Mind your Feet [Open]

[∬: Gero A. Fritz]

Walking down the long narrow street Unterscharführer Fritz rolled his shoulders, irritated by the dark fabric of the SS-Uniform he now wore. The lapels a fine black with a crimson red and white trimming, a total change in comparison with the Wehrmacht woven green tunic he wore; Sadly, he couldn’t help but recall the moment he watched one of the Waffen-SS tailors snatch the Wehrmacht garment from his grasp once he’d changed, with a total disgusted look, to hurl it upon a pile of Jewish clothes, riddled from off the back of the SS’s Victims. No doubt, the SS-Uniform he wore now, had some sort of Jewish left over fabric, used to stitch up a hole inside the tunic or sew together some of the surveying pieces of this diabolical uniform he now wore - Without pride.

Talks with a young SS-Scharführer of the Waffen-SS, Das Reich; had lured him into the trap of becoming one of the notorious SS-Men to the Division he served beneath. A leader renowned for many battles, but he hadn’t even begun to see the benefits of them? They were still strongly at war and Unterscharführer Fritz found himself walking cautiously down one of the slumbered streets to the Ghetto. The smell was vile and Mr Fritz almost became nauseous as he had to carefully step over three young bodies, children, strewn across the narrow walkway with bullet holes spattered through out their body; The composition of decay was atrocious, as mould and muscle mass were no more than skin and bones, the carcasses must’ve been there for a week at least…

Feeling his grip weaken upon the MG42 he huddled against his chest, Gero felt his face drain from the blood as he accidentally caught his boot against one of carcasses’ legs, causing him to stumble free from the mangle of young bodied children, strewn beneath his feet. Leaning against the closest thing, a lamp-post, he wretched twice, before spitting up a mouthful of bile. He was warned by other’s in the Division who were assigned to patrol the Ghetto occasionally, to enter with a empty stomach and leave with a blank mind; They knew the mental repercussions that could entail from beholding what you would see behind the walls of the Ghetto, it was sound advice, but Gero couldn’t help but take on board some of the thing she was witnessing… Death, decay and torture.

Wiping the spit from his mouth with the once fine attuned black sleeve of his uniform, he grunted to himself miserably and pushed from off the lamppost with his body, stumbling back onto the cobbled road, cradling his MG42. He was meant to have left the weaponry back in the barracks and take a rifle in it’s place, but the Unterscharführer didn’t listen. He was stubborn minded, if he was to be threatened, than he liked to know he had the option of taking down more than the one foe at any given time - it was his speciality to be a heavy gunner and he’d trained well with it enough to know the difference between a Bolt-Action rifle and a complete automatic piece of weaponry; To know what was better.

Unterscharführer Fritz continued to walk until he reached the end of the tight narrow alley, facing out onto a busy, yet vile stench that was the high street of the Ghetto. Gero was on a small patrol of the Ghetto that has been assigned to him, it seemed as if Berlin was short staffed and now they used any man they could find to do the errands. He was meant to be on leave, but that soon abruptly ended the moment he told the Obersturmführer signing his papers at the airport, now he was in hell… Alone.

[∬Hartwig Kriegheld]

The smell of the rotting flesh came as a disgusting surprise to Hauptsturmführer Kriegheld as he neared the locked gates of the Berlin Jewish Ghetto. He held five hard packages under his left arm, wrapped in thick brown paper, stamped on top with the Seal of the Reich, the Imperial eagle carrying a Hockenkreuz (Swastika). Hartwig knew very well what was in the packages, but he didn’t want to think about it. It wasn’t even supposed to be his job to deliver the packages; it really should have been an Allegemeine-SS man doing it, not Hartwig. Kriegheld was a soldier, not a political officer. He kept his thoughts to himself as he came to the SS guards at the gate to the ghetto. He gave the salute, “Heil!” and entered through the small door that was cut into the sheet metal gate. Keeping his Stg44 close, Hauptsturmführer Kriegheld walked into the ghetto down Main Street.

Hartwig had seen death before, serving on the Western front and Africa; but this was a different story. It reminded him of his childhood in the Weimar Republic, when he lived in the ghettos and lived off the scraps. When Hartwig had found it was the Jews that had put him into the worst childhood, he wanted to do the same to them; and now it was done. Luckily, Main Street was kept clean of bodies, but the undeniable stench of rotting flesh still hung in the air, making it hard to breathe. The water from the draining blood was in the air, causing an uncomfortable heat to rise into the air, leaving Hartwig in his black wool unform nearly panting. He finally came to one street he was looking for, Görte Straße, and turned onto the dark cobblestone path. As he walked, his jack boots clicked on the hard rock, making sure that people were aware of him; it was a disconcerting feeling for Hartwig, though he didn’t know why.

