A Man on a Mission...

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

OOC: I’ve been looking through some old Neutral threads, and have based this on an older one. This thread is mainly aimed at Wolfram; I want to get acquainted, but others may join if they are interested.

Strumfelder rushed through the posh and well crafted quarters. Past the crackling fires of the cold day, under the large and imposing pictures of Prussian commanders. The note that his hand contained was strictly not for his eyes, but its subject had a direct link to him, one that few knew about. The man it described, had been a close friend of Erhard during his youth in Milan. That’s what shocked him. But he couldn’t reveal this. Protocol dictated that a medic could not have any social connection to the patient he was treating. If Erhard was discovered to know this man, he would certainly be pulled from the situation, and most likely face a reprimand. But Erhard wanted to treat him, and in the state the soldier was in now, he certainly wasn’t going to give Erhard away.

The Medic picked up his pace to a small jog, becoming very conspicuous in the process. He passed into a long corridor, worth of a Berlin library, and head for the desk at its end. Erhard brushed and knocked into people who could squash him when it came to ranks, but he didn’t care. The old bastards wouldn’t be able to catch up with him anyway.

Erhard’s boots clapped the marble floor faster and faster as he neared the desk. A short, dark haired secretary sat behind a small mound of paperwork, at the mahogany desk. She glanced up at the middle aged man as he stood, out of breath. “Ja...?” she questioned. “Sturmbannführer Wolfram,” Erhard panted. “Wo ist Sturmbannführer Wolfram? Ich muss ihn sehen.” She pondered for a minute, seeming trying to remember the man. Oh for fuc... Erhard thought. He didn’t need this! “Hoher Mann? Angemessenes Haar? Ich denke, dass ich ihn kenne. Versuchen Sie den Salon.” She said at length. “Danke!” Erhard snapped in return.

He turned and sprinted up the polished steps towards the first floor. He dashed towards the bright room, and slipped into it, splashing scolding coffee down the front of an Untersturmführer’s uniform. He yelled back, but once more Erhard ignored it. He looked around the large room desperately for the man, but he was missing. Strumfelder checked his watch. He only had minutes. The medic muttered under his breath. “Verdammen Sie Wolfram. Wo sind Sie?”



Translations:

“Ja...?”
~ Yes...?

“Sturmbannführer Wolfram,”
~ Major Wolfram,

“Wo ist Sturmbannführer Wolfram? Ich muss ihn sehen.”
~ Where is Sturmbannführer Wolfram? I must see him.

“Hoher Mann? Angemessenes Haar? Ich denke, dass ich ihn kenne. Versuchen Sie den Salon”
~ Tall man? Fair hair? I think I know him. Try the drawing room

“Verdammen Sie Wolfram. Wo sind Sie?”
~ Damn you Wolfram. Where are you?

[∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram]

Resting his hands against the beam of cold twisted steel, strung across the length of the window with a very decorative ivory pattern sculptured throughout, the Sturmbannführer exhaled a mellow sigh and observed the mingling and moving figures below. A few gentleman acquainting at a newspaper stand, their eyes cold and their lips sealed, as they half heartedly shook one another’s hand; Then a young woman dressed and drowned in her red frock came clicking her heels down the cobbled road, an elegant hat resting at the tip of her crown, complimenting her every desiring looks, then a daunting and husk voice came rolling up the back of the Sturmbannführer’s neck, almost causing his toes to curl from the humidity of the rough spoken voice.

“Sturmbannführer Wolfram, Sie sind keinen Tag gealtert! Har!”[/I] snorted out the middle aged Oberführer, who straightened his back upon the mere sight of Sturmbannführer Wolfram. The all familiar crooked smile folding upon his lips and the greying blonde hair strewn across his weary head, a fine dinky kiss curl forming at the middle of his forehead. “Ah, Herr Oberführer Reyner! Sie schauen gut an” spoke the Sturmbannführer as he turned around to face the fellow senior officer, about to raise his hand in the common and respectful fashion of saluting the officer, but found his hand being taken mistakenly as a handshake from the slow hesitation made upon Sturmbannführer Wolfram’s behalf - Grasping the man’s hand, Rafael half smirked and shook it with a strong grip that the Oberführer set the standard for, almost causing Rafael’s hand to turn blue at the fingertips.

