For you, the war is over...

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

Joe relaxed, his body had been tensed up with fear when that blade was high in the air and ready to come down on his face so when it was put down, his body became less tense but it was still on edge and the way the man said his name was horrible, good boy Josef…he wasn’t a bloody little boy!

The blood was still coming, although it was drying from the first mark, the marks were pretty deep and Joe had the horrible feeling that he might be scared for life, he didn’t really want to look at himself in the mirror anytime soon.

The blade lifted up again and Strumfelder slipped his glove back on, Joe’s body tensed up again, awaiting the question. ”H-his first n-name…Shit…” he spat out blood that had gone in his mouth again, ”Aiden…I t-think…” he gasped, ”And I don’t f-fucking know where he is.” Joe said quickly before he coughed up more blood.

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

Strumfelder sighed. At least now he had a full name, but this American’s lies were proving more and more annoying. But he supposed it was the American who was considerably more aggrieved at his position. Strumfelder made a mental note. Aiden Jacka. Didn’t really sound British, or at least he’d never met anybody with a name as odd around Cambridge. He would have the Gestapo check the name, and if nothing became of it, he would cause this Jew far more pain than he knew possible. But right now he needed this man’s location, and again this American’s tight lip was causing problems.

“Josef, why must you insist on playing these games? You realise they only hurt yourself.” Strumfelder moved in once more with the deadly blade. He threw the American’s head over to the side, and drew a red vertical line down, next to the ear. It met at the base with the second line. The American would talk, Strumfelder would make sure of that. One line left, before Strumfelder would complete his mark. And then things would really become painful.

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

And Joe had thought he had had enough pain as it was…he had thought that his training had caused him pain, running up and down hills for hours on end, not allowed to drink water for a whole 5 mile run…but never, never in his whole life had he experienced such pain as he was experiencing now. The two cuts down his face were bleeding and stinging, why did it have to be his face? Why couldn’t it have been his leg or arm? Why his face?

Strumfelder was leaning over him eve more now, the blade was in his hand and he was speaking, Joe felt his head thrown to the side, and yet another line was drawn down his face by the knife, ”Ahh..” Joe managed to say, gasping like a gold fish out of water as more blood came into his mouth and the newer cut seeping into the second cut. ”P-please…I don’t k-know…l-last time I s-saw h-him he was in E-England…” He spluttered, his whole body shaking and more and more tears running down his face, they made his cuts sting like mad.

”J-just make the pain g-o-o away…” Joe said, tears streaming down his face, if his muscles could move they would be shaking, inside he was shaking with pain from the blood and cuts on his face, it felt like his face had been cut into tiny pieces.

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

How long until he American broke? Five, ten minutes? Maybe fifteen? He wasn’t tough, nor strong. And he wanted the pain to leave him?! Strumfelder’s pain hadn’t left him as his eye was burnt out of his skull, protecting a poor boy in the wrong place at the wrong time. Strumfelder had had to fight through it, in pain, but he had. He’d have this American’s wounds sewn up in a few hours, to make sure the did not become infected. We wouldn’t want that after all.

England. Far too large a span. Strumfelder wanted a precise location, somewhere he could send a team. How was he meant to track down one man in forty million!? This Lieutenant would know far more than this petty Corporal.

Strumfelder stepped back and watched as the American felt the full strength of the pain. It was a wonderful sight. “Where in England did you last meet with him? I need a location!” Strumfelder spun the blade in his hand, and with each rotation it caught a small beam of light coming through the barred window. This American would learn to fear him.