Finally, Hartwig reached the door, if it could even be called a door, of the first house he was to visit. He knocked on the wooden sheet, making an echo through the alleyway. He remembered to called all Jews by the informal word for you. After waiting for a few seconds, a woman opened the door with a face of stone-cold fear. She wore a raged cotton dress that had not been cleaned for some time. Hartwig drove her face from his mind and took the top package. “Hedwig Stielerin, ich habe einer Nachricht für du,” he said handing her the tightly wrapped package. Before hearing her answer, he left down the alleyway. Just as he got to the Main Street, a shriek came through the path behind him. Deafening himself, Hartwig walked back onto the Main Street looking directly in front of him.

As he walked onto Main Street, Hartwig saw another SS man with an MG42, that he had tightly clutched in front of him. The man looked familiar, like a member of Das Reich, albeit a new member. Then it occurred to him, Gero Fritz had been given a pass the same time Hartwig had to leave for Berlin to do some dealing at the SS-Headquarters – which ended him up with the job he was doing. Looking for some support, maybe even protection, Hartwig came up next to Fritz and greeted him as a German, not a Nazi, since it was very unpopular to do so in the Jewish Ghetto. “Guten Morgen Unterscharführer, was machen Sie hier?”

[∬: Gero A. Fritz]

The Unterscharführer’s legs wobbled dauntingly and subtly beneath the dark black cloth of his uniform trousers, his eyelids half masked by the stinging sensation of the heat and putrid smell illuming from the gutters and his face drained from any rosy reflexions that resembled a human. He was sick to the stomach, breathing the stagnant hot air of death and he’d only been in the Ghetto for - several minutes? He couldn’t quite work out why he was on an errand to patrol these decaying streets, he couldn’t help but be paranoid, were the men playing with him? Had they set him up as a joke? Was he really meant to be standing about a guard-booth right about now, to the entrance of this forsaken place, rather than wandering it’s many narrow streets… More than likely.

Kicking himself mentally, he grinded his teeth. He’d have a good word upon his return, there was no way any fine soldier could be made to patrol these streets! They had the Jewish-Police to do it for them, the Jewish men brave enough to baton their own race, for a mere few extra coins and a slap on the back from a German Soldier, who was thankful to see he wouldn’t have to exert himself in their place. The mental kicking soon stopped as Unterscharführer Fritz accidentally bumped into a Jewish woman, who silently shrieked from out of his path, muttering out gibberish beneath her breath, apologising by the sounds of it - to soon scamper away quickly, then a Braun figure approached.

“Heil --” he firmly spoke out, shifting the weight from his MG42 onto one arm, to raise the freed hand in a quick salute. Nothing special. Gero was never the best parade-boy, he even forgot to stand straight and click his boots. So his salute looked rather casual, perhaps a little disrespectful? Nothing intentional, he just wasn’t used too formal occasions, particularly in a slum. His eyes wandered from the Hauptsturmführer cautiously ever so briefly, as a young Jewish boy ran past them. It was obvious the Unterscharführer was tightly strung and his leasehold upon the MG42 had returned to a tight grasp, rather than a cradled huddle against his chest, his weaponry was shifted against his left hip, protruding across his waist for a better swing if and when needed. The high street seemed pretty precarious with it’s inhabitants.

Facing the Officer slowly, after cautiously taking a brief look around, Gero only just noticed the insignia of the Das Reich and a formidable grin came across his face. “Herr Hauptsturmführer, ich wurden erzählt, diese Straßen zu patrouillieren. Ich fühle, dass ich mit gespielt werde, welches Recht Mann bedacht hat, würde erzählt werden, hier zu kommen?” He could only hope the patrol was a fake, a soldier’s mess about. Shifting onto his left booted foot, he tilted his head and looked at the officer almost admirably, but Gero was just trying to keep his back to the smell. “Ich sehe, dass sie Sie haben, laufend Botengänge auch Herr Hauptsturmführer…” Gero said jokingly, as if trying to reassure the Hauptsturmführer, he was not alone.

Loudly, two Jewish men began to scrabble against one another’s clothing, weakly scrapping for a fight in the middle of the street. Their mutton clothing dirty and ragged, mere beggars fighting over a pittance, but the Unterscharführer wasn’t so sure - his eyes glanced up towards some of the adjacent buildings and then smoothed off down the street, seeing a few Jewish people act a little too calmly? What were the filth planning!? “Wir erhalten am besten Bewegen…” the Unterscharführer said worryingly, taking a step backwards, looking around for an appropriate route to take, it seemed as if the Hauptsturmführer had just become a liability, but Gero was never one for leaving one of his own. He was a damn good soldier.


Translations:[/b]

Herr Hauptsturmführer, ich wurden erzählt, diese Straßen zu patrouillieren. Ich fühle, dass ich mit gespielt werde, welches Recht Mann bedacht hat, würde erzählt werden, hier zu kommen?
- Herr Hauptsturmführer, I was told to patrol these streets. I feel that I am being played with, what right minded man would be told to come here?