“Sturmbannführer Huh? Sie waren nichts mehr als ein Untersturmführer, als ich das Vergnügen gehabt habe treffend von Sie,”[/I] but the Sturmbannführer grimaced a little at his good memory and the days that dear Wolfram himself made many mistakes - “Ja wie ich könnte, vergesse. Wenn es nicht für Sie herr Oberführer Reyner war, dürfte ich mehr als ich mich sorge ausgepeitscht worden sein, sich vorzustellen. Es war nicht leicht für einen jungen Offizier, die Rücksicht der Männer zweimal sein Alter, jetzt zu verdienen, können Sie stolz sein für Erheben ein erfolgreicher Kommandant vom Da Reich!” proudly spoke the Sturmbannführer, who for once, actually smiled as he done so. Oberführer Reyner nodded firmly, letting go of Rafael’s hand after a long stronghold upon it, proud that he had made the right decision in keeping young Rafael Wolfram in the SS; The early days of Wolfram’s SS-Career, wasn’t too bright to begin with, who would’ve thought that?

As the Sturmbannführer retracted his numbed hand, someone urgently swung the main doors open and knocked a Untersturmführer’s beverage over in the process. Squinting his eyes some, Rafael briskly slipped out “Entschuldigen Sie mich,” as he brushed past a few of the inhabitants in the room, holding his finger up towards an eager guard, ready to remove the interrupting man. “Mediziner; Sie tragen das Da Reich wolfsangle, Sie suchen Doktor Vlakte?” he questioned curiously, making it his business, considering the man was apart of his division; As the Sturmbannführer spoke, he tucked down his black uniform dress and quietly watched the male.



Translations:

Sturmbannführer Wolfram, Sie sind keinen Tag gealtert! Har!
~ Sturmbannführer Wolfram, you have not aged a day! Har!

Ah, Herr Oberführer Reyner! Sie schauen gut an.
~ Ah, Herr Oberführer Reyner! You are looking well.

Sturmbannführer Huh? Sie waren nichts mehr als ein Untersturmführer, als ich das Vergnügen gehabt habe treffend von Sie.
~ Major Huh? huh? You was nothing more than a Second Lieutenant when I had the pleasure of meeting you.

Ja wie ich könnte, vergesse. Wenn es nicht für Sie herr Oberführer Reyner war, dürfte ich mehr als ich mich sorge ausgepeitscht worden sein, sich vorzustellen. Es war nicht leicht für einen jungen Offizier, die Rücksicht der Männer zweimal sein Alter, jetzt zu verdienen, können Sie stolz sein für Erheben ein erfolgreicher Kommandant vom Da Reich!
~ Yes, how could I forget. If it was not for you herr Oberführer Reyner, I may have been flogged more than I care to imagine. It was not easy for a young officer to earn the respect of men twice his age, now, you can be proud for raising a successful commander of the Das Reich!

Entschuldigen Sie mich
~ Excuse me

Mediziner; Sie tragen das Da Reich wolfsangle, Sie suchen Doktor Vlakte?
~ Medic; You wear the Das Reich wolfsangle, are you looking for Doctor Vlakte?

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

Within a few seconds of searching, and making a quite a sceptical of himself, Erhard spotted the C.O. making footsteps towards him. This was the first time Wolfram and Strumfelder had met face to face, but Erhard had little time for pleasantries. A man was on the very brink of death as he stood here as nothing more than a mere courier. He could greet Wolfram later on, maybe even share a drink in the local bar, but, for now, he needed to get this job done and return to his patient. Erhard expected he was very close to losing a good friend. Curse those French bastards!

“Nicht Herr Sturmbannführer. Doktor Vlakte ist auf Urlaub, zum Besten meines Wissens.” Erhard spoke quickly, wanting to answer the officer’s question fast, but not without respect. The Major looked imposing, more so than Erhard had imagined. He wondered if he was one of these die cast Nazis. Erhard though of himself as a loyal man, but he wasn’t into politics in the way that some SS men were. Anyway, half of what you were told about politics was just propaganda. Erhard just took each day as it came and lived in the times. What else could he do?

He handed Wolfram the sealed note. “Vor drei gours, war Sturmbannführer Fleischer vom SS-Logistik-Korps im Befehl eines Konvois, der zwischen Reims und Lille sich bewegt. Der Konvoi assualted durch eine Maquis Widerstandzelle, unter Verwendung der Molotowcocktaile. Nur Fleischer und zu anderen Männern machte ihn lebendig aus. Eins ist bereits tot und Fleischer hat Brände des dritten Grads über fünfundsiebzig Prozent seines Körpers erlitten. Diese Anmerkung dort ist ein kurzer Report des Angriffs.” Erhard explained, glancing down at his watch, checking the time. “Er hat appparently eine Mitteilung, die er nur mit Ihnen spricht.” He gave that a second to sink in.