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

”N-near the coast, S-Sussex. That was just b-before my unit went over to F-France.” Joe spluttered again, the blade kept catching the light as it was spun and Joe’s stomach turn as he saw it, he was starting to fear this medic, this medic had tools, this medic had tools that could do very dangerous things to Joe if he wasn’t careful, the tools could cause pain, Strumfelder could cause pain, this man frankly was a mad-man, he must have something wrong with the brain…

”I don’t know! It was days a-ago, h-he could b-be in France by now, w-what I w-want to know is w-why d-did you get me, how do you know so m-much about me? Joe asked, trying his hardest to remember where the Lieutenant had been through the pain was causing his mind to go dizzy and he was feeling slightly faint. ”He could be in F-France, I j-just don’t f-fucking know…” Joe begged, he didn’t want another cut, he didn’t want to feel more pain then he already was feeling.

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

“Okay, let’s change the question. What have you been doing in France, Josef?” Strumfelder asked, slowly digesting information. If he was in Brighton, that would make life easier, especially so considering it was a port. A group could move up using a small fishing trawler from Denmark, and land on a nearby beach. They could then blend into society, while hunting down their prey.

So the American was also stuttering, the pain was getting to him. Strumfelder would have given him something to wake him up if he had it. He just needed this last piece of information. The American looked close to passing out, the last thing Strumfelder needed right now. He wondered if the final cut would be made, but he already knew the answer.

The Gestapo would be happy to hear from him once again, and after his last escapade, he could expect a good bonus for his work. So what were the SAS doing in France? If they were planning something, Strumfelder would get to the bottom of it, causing as much pain as he had to along the way.

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

Changing questions now was he? Stupid bastard, he wanted all the information that he could get out of Joe and Joe didn’t want to give much away, Joe could see the cogs and wheels turning in the Nazi’s head, he was planning something, if only Joe could read minds as well as speak German it would help him to find out what was going on and somehow get a message back to the Allies, but he doubted that very much.

”Do you really e-expect me to t-tell you that.” Joe muttered, his face clenched up with pain, he could feel his muscles beginning to loosen up slightly, ever so slightly, he tired to move his middle finger on his right arm and it lifted a tiny bit but not much,

”We’ve been fighting you b-bloody Nazis for the last few weeks.” Joe said, turning his head and staring at the blood that covered the sheets now, he turned back and stared up at the ceiling, coughing as the blood entered his mouth and he began to swallow it, it tasted disgusting.

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

Strumfelder’s lips went tight. He wanted to say quite a few things now, but the thought of a heavier wallet and collar prevented him. He spun the scalpel once more in his hands. “That wasn’t the answer I was looking for.” The medic spoke through gritted teeth and leant forward, once again with the blade. He clutched the American’s face the hardest he had done so far and he pressed the face into the sheets, pinning him down. Strumfelder pressed the blade into flesh, and drew a line, completing his symbol. From the other end of the diagonal line, he drew downwards.

He stepped back and observed, the Wolsangel which had now been carved. He smiled at his handiwork, but wasn’t sure if the American could bare much more pain. Slowly, he placed down the blade, and considered his next move. He would need to have this information checked, and this American stitched up. But in the mean time, he didn’t want the wound to become infected. He moved over to his bag, and withdrew a small packet of white granules. Upon closer inspection it was something very harmless and helpful.

Strumfelder tore open the packet, and leant over the American. “This, Josef, is Sodium Chloride, better known as table salt. Have you ever heard of the expression ‘rubbing salt into the wound’? This is where it came from.” A wide grin spread across Strumfelder’s face as he poured it all over the cheek. Within seconds it was mildly red, as it soaked up the blood. It would kill off any bacteria, but would cause extreme pain in the process. If the American wanted to be cocky, he would feel the pain, but the question was how long he would feel it for?

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

”That wasn’t the answer I was looking for.”

Joe had a lot of questions he wanted answering but he was complaining was he! The scalpel caught the light and Joe knew that he shouldn’t have been so cocky, it was stupid, the thing was Joe never thought before he spoke, it was a habit that he must try and get out of, his mother and father had been like that, they still where…but they had done the right thing and moved to the United States before the Second World War…they had been right about that, they had thought before speaking about that move.