Ich sehe, dass sie Sie haben, laufend Botengänge auch Herr Hauptsturmführer...
~ I see they have you running errands too Herr Hauptsturmführer...

Wir erhalten am besten Bewegen...
~ We best get moving…

[∬: Gero A. Fritz]

Possible to close this please? If no one posts.
Thanks.

[∬Hartwig Kriegheld]

OOC: I hate to hijack your thread if you didn’t want it this way. However, I sort of need it to form Kriegheld’s psyche. Just for those other’s reading this. This post is not in any way written to offend or hurt others. I do not condone racial violence nor xenophobia; and this post may not be used as evidence for motivation of hate crime. The only way in which we can remember this dark period in history is by remembering all parts of it, not just the victories of the allies, but the dark victories of the Nazis.

The young man greeted Hartwig coldly, but soon warmed up after he noticed the Wolfsangel on Kriegheld’s collar. His cold face turned into a bastion of conversation once he realised Hartwig was in the same boat as he. The German officer looked around as the man spoke to him, gripping his Stg44 a little more tightly than before. As the young NCO was speaking, a small scuffle started in the middle of the street. The Unterscharführer took a few steps back before Hartwig could answer any of his questions. Fritz suggested that they leave the street after he watched the two men fight for a minute.

Suddenly, the Nazi in Hartwig rose up, “Welches Sie, Untersharführer sagen? Deutschmänner ziehen nicht vom jüdischen Schmutz in der Straße zurück. Folgen mich, Soldat,” he said as he pulled his Stg44 forward and began walking toward the fight that had now broken out in the midst of the calm passers by. Pulling out the whistle in his pocket, the Hauptsturmführer blew as hard as he could on the whistle to get the men’s attention. All the people around the brawlers moved away as they continued their scramble.

Feeling as if he nothing else, Hartwig stepped forward and pointed his Stg44 into the air, firing several rounds, bringing an immediate end to the fighting as all the people in the street dropped to the ground. “Hinunter dich Schweine halten, oder ich brenne deine Innere heraus durch. Unterscharführer, halten die gesamte Straße aus den Grund und brennen deine Pfeife einige Male durch. Das sollte den anderen Schutz bewerkstelligen. Was dich anbetrifft gehen zwei Stücke Scheiße, von dem Boden weg und stehen mit deinen Rückseiten in Richtung zu mir.„ Not a one moved from their position on the ground as guards began coming into the street after hearing the gunshots, flouting the need for a whistle.

The interruption had angered Hartwig for some reason unknown to him. With all the new guards now surrounding the Jewish scum on the ground, Hartwig was still the ranking officer in the street. A young Untersturmführer soon reported to Hartwig. The man was thin, tall, and blond. “Untersturmführer, nehmen diese zwei Männer vor mir und lassen sie Einfassung diese Wand nach links stehen. Ihre Störung wird nicht hier benötigt.” The lieutenant ordered some of his men to lead the two Jews to the wall of the building that stood to the left of Kriegheld’s standing. The two guards stepped away as Hartwig stood away from the Jews and brought his rifle to his shoulder preparing to fire.


Translations:
“Welches Sie, Untersharführer sagen? Deutschmänner ziehen nicht vom jüdischen Schmutz in der Straße zurück. Folgen mich, Soldat,”
~What say you, Untersharführer? Germans do not retreat from Jewish filth in the street. Follow me, soldier.

“Hinunter dich Schweine halten, oder ich brenne deine Innere heraus durch. Unterscharführer, halten die gesamte Straße aus den Grund und brennen deine Pfeife einige Male durch. Das sollte den anderen Schutz bewerkstelligen. Was dich anbetrifft gehen zwei Stücke Scheiße, von dem Boden weg und stehen mit deinen Rückseiten in Richtung zu mir.„
~Keep down you swine or I'll blow your insides out. Unterscharführer, keep the entire street on the ground and blow your whistle a few times. That should bring the other guards about. As for you two pieces of shit, get off the ground and stand with your backs toward me.

“Untersturmführer, nehmen diese zwei Männer vor mir und lassen sie Einfassung diese Wand nach links stehen. Ihre Störung wird nicht hier benötigt.”
~Untersturmführer, take these two men in front of me and have them stand facing that wall to the left. Their disturbance is not needed here.

[∬: Gero A. Fritz]

OOC: That’s fine, I thought this thread had finished more than anything. Glad it’s not. Perhaps you could help turn Gero into an SS man? He’s a simple soldier, does as he’s told, keeps his head down and ignores what business he can. It would be nice to get him a little more devilish.