“Wenn Sie ihn sehen möchten, müssen wir uns beeilen. Er hat, möglicherweise eine Stunde, gibt oder nimmt.” Erhard sighed slightly, and fought away any depressing thoughts. He was a professional. He needed to get his job done. He could mourn later. Strumfelder looked into the Major grey blue eyes, waiting for an answer.



Translations:

“Nicht Herr Sturmbannführer. Doktor Vlakte ist auf Urlaub, zum Besten meines Wissens.”
~ No, Herr Sturmbannführer. Doctor Vlakte is on leave, to the best of my knowledge.

“Vor drei gours, war Sturmbannführer Fleischer vom SS-Logistik-Korps im Befehl eines Konvois, der zwischen Reims und Lille sich bewegt. Der Konvoi assualted durch eine Maquis Widerstandzelle, unter Verwendung der Molotowcocktaile. Nur Fleischer und zu anderen Männern machte ihn lebendig aus. Eins ist bereits tot und Fleischer hat Brände des dritten Grads über fünfundsiebzig Prozent seines Körpers erlitten. Diese Anmerkung dort ist ein kurzer Report des Angriffs.”
~ Three hours ago, Major Fleischer from the SS Logistics Corps was in command of a convoy moving between Reims and Lille. The convoy was assaulted by a Maquis resistance cell, using Molotov Cocktails. Only Fleischer and two other men made it out alive. One is already dead, and Fleischer has suffered third degree burns over seventy five percent of his body. That note there, is a short report of the attack.

“Er hat apparently eine Mitteilung, die er nur mit Ihnen spricht.”
~ He apparently has a message, which he will only speak to you.

“Wenn Sie ihn sehen möchten, müssen wir uns beeilen. Er hat, möglicherweise eine Stunde, gibt oder nimmt.”
~ If you wish to see him, we must hurry. He has, maybe an hour, give or take.

[∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram]

It hardly took a moment’s breath from the Doctor opposed in front of him, that he had not travelled to acquaint Doctor Vlakte, to scorn a suspicious and paranoid behaviour; Sturmbannführer Wolfram stood agitatedly upon the thick heels of his black leather boots, waiting for the bad news to be delivered - Has his beloved son Wolfrick been a casualty unto’ the recent Allied bombings in Berlin or Munich? He wasn’t quite sure where his sister had taken young Wolfrick, it had been weeks since he last received any letters from his young heir or anyone else for that matter in tow.

Then, forth came the sealed envelope, perched between the nimble fingertips of the Doctor’s grip. Reaching out with a tepid flourish of blood taking to his body, the Sturmbannführer couldn’t help but feel flustered as he grasped the envelope, expecting the worse; Ironically however, the news made him feel better. Young Wolfrick and Anna must be fine, the postal workers must be slackening. “Sturmbannführer Fleischer…?” he questioned with a faint voice, trying to recall the face against the name from his long winding memory - Of course, Fleischer. The two of them served together during the event of Dunkirk, pushing from Nieuport to Furnes against the British Expeditionary force crumbling beneath their Panzer-Elite, of course, some of their superiors at the time had very little judgement upon mistakes - Which earned poor Fleischer a transfer into Logistics. He didn’t seem very battle ready.

Breaking his manicured looking thumb beneath the stamped seal, he broke the envelope open and immediately pulled out the folded parchment of paper to begin reading. His eyes half glanced towards the Doctor explaining the situation, as he read the brief detailed report of the incident at his hands. “Er wünscht, mit mir zu sprechen?” he subsided with a curious tone, hastily folding up the document to scruffily shove into his chest pocket, wasting no more precious time with their formal antics. “Kommen Sie, werden wir mein Zundapp nehmen”, adjourned the Sturmbannführer as he strode past the Doctor hastily, whilst keeping a plank of wood neatly tucked up his back - a straight posture never hurt anyone in his eyes and he’d been slapped across the knuckles enough to know otherwise when walking through the Reich Head-Quarters, at any given turn.

OOC: Forgive me if you see this as god-moding, but I feel as if we may become stuck posting simple tasks for ages if this isn’t done. By all means, ignore this next half if you’d rather control the walk of your own character.

