Strumfelder felt insulted that a Slav would be allowed into the German forces.

With that, Strumfelder exited the building, and set off towards the compound. The prisoners were in a small courtyard, playing cards, reading, chatting. It was interesting to listen to their pitiful conversations, considering the officer could understand almost every word which was being said, besides the French, Polish and Russian.

The medical compound was not much more than a long wooden hut, snow clinging to the tiles above. Two guards stood outside, and watched Strumfelder suspiciously as he entered. The warmth the hut was producing was very welcoming, but Strumfelder left his leather trench coat and gloves one. His hat remained perched on his head at a slight angle.

The ward was near empty, but still there were ten guards occupying the building. Three doctors in white coats moved up and down with clip boards, looking over the five patients. At the far end were two room, designed for officers, but Strumfelder had reserved one for his man. An SS Private stood outside the door. Strumfelder moved down the ward attracting a few looks, before nodding to the Private, and entering the room.

It was a sparse place, but there was water and an alarm clock, plus some German reading material translated into English. Strumfelder looked down at the man in the bed and grinned a sad smile. “Good morning, Mr Claude.”


Translations:
“Gutenmorgen, Herr Unterärtzlichführer. Ihre Papiere scheinen im Auftrag. Guter Tag.”
~ Good morning, Herr Unterärtzlichführer. Your papers seem in order. Good day.

“Kann ich Ihnen helfen?”
~ Can I help you?

“Vor das Gestapo würde einen Mann hier ungefähr zwölf Stunden geholt haben. Ein Amerikaner, der schlecht in seinem linken Bein verletzt wurde. Wo ist er?”
~ The Gestapo would have brought a man here about twelve hours ago. An American, who was badly injured in his left leg. Where will he be?

“Er ist im medizinischen Mittel, in der Nordecke des Lagers. Meine Männer behandeln ihn dort.”
~ He will be in the medical compound, in the northern corner of the camp. My men are treating him there.

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

Corporal J. Claude – presumed dead – captured in a village…
What a heroic way to “die”, what would his parents think when they got the news? They would probably die of broken hearts as Joe had been their only son…his sisters would be shocked and devastated…he could see all their faces now, around his grave which had no body in it…the headstone read words – ”A wonderful son, a loving brother etc…

Joe could see the images in his head right now as he had lay in the bed, watching Germans come in and out, for some reason he was on his own in the room most of the time, he wasn’t with the remaining patients. Joe had passed out in the car from the loss of blood and had awoken as they had entered this building, he knew at once that it was a POW as no one was speaking to him; he knew he was a POW, how could he have been so weak and stupid to have gotten himself in here? He hadn’t seen the man who had captured him the night before…maybe he was to lie here for ever but he very much doubted that.

Because he spoke German well -having been a translator for the Yanks back in England – he could understand everything that was going on around him. He had even attempted to talk to the doctors and even a nurse who had come in but no, they didn’t want to talk to him, and they just stared through him like he wasn’t even there so by and by Joe had given up altogether. His war was over now, he wouldn’t be able to go and fight in France anymore, yes he had jumped out of the plane which had been thrilling but bloody scary and yes he had shot a few Germans but that was about it.

He hadn’t touched the water beside his desk, he was afraid that it was poisoned, at least these Germans were treating him…they had mended his leg as best they could and if they had wanted him dead then they wouldn’t have done anything to him. He had raised his head to glance over at the medical records, they had been translated into English but Joe had scanned them in German, they made more sense that way.

He was now just lying, staring up at the ceiling, trying to think his way out of here but not succeeding very far at all. The door opened and he glanced over, a man came in. The man had only one eye and half his face burnt by some fire or something. The man came towards the bed and looked down on Joe with a sad expression; Joe frowned, turning his face away from the German, keeping calm. He recognised the voice of the man who had caught him last night; he glanced back at the man, not sure on what to say…hang on, had the man just said his name?
”Guten Morgen.” Joe replied back in German, he shut his mouth and didn’t say anything after that, what did this man want anyway?

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

OOC: These posts will have to be short if you want a decent conversation, but we’ll just make more of them.