Unterscharführer Fritz spotted a turn-off to the left, a mere twenty-odd yards away down the road away from the scuffling. As far as the Unterscharführer was concerned, the filth in the ghetto could deal with their own problems - he was quite happy to watch them kill one another, than be killed by himself or another German. It only fuelled the Jewish ambition to keep fighting, plus, the odds of overseeing buildings and conspicuous bodies lurking around the scrambling event didn’t look too kosher as the Jewish would say.

Turning, he took a step to lead the way, about to advise the Officer of the route they should take back towards the main entrance, when the man abruptly cracked his whip; Ordering that no German should back down - better still, he told him to follow. Hesitantly, Unterscharführer Fritz took a brief glance between the nearby turn-off and towards the Hauptsturmführer marching towards the scene, blowing upon his whistle. Grumbling beneath his breath, he quickly paced after the Officer and followed closely, his hand swiftly clunking back the bolt-catch on the gunnery to load the attached ammunition box beneath the barrel, with a round into the chamber.

Leaning back, to accommodate the weight of the heavy gunnery against his hip, he swerved the barrel off towards a few outstanding figures, hardly pulling a mean look for them to stagger backwards off their feet, making space. Looking towards the commanding officer, Unterscharführer Fritz nodded with a sharp “Jawhol, Herr Hauptsturmführer” from the order, as he took a few steps along the cobbled road, pushing down a few struggling Jews to understand what they should be doing. Gero wasn’t a devout SS-Nazi, but he done as he was told most of the time and the current situation required an intimidating posture for the compliance they required -- the Unterscharführer knew deep down what to expect of the outcome, but somehow hoped the man reasoned, rather than resorted to brutality.

Guards soon came pouring from out of all different directions onto their street, their pattering feet causing Gero to stiffen up as he watched them shove and push at the Jews. Looking back towards the Hauptsturmführer talking to another Officer, he inhaled quietly and adjusted the strap of the MG42 slung across his shoulder, allowing the heavy weaponry to just hang across his waist now the boy-scouts had arrived to provide a hand. Looking about, the Unterscharführer couldn’t help but realise he was the only ranking NCO, most of the guards were young lads, most likely from the Volkssturm.

Slowly, Unterscharführer Fritz made his way back towards his commanding officer, not exactly wanting to be disregarded as a petty guard if he could help it, as he was actually apart of the more renounced Waffen-SS of the Das Reich. In a strange way, he adored the insignia of the Wolfsangel, but didn’t agree with the regime. What had these men and woman done so wrong? Watching as the Jews were slung against the wall, Gero stopped a few meters from the Hauptsturmführer upon the moment he began to prepare his assault rifle for the occasion; Hesitantly, the Unterscharführer looked between the executioner and victims, before stepping forwards sharply to stand straight and spurt out “Herr Hauptsturmführer! Diese Männer kämpften um Speise, Haben sie kein Verbrechen Eingesetzt”, Gero boldly said, inhaling through his nostrils and he stood there, staring onwards, wondering why on Earth he had opened his mouth to a senior officer!? Perhaps it was guilt for being German or perhaps it was down to the fact he didn’t quite want to see them being murdered… He just hoped he wasn’t thrown against the wall with them.


Translations:[/b]

Herr Hauptsturmführer! Diese Männer kämpften um Speise, Haben sie kein Verbrechen Eingesetzt.
~ Herr Hauptsturmführer! These men were fighting over food, they have not Committed any crime.

[∬Hartwig Kriegheld]

Just as Hauptsturmführer Kriegheld was going to pull the trigger, a German voice split the air, calling Kriegheld before any action was taken. Keeping his rifle to his shoulder, the Hauptsturmführer turned his head to find the Unterscharführer he had been speaking with only minutes earlier. A small breeze came, waking Hartwig from his slight stupor from being interrupted in the midst of justice making. His trigger finger stiffened as he let go and lowered the weapon, turning toward the NCO that had spoken so stiffly and sharply. Frustration boiled the Hauptsturmführer’s blood as he took a few steps closer to the man. Speaking loudly enough that the Untersturmführer and the Unterscharführer could hear him, but softly enough that the rest of the street did not comprehend, Hartwig spoke in a gritty manner, the German tongue supplying him with words to announce his distaste.

“Unterscharführer, erlaube ich nicht einen aufrecht stehenden deutschen Mann, wie du solche Wörter äußerst. Du sprichst zum Schutze von diesen Männern, die vor uns auf der Wand stehen? Es gibt keinen Grund, so zu tun. Es sei denn, du ein Spion bist, oder ein schlechter, ein Jude beim Verstecken!” he said, almost snearing at hiss own thoughts, “ Nicht denke ich nicht an dich auf diese Art. Sie ist viel zu einfachem, das zu denken. Unterscharführer, diese Männer begehen ein Verbrechen im Augenblick und sie haben festgelegt, daß das gleiche Verbrechen vom Tag sie geboren waren. An diesem Moment verübt die meisten des Schmutzes in dieser Straße das gleiche Verbrechen. Sie können Nahrung von einander nicht gestohlen haben, aber sie stehlen Nahrung von dir, von meiner Frau, von meinem Sohn, jeder Deutsche, daß die Leben auf dieser Masse von diesen Schweinen beraubt wird.”