The clicking of his leather strapped boots echoed down the long narrow corridor, his body strafing and keeping to the left stretch of the walk along the corridor, watching as a few busy bodies hurried by with paperwork. “Welches Krankenhaus ist er in Doktor? Vivantes Humboldt Vivantes Klinikum” he asked questionably over his shoulder towards the Doctor, throwing a couple of answers into the mix. Quickly moving down the large open staircase, the Sturmbannführer continued to hurry along, completely ignoring a Untersturmführer who suddenly stopped, almost causing Sturmbannführer Wolfram to flinch as he loudly clacked his feet together onto the marble flooring and threw his arm up with a “Heil Hitler!”[/b]. He was nothing buy a boy, perhaps seventeen.

Moving past the young and eager buffoon who made a mockery of their fuhrer with his child-like charisma when saluting, Sturmbannführer Wolfram stepped outside and quickly paced towards his Motorbike and Sidecar parked a matter of yards away outside of the building. “Wir müssen nehmene Mehringdamm, der Gestapo nur hat aufgestellt Wachen hinunter dort vermeiden und wir haben keine Zeit, zu verschwenden”, he said in bitter advice, the rattling of his keys soon taking over the talking, as his nimble pale fingers pulled them from his pocket.



Translations:[/b]

Er wünscht, mit mir zu sprechen?
~ He wishes to speak to me?

Kommen Sie, werden wir mein Zundapp nehmen
~ Come, we'll take my Zundapp

Welches Krankenhaus ist er in Doktor? Vivantes Humboldt Vivantes Klinikum.
~ What hospital is he in Doctor? Vivantes Humboldt Klinikum‎, Vivantes Klinikum Neukölln‎...

Wir müssen nehmene Mehringdamm, der Gestapo nur hat aufgestellt Wachen hinunter dort vermeiden und wir haben keine Zeit, zu verschwenden.
~ We'll have to avoid taking Mehringdamm, the Gestapo have just set up sentries down there and we have no time to waste.

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

OOC: When it comes to walking or moving around, I don’t mind the God-Modding. Otherwise it would take us years to move a matter of feet, like you mentioned.
This is a little short. Not much I can do if your driving.

Erhard examined the bike. It was hard to imagine an officer riding a motorcycle, with his goggles pinned to his face, and the wind rushing through his hair. The black vehicle looked like it belonged more to fire blooded teenager, like the fanatic they’d seen just a second ago. Wolfram seemed the last person to own one. But as long as it was fast and reliable, Erhard was happy. He clambered into the small sidecar, and removed his cap, before delving downwards and removing a pair of goggles, with a tight leather band. He slipped them over his forehead, fixing them to his eyes. “Fleischer ist am Birkenwerder Flughafen. Sie waren, ihn gerade zu fliegen hier, aber er fing an, mittleren Flug des Bluts haemorrhaging, also landeten sie ihn dort. Persönlich ich habe nicht schon gesehen ihm; Mir wurde die Mitteilung durch einen Eilboten gegeben und erklärt, gerade hier zu kommen und Sie zu erhalten.”

The medic turned in his seat and looked for his Kublewagen, just visible behind a small out building. Technically, it wasn’t his, rather he’d ‘borrowed’ it from the medical motor pool about a month ago. It was a nice, little jeep, which Erhard had begun to develop some affection for. He’d send some one to pick it up for him later. Right now, Wolfram was right, speed was required over ride comfort at present. Erhard hadn’t ridden on bike for months, and the last time he was in control, he’d ended up in a storm ditch. It was a long story which really didn’t need recalling soon.

Translations:

“Fleischer ist am Birkenwerder Flughafen. Sie waren, ihn gerade zu fliegen hier, aber er fing an, mittleren Flug des Bluts haemorrhaging, also landeten sie ihn dort. Persönlich ich habe nicht schon gesehen ihm; Mir wurde die Mitteilung durch einen Eilboten gegeben und erklärt, gerade hier zu kommen und Sie zu erhalten.”~ Fleischer's at Birkenwerder Air Base. They were to fly him straight here, but he began haemorrhaging blood mid flight, so they landed him there. Personally, I haven't seen him yet; I was given the message by a courier and told to come straight here and get you.

[∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram]

The Zundapp was a mean black and rustic grey, smeared with grease and soot along it’s mid-engine, which would’ve obviously astounded any fine German gentleman on looking towards a Sturmbannführer; Dressed to the nine pence, saddling such a mean piece of German engineering, commonly referred and compared too a Wehrmacht soldier’s toy, rather than a Gentleman’s comfortable pleasure. In this case, it was a guilty pleasure of the Sturmbannführer; Getting his hands riddled with grime from the sweat-ridden handles and his boots cluttered with black soot. Maybe he wasn’t so gentlemanly as most sought him to be?