Strumfelder smiled slightly as the American replied in German. “I studied medicine at Cambridge, England. I believe that my English is probably even better than your own,” he grinned. The American looked moderately well, not terrible, that would be a shame, but not particularly good either. “I hope these men have been treating you well, and will continue to do so, but there is the slight chance drugs could be mixed, or doses varied.” A German speaking to an American, what a sight!

The medic dragged over a stool and sat down beside the man, removing his cap and rubbing his scared forehead. “Maybe I should introduce myself? I am Erhard Strumfelder, an SS medical officer. I can suffer incredible mood swings depending upon how I am handled. That really is something you in particular should watch out for, Joseph Claude.” He might as well be civil to this man, considering how much time they would be spending in each others presence.

Strumfelder felt into his breast pocket and removed a packet of cigarettes and a small strip of matches. He tucked one into his mouth and lit it. He wasn’t really one for tobacco, but it felt good to have something between his lips. He inhaled, then blew out the smoke. “I would let you have one, but these things cause cancer, you know? Just another little thing Nazi scientists discovered, but yet I can’t quit the habit.” He took another dreg and exhaled. Now onto business.

“I know rather a lot about you, Joseph. Born in the glorious Fatherland in 1915, moved to the United States at age ten, joined the American Army in 1942. Oh, and you are Jewish. We don’t like Jews. In actual fact we hate them. We kill them. And you wouldn’t want that to happen to you know, would we?” The officer grinned, showing off his yellow teeth. From the same pocket as the cigarettes, he removed a notebook and pencil, and flipped the book open. “What unit are you from?”

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

OOC - Sorry this is a bit longer, just wanted to get Joe's shock at Strum knowing his history...the other posts will be shorter

The German started to ramble on about studying medicine at Cambridge, Joe didn’t respond to anything the man said about drugs getting mixed, he just stared up at the ceiling. Out of the corner of his eye, the man had drawn up a stool…this was going to be a long chat by the looks of things.
The man started to introduce himself and Joe was about to say that he didn’t really care what the man said, that he didn’t want the man to introduce himself as he wasn’t really interested in the man’s name or his profession.

So the man was a medic, had terrible mood swings, oh great, that was just great, how much fun they would have when he could change his temper in an instant. There it was again, Erhard Strumfelder saying Joe’s name, this time he said his first name which made the hairs on the back of Joe’s neck stand up on end and a shiver run through his body.

Strumfelder then took out a packet of cigarettes, Joe glanced over at what he was doing, raising an eyebrow as the man started to speak saying that cigarettes were cancer and that he would quit but it got into a habit. Turning away from the man, his mouth staying in a thin line, Joe didn’t care if the man was going to die of cancer, it would be much better if he did anyway. The smoke lingered in front of Joe’s face for a few seconds and Joe scrunched his nose up at it, blowing it away so that it floated off into the air.

Joe’s whole body stiffened as the man started to retell the whole of his life to him, and he hadn’t even met the man. Strumfelder knew when he was born, that he was born in Germany, that he had moved to the United States at the age of ten and that he had joined the army in 1942…yes, that was all correct…and the man knew that he was Jewish…There were rumours around the Yanks base that Jewish people in Germany were being robbed and mugged and their property being taken away from them etc, but he didn’t realize that they were being killed…Joe remembered on the boat over to England, that one of the soldiers in his unit had spoken about one of the CO’s being a Jew, now this CO had been a horrible man and everyone agreed that it was because he was Jewish, Joe had flared up and shouted and hence a fight broke out…Was Strumfelder trying to say that Joe was to be killed as soon as he was better?

The man took out a notebook and a pencil, ”Surely you should know what unit I’m from.” Joe said bluntly, ”Why the fuck do you want to know anyway?” he muttered, turning towards Strumfelder and looking at him, glaring even. ”I’ll tell you, it makes no bloody difference – Special Air Service, 101st Airborne – Easy Company.” he gritted his teeth and turned back to staring up at the ceiling, was he to regret saying that?

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

The medic wasn’t really one to swear; it was the language of the poor. But he didn’t care about that. More the fact of what unit the American had said he’d come from. The SAS, eh? The Commando Order was still about, and although Strumfelder might be reprimanded for not executing it, it would be worth prising more information out of this Jew. He could always send him to a camp to rot if the medic wanted.