Turning from the man, Hartiwg look across the near-flat street that sprawled before him with the sprinkling of guards about it. He was fuming now, hoping that the NCO behind was petrified for the moment. Hartwig walked heavily back to the Untersturmführer that was standing about as if he were in control of the situation. “Untersturmführer,” Krigheld nearly screamed, “Wieviele Männer hast du hier in der Straße?„ The Untersturmführer looked up to Hartwig’s bright blue eyes and answered clearly, “Zwanzig, Herr Hauptsturmführer.” Hartwig nodded and turned his heaad back to look at Fritz. Turning his head back, he gave an order to the Unterssturmführer, “Gut, Hälfte deine Mann einen Gefangenen ihrer Wahl schnellstmöglich holen mir lassen.„

The junior officer went to his men and ordered them to gather prisoners. Ten of the men brought an assortment of Jewish prisoners to the clear area that Kriegheld was standing in. The SS men had brought six men, three women, and one child. The little girl was crying as she was brought forth. Kriegheld sneared and spat at the girl who only burst into more tears. It disgusted Hartwig to his core. He could feel the hate pumping through his veins. Looking toward the men that were still standing against the wall with their hands on their heads, Kriegheld brought his rifle up and pulled the trigger in one burst. The two men crumpled to the ground, leaving trails of blood against the wall. Kriegheld smiled with the hate that pulsed through him for some reason he could not understand. All he knew was that he hated these people that were standing before him, even the little girl.

Looking at the surrounding men, Kriegheld proceeded with the execution of the law. “Gesetzt ihnen gegen die Wand. Jetzt!” he yelled to the Schützen that stood holding the prisoners. Turning quickly to the Unterscharführer that stood behind him, Hartwig gave him the order, “Unterscharführer, kommen vorwärts. Du verwendest dein MG42; und du führst diese 10 jüdischen Schweine für dort Verbrechen gegen Deutschland durch. Du kannst auf ihnen abfeuern oder auf abgefeuert werden. Die sind deine Wahlen, ich boten thee, wählen klug.”

Translations:
“Unterscharführer, erlaube ich nicht einen aufrecht stehenden deutschen Mann, wie du solche Wörter äußerst. Du sprichst zum Schutze von diesen Männern, die vor uns auf der Wand stehen? Es gibt keinen Grund, so zu tun. Es sei denn, du ein Spion bist, oder ein schlechter, ein Jude beim Verstecken!”
~Unterscharführer, I will not allow an upstanding German man as you utter such words. You speak in defence of these men that stand before us on the wall? There is no reason to do so. Unless, you are a spy, or worse, a Jew in hiding!

“Nicht denke ich nicht an dich auf diese Art. Sie ist viel zu einfachem, das zu denken. Unterscharführer, diese Männer begehen ein Verbrechen im Augenblick und sie haben festgelegt, daß das gleiche Verbrechen vom Tag sie geboren waren. An diesem Moment verübt die meisten des Schmutzes in dieser Straße das gleiche Verbrechen. Sie können Nahrung von einander nicht gestohlen haben, aber sie stehlen Nahrung von dir, von meiner Frau, von meinem Sohn, jeder Deutsche, daß die Leben auf dieser Masse von diesen Schweinen beraubt wird.”
~No, I will not think of you in that way. It is much too simple to think that. Unterscharführer, these men are committing a crime right now and they have been committing that same crime from the day they were born. At this moment, most of the filth in this street is perpetrating the same crime. They may not have stolen food from each other, but they are stealing food from you, from my wife, my son, every German that lives on this earth is deprived by these swine.

“Wieviele Männer hast du hier in der Straße?„
~How many men do you have here in the street?

“Zwanzig, Herr Hauptsturmführer.”
~Twenty, Herr Hauptsturmführer.

“Gut, Hälfte deine Mann einen Gefangenen ihrer Wahl schnellstmöglich holen mir lassen.„
~Good, have half your men bring a prisoner of their choice to me as quickly as possible.

“Gesetzt ihnen gegen die Wand. Jetzt!”
~Put them against the wall. Now!

“Unterscharführer, kommen vorwärts. Du verwendest dein MG42; und du führst diese 10 jüdischen Schweine für dort Verbrechen gegen Deutschland durch. Du kannst auf ihnen abfeuern oder auf abgefeuert werden. Die sind deine Wahlen, ich boten thee, wählen klug.”
~Unterscharführer, come forward. You will use your MG42; and you execute these ten Jewish swine for there crimes against Germany. You may fire on them or be fired upon. Those are your choices, I bid thee, choose wisely.