The Doctor quite happily climbed in without question, informing him upon the location of dear Fleischer. Sturmbannführer Wolfram hadn’t anticipated such an atrocity to occur to such a old friend, particularly upon his transfer to the Logistics Corp; What the man preyed to tell Sturmbannführer Wolfram was something else he couldn’t quite fathom out. “Stimmen Sie, es sollte nicht nehmen uns irgendein längeres zu als mehrere Minuten mit einer Route ich habe in Gemüt”, his mouth felt dry as he spoke, but soon moistened a mouthful of saliva to swallow, whilst his hands made busy work with a rear leather pouch hanging from the exterior of the Zundapp.

Unravelling a pair of dark leather gloves, he hastily put them on and pulled out the thick, large goggles that’d been shoved down inside the pouch. With a firm grip and a sharp twist to his wrist, the Sturmbannführer pulled off the Officer’s Cap tightly hooked down to his skull, placing it atop of the seat momentarily. Stretching the band and yanking the goggles down over his face, the Sturmbannführer even quicker with his nimble fingers, plastered the Officer’s Cap back onto his thick skull, screwing it down for comfort and grip against his dirty shade of blonde hair beneath. Straddling his uniformed leg over the height of the Zundapp to wriggle down unto the opposing foot-rest on the other side, he leveraged himself onto the motorcycle and jingled his keys off towards the ignition, ramming into the key lock with a fine twist emitting from his wrist again, followed by his hands outstretching onto the handlebars for an appropriate grip.

“Vergewissern Sie sich, um Ihren Mund zu behalten, hat geschlossen, habe ich den harten Weg gelernt” he said in a fine piece of advice, before kicking his leg down to give a full hardy rev’ to the engine first time, the clacking of the pistons revealing a fine piece of German engineering. Leaning back to check the road behind, the Sturmbannführer unhooked his foot from the plated rest sticking out, to unlatch the metal rod stabilizing the stagnant vehicle. Replacing his foot onto the ground to take it’s place, he kicked from off the cobbled road, suppressing a deal of pressure against the handle/accelerator, pulling away almost with an instant edge in comparison to the Kublewagen.

Roaring from the exhaust, the Zundapp sped down the cobbled road, with it’s driver - Sturmbannführer Wolfram leant forwards to manhandle the handlebars with a greater deal of strength. Swerving off down a side road, a bounce erupting to the vehicle as it passed over a manhole covering, but the motorcycle already began to show it’s greater advantage and reasoning for being invented, due to the fact, the narrow road could barely inhabit no more than one vehicle at any given time. Steering from out of the side road and into an adjacent alley, the Zundapp curved around an Italian Café outstretched with rubbish from it’s rear, almost knocking what seemed to be a waitress from off her feet in the process, who was having a quiet break and cigarette. The woman jumped as the Zundapp’s mean clacking engine came brassily breaking wind into her general direction, but the Sturmbannführer held a mean composure that stated “Move or be hit” - the woman hurled an incoherent volley of verbal abuse as they zoomed past, kickimg a blast of fumes into her gob in the process.

Another couple of turns and an outstretched piece of speeding down a long straight road and the Sturmbannführer was slowing as they approached the tollgate to the Birkenwerder Airbase, with a guard approaching them from the booth quite casually. “Herr - ich werde eine Identifikation, vom sie beiden müssen sehen”[/I] he announced with a smirk, a long raincoat draped from his shoulders. “Wir haben für dies nicht die Zeit! Offen das Tor! Eile!” he barked out, impatiently edging forwards as the guard hesitated, but out of sheer intimidation flagged a soldier to open it - Without a breath, the Zundapp sped into the airbase. Pulling up into a consecutive bay, he cared little for the manner of parking and began to untwist the ignition key to climb from off the bike, looking to the Doctor with one simple order and request. “Schnell, nimmt mich, zu den ihn Verfälscht”.


OOC: You may control Wolfram there and such, sorry for the long post. Wanted to make it interesting. Sorry for any mistakes also, it is now 3:25am here.



Translations:[/b]

Stimmen Sie, es sollte nicht nehmen uns irgendein längeres zu als mehrere Minuten mit einer Route ich habe in Gemüt.
~ Okay, it should not take us any longer than several minutes with a route I have in mind.

Vergewissern Sie sich, um Ihren Mund zu behalten, hat geschlossen, habe ich den harten Weg gelernt
~ Make sure to keep your mouth closed, I learnt the hard way

Herr - ich werde eine Identifikation, vom sie beiden müssen sehen.
~ Herr - I will be needing to see some identification, from the both of you.