Strumfelder glanced at his watch. 10:45. This could be a long chat. “Wasser und Schnapps, bitte!” he called, not taking his eyes off the airborne trooper. The door swung open a moment later, and the SS Corporal walked in, and rolled in a small cart. On it was a bottle of water, a small bottle of snaps, and several glasses. “Datei von Claude, auch” he spoke to the soldier, and with a nod the man stepped out and lifted a thick Gestapo file sitting on a nearby chair. He placed it on the cart then disappeared, closing the door behind him.

Strumfelder made a note in his book, and highlighted it with a circle. This man would be very interesting indeed. He stood up from the stool, and opened both the bottles, before mixing them into the glass and taking a sip. It was mildly refreshing. Strumfelder didn’t want to lose control, and the water helped with that. Claude’s water would have been tipped with a mild sedative, making him that bit more corporative. From the looks of things, he’d failed to even take a sip.

“So you are an American, working for the British elite? Interesting.” He took another sip of the alcohol. “You must understand Joseph, that you are in the very heart of your enemy’s homeland. There is little chance of escape or rescue. And even if you do, you will be hunted down and killed. You might as well begin to talk.” Strumfelder would take the peaceful approach first, rather than using his ace card. He was a doctor. He could cause all manner of pain and suffering if he wanted to, but he first wanted to see if his prisoner would react to sense, before pain.

“Who is your commanding officer? What is his name and rank? Where is he currently?”

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

Joe watched, his eyes narrowed as another soldier came in. The medic was obviously hungry and thirsty, and that made Joe suddenly have a need for food and drink. He looked over at the water on the table next to him; no he would not touch it…
Had he heard it correctly? Had the medic just said that the Nazis had a whole file on him? He looked at the file as it came it; it was thick, what was in there? Was that his whole history or movements in there? Was it because he was a Jew, was that the reason they had captured him?

The medic was making notes in his book, highlighting a few with a circle or what looked like a circle as Joe couldn’t see from his position.
The Nazi started to speak again, ”Yeah that’s right.” Joe spat, ”Do you have a problem with that?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. The medic went on to say that he was in the heart of the Nazis control and there was no means in escaping. ”I guessed that, what with people all speaking German and saying "Hail whats-his-name.” for the last part he put a fake German accent on, or tried to at least, a small smile spreading across his face as he said it.
He should begin to talk? How dare this Nazi idiot make him do things? He would talk when and if he wanted to; this Nazi could throw anything at him if he wanted….
Strumfelder went on to talk about Joe’s commanding officer, what his name was and what his rank and where he was…how the hell did Joe know where he was?
”Why the hell do you want to know?” Joe asked bluntly, frowning and giving Strumfelder a dark look, ”You ask a lot of questions…” he added, he wasn’t going to answer the man’s questions, especially if it was to put other people at risk and Joe did not want that.

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

This man was cocky to the absolute extreme, and it angered Strumfelder at just how casually he insulted the Fürhrer of the third great and glorious German Reich. “This is not the most advisable place to be insult our leader.” Strumfelder spoke, his voice nothing more than a whisper. “I’ll ask questions for as long as I want, and if you don’t answer to me, maybe you’ll answer to the Gestapo, with their method.”

He one more sip of his drink and placed the glass down onto the cart, before he stood himself over the American’s bed. This man was asking for pain, and pain he would receive if he wasn’t careful. Strumfelder called for his bag, and the Corporal popped his head around the door, and dropped it down next to the bed before exiting. The medic reached down and clicked it open, before a reaching for a syringe and a small drug bottle. He also lifted out a case of needles, and placed all three items onto the bed. Strumfelder opened the case, revealing several needs and razor sharp scalpels

The medic was happy to use them, and he would leave the mess of the blood for the doctors outside to clean. Finally, he removed a pair of surgical gloves from his bag, and slipped his hands into the talcan covered interiors. “I will ask you once more, kindly, who is your commanding officer? I want his name, and current location, and everything you know about him.”

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

Strumfelder was getting angry, Joe could see. His voice was barely a whisper, his eyes looked angry. ”What did I say? I just couldn’t remember his –“ Joe trailed off as the medic stood up, taking a sip from his drink and stood over Joe, Joe looked up into the scarred and burnt face and it made his stomach slip down a few notches.
The medic called for a bag, and the bag came, the instruments that came out of the bag looked lethal. The syringe and bottle, Joe could take but his flesh began to feel like it was crawling as he saw the needles, they were put on the bed and Joe watched them as if they were going to jump up and attack him all of a sudden.