[∬: Gero A. Fritz]

Eyes straight, chin up and arms tucked at his sides; Unterscharführer Fritz had never been so formal for any occasion, but why now? The Hauptsturmführer reluctantly dropped his iron sight and even more reluctant, approached the good willing Unterscharführer who couldn’t help but glimpse a look towards the senior Officer in the eye, who now stood before him. Thankfully, the Officer spoke quietly amongst them, as to not alert the Jews or bring a wrath of berating upon Unterscharführer in front of the fellow soldiers and guards alike.

Proclaiming Unterscharführer Fritz as either a Jew or Spy, he stiffened awkwardly to the assumptions and felt his head flush from the hot blood momentarily. However, the Senior Officer continued to talk and Unterscharführer Fritz remained formally straight, listening to the man’s banter upon the matter at hand. Strange enough, the Unterscharführer found himself mentally agreeing with the Hauptsturmführer’s point of view upon the matter; Stealing their food? Gero replaced the word with wealth within his own mind, he could relate to that matter. He was a simple barnyard-boy to his father’s farm before he became drafted into the German Army, so he was never spawned from a wealthy background, but that in it’s self made Gero wonder - was his father laid off work from the inner city due to his Jews all along? After all, they did own hotels, shops and even ran their own franchise of restaurants on the parade. Was it such a crime for the Germans to stick together, as the Jews had done all along; Stuck together, employing their own, helping their own…

Lowering his head the moment the Hauptsturmführer paid more attention to the Untersturmführer on rounding up more prisoners, he paid a penny to his thoughts and began to wonder quietly to himself. Were the Germans actually doing something genius all along, in ridding their country of the immigrant? He was too young to remember why his father started up the farm, but he did recall the memory of his mother complaining about the redundancies and lack of work in their small-village; It was even the Jew that introduced them to electronics in their quiet village, by opening up a radio store down their local street. Had Gero been so blind all along? As to the damage these immigrants were causing to their beloved nation. It didn’t answer the cause for murdering them though…

Returning to reality at the sound of the Hauptsturmführer’s assault rifle going off, he felt a deepening sorrow emerge, almost wanting to give in to his emotions and throttle himself physically at the Hauptsturmführer who’d murdered two helpless Jews scavenging for food; He couldn’t help but feel angry, they were immigrants to this nation, but did they deserve the death penalty? Slowly, his head twisted towards the Hauptsturmführer who beckoned him forwards, his feet taking the few steps onwards as if they had a mind of their own, his eyes glaring forwards, ignoring eye contact with the Officer as he ordered him to shoot the new-line up… Because of him speaking out, he’d cause the deaths of another ten…

Standing there, he swallowed hard and ever so slowly acknowledged to the Officer’s orders “Herr Hauptsturmführer”. Upon the hinds of his heels, he turned upon the spot and formally took a step forwards, as to not get the Officer by his side Accidentally caught in the line of his sight. Bringing his heavy gunnery around to his abdomen, he clutched at the hand grips and stared towards the victims lined up, the young girl crying her heart out amongst them. Pulling the bolt-catch back, he made sure the chamber was loaded, but really he was buying himself a little time, actually contemplating the thought of turning the gun on all the black-tunics watching him; But they were just thoughts, options.

“Vergeben Sie mich…” he murmured beneath his breath, as he gritted his teeth to pull on the trigger, feeling the gunnery kick against his stronghold as the bullets sped out of the barrel. Twisting his body, he swerved the barrel end of the MG42 along the wall slowly, watching as each one fell against the wall, with blood spattering up the brickwork in chunks from the rounds blowing holes through them, due to the close proximity. Closing his eyes as his barrel neared the little girl, he couldn’t bare witness to her death, as he merely waited for her screaming to stop, knowing she was dead, before he could open his eyes again. Letting go of the gunnery, he gagged silently, in fear that the Officer would notice his weak stomach and decide to toughen it up some more. So he stood there, bewildered by the gruesome sight of what he’d just done and stiffened a swallow, to slowly turn and face the Hauptsturmführer’s direction to say in an hardened voice; “Ich habe gemacht, als Sie angeordnet haben, Herr Hauptsturmführer”.