Joe felt his face being grabbed by a rough hand, Strumfelder was leaning over him, gripping him hard and pressing his face into the blooded sheets, he felt the blade go in once more, the line felt diagonal and Joe let out another muffled yell, feeling the pressure being realised from his face as he turned back, his eyes watering.

Strumfelder had placed the blade down, and was moving over to his bag, he picked out a packet of something and leant back over Joe who looked up at the packet…it was table salt…”Don’t you d-dare.” Joe began to say before a pain shot up his face, he felt his cheek going red, he let out another yell and thought he could hear muffled footsteps outside…he twisted and turned his face to the left and right, ”Fucking bastard.” Joe spat up at Strumfelder, tears falling. "Fucking Nazi scum."

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

Nazi fucking scum? Strumfelder had had enough with this American arsehole. He raised the scalpel, and pinned the American’s face down, a smear on his face as he quickly set to work. He pushed the brown hair away from the forehead, and carved two runes into the skin. The symbol of the SS. Fresh blood oozed from the lightning bolt ‘SS’, and it slowly dripped down the face, and into the Americans eyes. Strumfelder was complete for now. The American would be falling to pieces soon. He would return later, with a few more answers and a lot more questions. And as long as this American was walking, his life would become a lot worse indeed.

Strumfelder dropped the blade on the bed, and listen to a muffled conversation behind the rusty door. The Medic opened it, to see the Corporal arguing with a white coated doctor. He looked up as Strumfelder appeared. “Was Sie tuend zu meinem patiant sind?!” He faced Strumfelder down, seeming to forget who he was addressing. “Wem denken Sie Sie sind? Dieses ist SS-Geschäft! Sie stellen nicht meine Methoden in Frage!” The doctor seem unfazed by the SS man’s reaction. First an American pig, then a stuck up doctor. Strumfelder had had enough. He drew his Luger from its holster, and aimed at the doctor. The doctor was now fazed, but he didn’t move. But Strumfelder wasn’t in the mood to kill. He lashed out with the pistol but, and struck the doctor across the face. He fell with a yelp, attracting the attention of anybody in the room who hadn’t already been draw into the conversation. The doctor stared up at the SS mans’ disfigured face. “Töten Sie ihn.” Strumfelder spat. The Corporal did not question, but just fired into the doctors chest. He left the corpse spawn on the floor.

Strumfelder cleared his throat and made an announcement. “Ich habe einen Mann in dort, wer mit einigen Heftungen in seinem Gesicht tun könnte. Keine Drogen, keine Unterhaltung. Mein Freund hier wird über Ihnen während des vollständigen Prozesses stehen. Und werden Sie diesen Körper los.” Without waiting for a response, Strumfelder stepped back into the room, and gathered his belongings, before placing them into a bag. He turned and smiled at the American. “Believe me when I say this Josef. I can cause you so much pain you will wish you are dead. Next time we meet please don’t make me have to.”

Translations[/b]
“Was Sie tuend zu meinem patiant sind?!”
~ What the hell are you doing to my patiant?!

“Wem denken Sie Sie sind? Dieses ist SS-Geschäft! Sie stellen nicht meine Methoden in Frage!”
~ Who do you think you are? This is SS business! You will not question my methods!

“Ich habe einen Mann in dort, wer mit einigen Heftungen in seinem Gesicht tun könnte. Keine Drogen, keine Unterhaltung. Mein Freund hier wird über Ihnen während des vollständigen Prozesses stehen. Und werden Sie diesen Körper los.”
~ I have a man in there who could do with some stitches in his face. No drugs, no talking. My friend here will be standing over you throughout the whole process. And get rid of that body.

[Daniel Brennan]

Moderation Post

Um... a bit vicious, ain't ya?

The following CP has been issued:

Madame Strumfelder:
You have been issued 9 CP; your posts weren't up to their usual standard. Also, there is an inquiry into the death of the doctor. Sure, there is such thing as serving the Fatherland with any method possible, but the German high command still prefer's people (Even the SS!) not to kill their own valuable people.

Corporal Clause:
In Pain.


~Dan