The medic took out gloves and slipped them on, turning to Joe, he spoke again, the same question. ”I can not tell you that, I am not allowed to tell you.” Joe said, his teeth gritted, his eyes staring back into the medic’s one, inside he was shaking like a leaf, his whole body was beginning to shake but he had to go by his orders under the red cross and those were to only tell your rank, name, date of birth and military number and Joe wasn't going to break any of them...well he had told this man his regiment but that surely did not matter...

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

This tight-lipped American had pushed Strumfelder far enough today. He’d had ample time to speak, yet he refused. Well, now he would have to pay the price for keeping his mouth shut. Let’s see if some wounds might loosen his tongue...

Strumfelder lifted up the syringe, and fitted one of his longest needles, one which he hadn’t sharpened in a while. Next he turned the bottle of liquid upside down, and let the needle piece the thin top, before slowly drawing it out. It will the glass slowly. Finally, the medic placed down the bottle, and pushed the syringes plunger slightly, so a small amount of the drug fired into the air. This removed any air bubbles.

The American did not look at ease with all the needles and blades, but he had created the problem so now he could endure it. He offered a petty excuse for not revealing his information, but did Strumfelder really look like a man who would take a no?

He lifted the American’s right arm, and stabbed the needle into the wrist, before releasing the chemical straight into a vein. It took less than three seconds to complete. Strumfelder grinned afterwards. “That was a muscle relaxant, Josef. Dantrolene, to be precise. With a few seconds, you will be unable to use many of your muscles. You can still talk and breathe, and your heart still beats, but you cannot physically move. I also warn you it does not affect your nervous system, so you can still feel pain.”

He turned and placed the syringe back down, and then lifted up the scalpel. He turned it slightly in his hands, so its blade caught the sunlight. Strumfelder grinned once more. “You failed to answer me, Josef, so now you will pay the inevitable price.” He leant over the American which could do nothing to stop the Medic. Strumfelder cut a straight line down the Americans face, and smiled as blood poured from the two flaps of skin. Strumfelder watched the bloods flow down his face, and the droplets seep into his mouth.

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

Maybe he shouldn’t have kept his mouth shut, maybe he should have spoken and then he wouldn’t have to endure the looming pain that was about to come, the medic was fitting needles and syringes quietly together, Joe’s right arm was lifted and he felt the needle go into his wrist, some sort of chemical had been put into him and he felt his muscles seize up all of a sudden, he tried to lift his right arm but no, he was finding it impossible to do so.

The medic was now leaning over him, the burnt face looked even more horrible and ugly now that Joe could see it up close, he looked over at the blade which had just flashed in the sunlight and his eyes widened. ”Please…” he gasped as the blade went down towards his face and he felt the blood and the pain…the pain was awful. Tears welled up in Joe’s eyes, he gave a yell and tried frantically to wipe the blood away but he couldn’t move, the blood went into his mouth and he started to cough as it went down the wrong way, the cut was stinging like mad, ”Make it stop!” Joe gasped, staring up at Strumfelder, fear and pain in his eyes and face, he began to cough again, trying to get rid of the bloody which was coming into his mouth and over the bed sheets.

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

Strumfelder burst out laughing as the American tried to help himself, the blood covering the bed. The so arrogant man who was now nothing more than an ant being squashed. The medic grinned wildly as the American begged, the pain so strong. What Strumfelder enjoyed just slightly more than his enemies pain, was the fact each cut left a scar, and Strumfelder would etch four into a cheek. It was his trademark, and each mark formed part of a symbol, a runic letter. When ever the American walked the streets, he would be baring Strumfelder’s mark. It was a mark people feared, and for good reason. And this man would be its next vessel.