Translations:[/b]

Vergeben Sie mich...
~ Forgive me…

Ich habe gemacht, als Sie angeordnet haben, Herr Hauptsturmführer
~ I've done as you've ordered, Herr Hauptsturmführer

[∬Hartwig Kriegheld]

The German officer did not flinch as the Unterscharführer mowed the ten Jews down against the wall. His life flashed before him; the fighting for food in the streets, the savages he had killed to get ahead, the time he had spent scavenging for some bit of wealth all flew through his mind. Following his flashback, he remembered his first time meeting the Nazis. He had appeared at a small meeting where some man that worked for Adolf Hitler explained why Hartwig’s life had been so bad. The man that wore round wired-rimmed glasses and proudly displayed the Hockenkreuz armband had come speaking of the powers that were. He explained how the Jews held all the money in the economy and let none come down to the masses. He explained that the Jews had personally caused all the deprivation and depravity that had circulated throughout the German empire of old.

Snapping back to the present, Hauptsturmführer Kriegheld looked toward the zoung man that stood before him with a smoking machine-gun. Stepping forward, Hartwig looked toward the Unterscharführer’s face. “Unterscharführer, hast du die Aufträge abgeschlossen. Standplatz an der Mühelosigkeit” he said to the young man that stood before him. Turning to the Untersturmführer that was still waiting for orders, Hartwig gave him what he was expecting. “Untersturmführer, kannst du die restlichen Gefangenen befreien, nachdem ich verlassen habe. Einige von ihnen die Leichen herausnehmen lassen. Ich habe gerade eine Sache, zum zu ihnen zu sagen.„ The lieutenant ordered his men to stand the prisoners up. Kriegheld waited until all the Jews had their eyes fixed upon him. “Ich warne alle Juden, die in dieser Straße stehen. Nächstes Mal wenn es eine Störung in der Hauptstraße gibt, sind die Täter sofort Schuß. Von diesem Moment hat Untersturmführer Fätrig ein Mitglied des Ghettos schoß jede halbe Stunde 24 Stunden lang. Wenn ich dieses überhaupt wieder beschäftigen muß, ist die Strafe sicher schlechter.„

It was time to leave. Hartwig walked back to the Unterscharführer, silently bidding him to follow. All that could be heard during the dead silence as the German officer walked away was the clicking of his rifle magazine as he was reloading it coupled with the loud clacking of his jackboots. He found the gate of the ghetto. Two guards in the black Allgemeine uniforms stood in the guard boxes with K98s. Their faces were straight and unemotional; leading Hartwig to wish that humans could be the same way: heartless and cold. Standing outside the walled ghetto, the man admired the engineering of the system. He could walk about the ghetto and do anything he wanted, regardless of whatever ramifications. His heart longed for battle as he thought of killing the two men against the wall. He would prefer killing an enemy that could have even the slightest chance of defending themselves. The Jews on the other hand, were weak. They had allowed themselves to be captured and put into the position thaey were in.

It was too hot for comfort in the street that looked down the outer wall of the ghetto. Hartwig smiled at the wall despite the heat. He was glad to see that his life long enemies had finally been captured and put into their rightful places; moneyless servants to German will. He did not know what had stopped him from killing every person in the street. Perhaps it was the expectation that they could be tortured longer if they remained alive? The one-minded German thought no longer over the issue as he waited outside the gates. He wanted to speak with the young man he had ordered to kill ten Jews. He wanted to know the man he had ‘saved’ from the Jewish lust of life. All that went through his mind now was securing the future for Germany.


Translations:


Unterscharführer, hast du die Aufträge abgeschlossen. Standplatz an der Mühelosigkeit.
~Unterscharführer, you have completed the orders. Stand at ease.

Untersturmführer, kannst du die restlichen Gefangenen befreien, nachdem ich verlassen habe. Einige von ihnen die Leichen herausnehmen lassen. Ich habe gerade eine Sache, zum zu ihnen zu sagen.
~Untersturmführer, you may release the remaining prisoners after I have left. Have some of them take the corpses out. I just have one thing to say to them.

Ich warne alle Juden, die in dieser Straße stehen. Nächstes Mal wenn es eine Störung in der Hauptstraße gibt, sind die Täter sofort Schuß. Von diesem Moment hat Untersturmführer Fätrig ein Mitglied des Ghettos schoß jede halbe Stunde 24 Stunden lang. Wenn ich dieses überhaupt wieder beschäftigen muß, ist die Strafe sicher schlechter.
~I warn all Jews that stand in this street. The next time there is a disturbance in the main street, the perpetrators will immediately be shot. From that moment, Untersturmführer Fätrig will have one member of the ghetto shot every half-hour for 24 hours. If I ever have to deal with this again, the penalty will surely be worse.

[∬: Gero A. Fritz]

Standing there, Unterscharführer Fritz tried to block out the vivid image of the strewn bodies a mere arm’s length away, one of them twitching as the nerve-endings sparked throughout the limbs and torso, the poor brain of the once innocent civilian, unable to comprehend it’s death. It was slightly ironic really, as Gero didn’t want to shoot them, but now he wished he done a slightly better job - swiftly killing them with a higher strafe across the head and shoulder region, rather than the body; The thought of the pain they must’ve endured before they slumped down lifelessly, made the Unterscharführer cringe inside. No one deserved a brutal death as that… But orders were orders.