Wir haben für dies nicht die Zeit! Offen das Tor! Eile!
~ We haven't the time for this! Open the gate! Hurry!

Schnell, nimmt mich, zu den ihn Verfälscht.
~ Quick, take me to him Doctor.

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

The Major’s driving threw Erhard’s organs from one side of his rib cage to the other. After one of Wolfram’s shortcuts, Erhard momentarily closed his eyes. It would be kinder on his trousers. They rocketed over cobbles, and sped around the corners. If the rumours were correct, this must be how this rather cool man lets off any excess steam. It was punishing on the stomach, and on every bump the Medic was sure they were flying the next few feet. It was absolute madness, but a small, youthful part of Erhard was loving every single second. A bike might just be what his next pay check was going to end up on.

They swung through the gates, which Wolfram seemed to snap his way through, and promptly parked. Erhard stepped out of the small metal box and admired it. He ripped the goggles from his head and tossed them back into the side car, and reached in for his small hat. Placing it neatly on his head, and dusting his top half down, he orientated himself. They’d entered via a different entrance, the west gate opposed to the north, and it took the medic a second to place their location. He nodded to Wolfram and they set off.

They had to pass a row of three large hangers, one of which was having a large Messerschmitt wheel out. The crew shouted at them, but Erhard pressed on. This was the last time that they needed to get into an argument. The past a few more large structures, until Strumfelder finally sighted the imposing concrete building that served as the Airbases’ medical centre. Erhard could even pick out the window which belonged to Fleischer’s room. Not that he was going to look out of it anytime soon.

They passed into the building via two large doors and sped past reception. The building was split into four floors. The first two were for standard airmen, the next for officers, and the top was just individual rooms instead of wards, providing more privacy and comfort. You had to have a high command, and a large wallet to gain one, but it was luxury compared to the others. The pair of men attacked the stairs and scaled them all the way to the top floor. After navigation a long series of corridors, Erhard finally found the room. He knocked gently on the wooden door before entering.

Several men were collected around the bed. Erhard looked from one man to another and wasn’t surprised to find he was the lowest ranked man. A medical officer stood at the bedside, going by the name Geist, which suited his current complection. The room was silent, except for the slow tick of a wall mount clock, counting down to the moment of death. Erhard had forgotten what the stench of burnt flesh was; the single most putrefying odour known to man. Fleischer was lying completely flat, which appeared to be most comfortable for him. As the door shut behind the Major, the source of the stench moved pushed himself up slightly.

He was a disgusting sight, the right half of his face was bright red, blistered and in places black. There was no sign of an ear. He was unable to open his eye, but could see out of the other. “Wolfram, ist es Sie?” he questioned slowly. His one good eye then fell on the medic. “Erhard...?”

[∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram]

Unhitching his legs from the mount of the Zundapp, the Sturmbannführer hastily removed the goggles and hung them upon the left handlebar, before somewhat with perfection, twisted the flat-cap back upon his thick skull to nestle against the fine fragments of blonde hair beneath. His pearly blue eyes observed Mr Strumfelder with curious intent, expecting him to lead the way, in which he did so abruptly, slightly causing the Sturmbannführer to trip against his own feet, working his way around the Zundapp to quickly beckon a follow - hot upon the man’s heels.

It hardly took the man a moment to fathom out their whereabouts and gain a suitable detailed lead within the structure of the airbase. As they marched along with a quickened pace, Sturmbannführer Wolfram made idle play with his gloved hands, removing the digits individually with every step from between their leather confines. Eventually, he’d plucked all the finger tips from out of the confining glove-ends, almost like he were plucking rose petals from off a limp stem, before finally he’d removed the black leather gloves altogether, the palms worn and frail around the edges.

Ignoring the passing comments from a few airmen and the diabolical heavy machinery that could fly for the Fatherland, he was soon brought to apparent life as they set their gazes upon a medical centre. Shuffling up behind Mr Strumfelder as they passed through the double doors, he couldn’t help but feel the illuming scent of death upon their entry - the smell of anaesthetic and cleanliness bringing back unwanted memories and distant ones. Even the reception had an odour of “To clean for my liking”, the burly young woman with her clipped up hair phasing a daggered stare towards them, upon their passing towards the steep staircase. The Sturmbannführer could only smirk, knowing fully well that they were trespassing upon her grounds, without consulting the crooked nose woman of their business first…

Finally folding the gloves he carried for the journey, he slipped the wrist-ends into his left tunic pocket and allowed the fingertips to drape from the opening. His pale hands rubbed together comfortingly as they moved from out of the stairwell and into the corridor, the apparent smell of flowers and diesel drifting in through the ajar windows along the corridor, overlooking the long strip of hangars and what seemed to be a small courtyard of flowers and benches for the patients to relax or wander; Better still, a secluded place for the bad news to be delivered. Stopping at one of the doors, Erhard pushed in and almost grimaced at the smell, which in turn caused Sturmbannführer Wolfram to embrace himself upon slowly walking in behind. The smell was putrid to say the least.