“Josef, how do you feel about discussing your CO now? Because I think it would be a very good idea if you don’t want to drown in your own blood and feel unbearable pain.” Strumfelder kept the blade in hand, ready for another sweep, to carve the second of four lines. He wondered if he’d ever let this man go? He supposed it would depend on just how much this man wanted to talk. He was a member of a group despised by High Command and even the Führer. So much so that Hitler had ordered that any captured should be shot on spot. But Strumfelder was willing to bend rules if it meant he got more information. If he was able to hunt down a cell of these people, he could be looking at promotions and bonuses.

“Well Josef, are you going to speak?”

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

The man was laughing! How dare he laugh! The bastard! It made Joe feel so cross, he was shaking now with silent anger, the blood coming into his mouth and he started to choke even more, he couldn’t move his head to sit up, he frantically swallowed his own blood, it felt disgusting, the cut on his check was throbbing even harder, his eyes watering and tears rolling down, mixing into the blood.

He narrowed his eyes at Strumfelder as he spoke about discussing his CO, the blade was still in the medic’s hand, was he going to use it again if Joe didn’t speak? ”Bastard.” Joe gasped, glaring through the tears up at Strumfelder who was smiling. Did this man have no heart? Or if he did it must be made of stone or iron. The pain really was terrible, it throbbed and stung and the annoying thing was that he couldn’t do anything about it.

”Well Josef, are you going to speak?”

”I’ll speak…” Joe began to say, ”You are an evil man.” he said simply, he gritted his teeth and gave a soft morn as the blood leaked on to the bed, his brown hair was getting rather damp with the blood that embed on to it./

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

A bastard, eh? This man would soon be calling him something much worse... Strumfelder cocked his head slightly, and as this man was forced to swallow more of his own blood. It was an interesting sight; he should see how much blood the human body can drink before it becomes mentally ill. Perhaps he could try it on the American?

“That wasn’t a very nice thing to call me, Josef. In fact, the shock of it has made me temporally deaf. I’m sorry, but I didn’t hear what you said afterwards. Guessing by your nature, it was something bad about my person. And because that wasn’t about your CO, I’m rather annoyed.” Strumfelder reached forward, and clamped his left arm around the American’s face, before moving forward with the scalpel again. If this American didn’t hurry up, there would be little left of his face. Strumfelder cut into the skin again, and drew a diagonal line from the American’s ear to the corner of his lip. It intersected the first vertical line half along it, at a forty-five degree angle. Just two more lines left...

“I suggest you hurry up, if you don’t want me to start removing other, more fragile things.” Strumfelder spat, letting his charm disappear. He needed this information quickly.

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

Strumfelder cocked his head, as if thinking and then spoke, what he said made Joe even more angry and upset with this man, how dare he do this…he must be twisted and sick, no man on earth could do this to another human being surely? Strumfelder reached forward and camped an arm across Joe’s face, for a split second Joe couldn’t seem to be able to breath until he felt another stinging and painful sensation now coming from his ear and down to his mouth, he let out a straggled yell and bit down on his lip, feeling the blood ooze in to his mouth, making him swallow it again, he choked and gasped for air, his eyes wide and terrified.

Strumfelder lost his charm and spat words at Joe, he could barely see the scarred face because of the tears that filled his eyes and rolled down his face.
”-L-Lieutenant J-Jacka….I..” Joe spat out blood that had entered his mouth, spraying his clothing and the covers, ”I-I…d-don’t know where he is.” Joe said through the blood, his voice sounding very odd and he started coughing, spitting out blood everywhere.

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

A name. Jacka? A Lieutenant as well? This was interesting. Strumfelder smiled. “Good boy, Josef.” He lowered the scalpel, and placed it down on his stool, thinking out his next move. The American was slowly breaking, though it was taking time. He was actually surprised at just how long it was taking. But he was sure there was something the American wasn’t saying. It was like a dripping tap, drop by drop, Strumfelder got his information. But he new the tap could be turned wide open.

He removed his bloody right glove, and picked up his pen before making a brief note of the name. He could certainly do with a first name, and the American would surely know roughly where he was. He would get details on this Lieutenant, before sending the Gestapo after him as well. Strumfelder realised just how valuable this American might be. He’d hurt him as much as he had to, and he realised there’s just so much you can get from a man, but he could still be very valuable.

Strumfelder slipped his glove back on and lifted the blade once more. Hopefully he understood that Strumfelder was a man to be feared. “What is his first name? And where is he now? I will not be lied to.”