Standing at ease, he folded his hands up behind his back and nodded to the request of being able to slacken his posture somewhat. The weight of the MG42 baring down upon his shoulder was taking it’s toll a little, particularly the burden of carrying such a mean piece of machinery that was looked upon as barbaric in some instances; This being one of them. Quietly watching the Officers shuffle about, before an announcement was made amongst the Jews to behave, Gero couldn’t help but notice some of the weary looks he received from a few Jewish people silently moving the bodies nearby, whilst being shoved and pushed by the soldiers commandeering them to hurry up with their tasks. Their looks strived a devious anger towards the man, looks that bid a silent “I’ll remember your face…”.

Catching a slight glimpse of the Hauptsturmführer make a gesture for him to follow, Unterscharführer Fritz couldn’t help but scrunch his nose a little as the Officer turned his back to walk towards the direction of the entry gates. Was this really how the SS performed, day in and day out? If so, Gero was contemplating a way out, the lure of special privileges over the Wehrmacht suddenly didn’t seem worth it; The Unterscharführer was a simple soldier, respected those who knew what they were doing, obeyed a majority of the orders and behaved a little cockily at times - but overall, he was a soldier, nothing more! What he’d gotten himself into now, seemed a little deeper than he’d anticipated…

Holding a hand at his MG42, he quickly walked after the Hauptsturmführer, looking to his feet now and again as to not tread on a dead rat or step on a piece of human fesses. Eventually he reached the gate and nodded to the soldier standing guard in the booth; Adjusting the strap on his shoulder, he quietly stepped over towards the Hauptsturmführer’s position and hardly looked at him as he spoke. “Herr Hauptsturmführer, es etwas sonst Sie haben erbeten von mir?” he asked in a curious tone, hoping he wasn’t overstepping the mark of being a little curious, he was a Unterscharführer of the ranks, it was only right as an NCO he at least earned the minor respect of being answered; If only the respect was for the rank. That seemed to be Gero’s current track of thought, he was only respecting the rank, nothing more…

He hardly knew the man in the uniform and from the small acquaintance they had, it soon became apparent the man was quite despicable with his belief for a cleaner Germany. Gero could only relate halfway, as he didn’t quite understand the meaning of murdering them; It seemed a little cowardice in his eyes, but he was after-all, still in the frame of mind as a simple soldier.


Translations:[/b]

Herr Hauptsturmführer, es etwas sonst Sie haben erbeten von mir?
~ Herr Hauptsturmführer, was there anything else you requested of me?

[∬Hartwig Kriegheld]

Silence resounded throughout Hartwig’s mind as if a loud bomb had gone off near him and left his ears ringing only to have them stop in a short pop. It was the sound that comes as the crowd in a stadium quiets to watch as a football flies into the air nearing the last seconds of the game with only one more point needed to tie. Every memory of impoverishment and street-battle came back to him. His life played itself before his eyes: the digging for food, the fighting for food, the killing of other boys on the street in order to dominate the area as a gang leader. He remembered the first time he had ever killed someone on purpose. He had been thirteen.

The Hauptsturmfüher remembered the time he had first killed a Jew. He remembered the exact date and time. It was the hardest thing he had ever done. But now, he knew it was for good cause. He knew that the ideology he had become a part of was right in that it protected the people he loved. Every time he pulled his gun on a Jew, he remembered his family. He remembered the bright blue eyes of his children. He remembered the smile his wife had when Hartwig brought in enough money to put butter on the dinner table.

The lone man snapped back to life when he heard the echoing voice of the man he had just made acquaintance with in the typical SS way. Hartwig paused a few seconds before he fluidly turned to look at the man that stood before him in the black SS uniform. “ Nicht Unterscharführer, habe ich nichts anderes, von dir anders als einen kleinen Antrag zu fragen. Mich am 2. SS Training Feld treffen. Ich wünsche dich mit meinen Männern arbeiten.„ It was a simple request that the man would be obliged to fulfil.

Life was so simple now. Hartwig was glad he no longer had to worry about death. He knew now that men such as the one standing before him would turn into the monsters they needed to be to preserve the German way of life.

Translation:

“ Nicht Unterscharführer, habe ich nichts anderes, von dir anders als einen kleinen Antrag zu fragen. Mich am 2. SS Training Feld treffen. Ich wünsche dich mit meinen Männern arbeiten.„
~No, Unterscharführer, I have nothing else to ask of you other than a minor request. Meet me at the 2nd SS training field. I want you to work with my men.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

Moderation Post:

Closed by request. Nice posts btw.

The following CP has been issued:

Kriegheld - 13CP

Fritz - 13CP

-JT