Stopping aside the doorframe, the Sturmbannführer caught the looks from the several men cascaded around the bed. His white hand travelling to the visor of his flat-cap to numbly grip, already feeling a little high from the smell of anaesthetic in the room. Pulling his flat-cap from off his head, the Sturmbannführer quietly glanced towards Erhard who’d brought him here, almost mentally relishing the fact that the man hadn’t quite built him up for what he was about to witness. Cradling the Officer’s cap beneath his left armpit, he looked towards the weak and frail monstrosity of what was left of poor Fleischer. “Ich bin hier, Rest guter Freund” he softly spoke, approaching the bedside cautiously, feeling the other patrons part gradually, to accommodate the new body. “Ja ist Erhard hier auch --” he slipped out to answer the weak man’s question, looking back towards Mr Strumfelder briefly.

Placing his hands upon the cold steel rail, he tried not to imagine what had happened to the man before him. “Deshalb bin ich erzählt, dass Sie wünschen, mit mir und sonst niemandem zu sprechen. Was ist es, den Sie liebem Freund erzählen müssen?” he questioned of his own, watching the man, expecting the worse.

Translations:[/b]

Ich bin hier, Rest guter Freund.
~ I am here, rest good friend.

Ja ist Erhard hier auch --
~ Yes Erhard is here too --

Deshalb bin ich erzählt, dass Sie wünschen, mit mir und sonst niemandem zu sprechen. Was ist es, den Sie liebem Freund erzählen müssen?
~ So, I am told you wish to speak to me and no one else. What is it you must tell dear friend?

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

OOC: I made a few changes to the plot we discussed, so it fits better later on.

“Ah, Wolfram,” Fleischer wheezed. “Wolfram, mein lieber Freund. Sie haben kaum, geändert von, an was ich mich erinnere. Ich habe… Ich habe etwas Nachrichten für Sie. Sie erklärten mir, wo einmal Sie aufwuchsen. Ich hatte es vergessen, bis ich von es wieder hörte. Norden von München, ja? Thalhausen. Es gibt eine große Gruppe Widerstandskämpfer um dort. Für Monate jetzt, denken wir, dass die kommunistische Armee sie Versorgungsmaterialien fallen gelassen hat. Gewehre, Explosivstoffe, sogar kleine Jeeps. Sie ließen sie auf den Gebieten um Thalhaussen fallen. Eine Nacht sendeten wir eine kleine Patrouille nach ihnen, die in das Dorf stationiert wurden.” The man let out a long and hoarse cough. Erhard could smell it was not just the outside of his body that had taken a beating.

Every man in the room listened, waiting intently for the Major to continue his story. “Sie fielen aus. Jedes von ihnen wurde getötet, und ihre Körper verstümmelten schrecklich. Es war nur der Next day, als die Leichen entdeckt wurden, indem es Kindspielte. Diese Nacht, anscheinend bei zwei o' stoppen Sie morgens ab, wurde jedes resisdent aufgeweckt, und gezwungen aus steuert heraus automatisch an. Sie hatten keine Verteidigung jetzt. Es gab ungefähr fünfzig Kämpfer, mehr, als wir überhaupt existiert gedacht hatten.” The Major coughed again. His voice was becoming harder and harder to use, but he was determined to finish. “Jedes wurden Frauen, das alte howerever, sogar die Mädchen, geraubt. Die Häuser wurden unten abgestreift und bedeckt im Benzin und im Alkohol vom lokalen Stab. Jede Person, ausgenommen man in diesen Stab Zwangs war, der noch große Fässer im Keller hatte. Die Kämpfer warfen Fackeln durch die Fenster und verriegelten die Türen. Die eine Person, die sie verließen, und älterer Mann, wurde im Bein mit einer Pistole geschossen und entleert auf die Schritte des Rathauses. Er war die Person, der ich dieses alles von erhielt.” He relaxed slightly, and lowered his head, showing he had finished. But now he did something that shocked Erhard.

His eyes fixed on the Medic’s and he smiled slightly. “Gut was gibt es zu Erhard? Genießen Sie Sie llife, beide von Ihnen, Sie verwirklichen nicht, wem leicht es weg von Ihnen geschnappt werden kann. Folgen Sie Ihrem Herzen, finden Sie eine Ursache und folgen Sie ihr zum Ende.” As he spoke, his eyes moved between the two men. Finally, they dropped onto Wolfram. After thirty seconds they hadn’t twitched.

Geist leaned over the man, and drew his hand over the face, halting the ‘Dead Man’s Stare’. Strumfelder looked down at his watch, making a mental note of the time of death.



Translations:

“Wolfram, mein lieber Freund. Sie haben kaum, geändert von, an was ich mich erinnere. Ich habe… Ich habe etwas Nachrichten für Sie. Sie erklärten mir, wo einmal Sie aufwuchsen. Ich hatte es vergessen, bis ich von es wieder hörte. Norden von München, ja? Thalhausen. Es gibt eine große Gruppe Widerstandskämpfer um dort. Für Monate jetzt, denken wir, dass die kommunistische Armee sie Versorgungsmaterialien fallen gelassen hat. Gewehre, Explosivstoffe, sogar kleine Jeeps. Sie ließen sie auf den Gebieten um Thalhaussen fallen. Eine Nacht sendeten wir eine kleine Patrouille nach ihnen, die in das Dorf stationiert wurden.”
~ Wolfram, my dear friend. You have barely changed, from what I remember. I have... I have some news for you. You once told me where you grew up. I had forgotten it, until I heard of it again. North of Munich, yes? Thalhausen. There is a large group of resistance fighters around there. For months now, we think the communist army has been dropping them supplies. Rifles, explosives, even small jeeps. They were dropping them in the fields around Thalhaussen. One night we sent a small patrol after them, who were stationed in the village.

“Sie fielen aus. Jedes von ihnen wurde getötet, und ihre Körper verstümmelten schrecklich. Es war nur der Next day, als die Leichen entdeckt wurden, indem es Kindspielte. Diese Nacht, anscheinend bei zwei o' stoppen Sie morgens ab, wurde jedes resisdent aufgeweckt, und gezwungen aus steuert heraus automatisch an. Sie hatten keine Verteidigung jetzt. Es gab ungefähr fünfzig Kämpfer, mehr, als wir überhaupt existiert gedacht hatten.”
~ They failed. Each of them was killed, and their bodies mutilated terribly. It was only the next day when the corpses were discovered, by children playing. That night, apparently at two o'clock in the morning, every resident was woken, and forced out of there homes. They had no defence now. There were roughly fifty fighters, more than we had ever thought existed.

“Jedes wurden Frauen, das alte howerever, sogar die Mädchen, geraubt. Die Häuser wurden unten abgestreift und bedeckt im Benzin und im Alkohol vom lokalen Stab. Jede Person, ausgenommen man in diesen Stab Zwangs war, der noch große Fässer im Keller hatte. Die Kämpfer warfen Fackeln durch die Fenster und verriegelten die Türen. Die eine Person, die sie verließen, und älterer Mann, wurde im Bein mit einer Pistole geschossen und entleert auf die Schritte des Rathauses. Er war die Person, der ich dieses alles von erhielt.”
~ Every woman, however old, even the girls, were raped. The houses were stripped down, and covered in gasoline, and liquor from the local bar. Every person, except one was forced into that bar, which still had large kegs in the cellar. The fighters threw torches through the windows, and locked the doors.
The one person they left, and elderly man, was shot in the leg with a pistol, and dumped on the steps of the town hall. He was the one who I got this all from.

“Gut was gibt es zu Erhard? Genießen Sie Sie llife, beide von Ihnen, Sie verwirklichen nicht, wem leicht es weg von Ihnen geschnappt werden kann. Folgen Sie Ihrem Herzen, finden Sie eine Ursache und folgen Sie ihr zum Ende.”
~ Well, what is there to Erhard? Enjoy you life, both of you, you do not realise who easily it can be snatched away from you. Follow your heart, find a cause, and follow it to the end.

[PuNk! ™]

Moderation Post:[/b]

The following CP has been issued;

CPT. Wolfram: 20CP
~ Great display of writing and we're starting to find out a little more about Wolfram...

DR. Strumfelder: 20CP
~ Once again, a great display of writing and descriptive skill!

~Danny[/color]