Let me see you sweat!

[nazariobattista]

Nazario smiled maliciously as his gaggle of new recruits dragged themselves through the 10 kilometre run around the barracks. He hadn't seen much action recently and he was taking all his bottled-up frustrations out on his privates. To Nazario, he was doing them a favour, toughening them up before Wolfram did it for them. To the privates, it was basically a crude form of torture and the air was inevitably blue with German swear-words.

Nazario was, he grudgingly accepted, extremely impressed by the resilience and determination of a number of his new recruits, notably young Gino Vitan, an eighteen-year old Italian from Tuscany. He was leading the pack by a good twenty metres and had hardly broken out in a sweat. Yes, breathed Nazario. This was what he was looking for.

"Vitan!" called out Nazario. "Come here!"

Vitan obeyed his Commanding Officer obligingly and jogged up to Nazario's side with an enthusiastic salute.

"Heil Hitler," he grinned in a thick, almost stereotypical accent. "What is it sir?"

"Keep up the good work, Private," said Nazario simply, gesturing for Vitan to continue his run. The private flushed a bright shade of puce and continued his run, overtaking a couple of bright eyed German companions within a couple of seconds.

It was a chilly day and the coat wrapped around Nazario's shivering form was useless. Nazario imagined it was even worse for his privates but for them it was character building. For him it was just cold. The Italian hoped that he would find some company within the next half hour or so. The enjoyement of bossing the privates about had diminished and he was bored. Maybe someone else would lighten up the atmosphere...

[☤Theodorijk Wijzemens]

Doctor Vlakte looked around the Division hospital. Friedhold and Scherbaum were cleaning the operating facilities and Private Schumacher was bringing in the cases of morphine they had taken from the Red Cross. Doctor Vlakte decided he wasn't going to watch over them; they were trustworthy enough to do there jobs well. He headed out of the hospital and walked to the officer's kitchen to get some tea. He arrived and put a tea bag in his cup of hot water and stewed it as he walked out.

Doctor Vlakte heard loud yelling and cursing behind the barracks in the the training field. He walked around the barracks, curious to find where the loud swear words were being hurled from. He found Lieutenant Battista's Comapany running the 10kms around the barracks. He slowly walked up behind Lieutenant Battista drinking his tea. Once he got up to the Lieutenant, he looked to him and smiled "Guten morgen, Herr Obersturmführer. Wie sind Sie?" He looked back to the soldiers running. There was one leading the rest of the group. He looked young and strong.

[Leon Wolfgang]

From almost out of no where, Leon came storming up along the track, running at a pace that was almost sprinting or charging! The Flight Lieutenant breathed hard and panted in continuous sessions of breaths as he ran along, dressed in training gear; he wore a black fitted T-Shirt and casual training bottoms (not shorts). His legs were throwing back and forth with long strides, the noise of his breathing loud as he sucked in air through his teeth and breathed out even harder, the hard pumping of his heart causing all of his body to flourish into a rosy red heated look. He was doing aerobics and building up his heart and respiratory System that was vital for his thrilling role as a Flight Lieutenant; even when sitting the war out in the cockpit, he himself and his follow wingmen had to keep fit - if not fitter than the average soldier.

Storming up behind the bulk of slow SS-Soldiers toddling along, the Flight Lieutenant bitterly began to run straight through them, pushing them aside a little as he parted through their bodies, grumbling beneath his breath somewhat as he eventually pushed through the bulk of grouchy men being put through the paces -- a couple of them grumpily insulting the Flight Lieutenant beneath their breaths, as their hot and bothered bodies dragged along the track. He couldn’t blame them for getting a little uptight, but the Flight Lieutenant knew the importance of staying ahead and this average lot just got in his way…

Kicking his legs out beneath him again to pick up the speed of his fast running, he began to close in on a couple of the stronger soldiers in the flock. Grinning to himself, he panted hard and swooped his hands up and down either side of his body as he sprinted, his whole body in motion as he passed some of the lingering stronger soldiers, before eventually he seemed to slowly break free of the motley SS-Crew trotting along behind him, of course, they’d be able to run longer, as the worn out Flight Lieutenant’s body struggled to keep up with the sprinting pace he was trying to maintain - his hair flailing about his head as he caught the cold wind in mid flow to his running.

“Ha, My Cousin Wolfram has such un-fit Men! Wait Until my Father hears of this!” he thought to himself proudly, as he slowly began to drop his pace, wiping his forehead with his arm ruggedly from the sweat as he slumbered off the track onto the greenery, leaning down against his knees a little as he cleared his throat to spit onto the grass, grinning just like his cousin Wolfram with that devious smile as the SS-Men slowly caught up, passing by him.

[nazariobattista]

Nazario caught sight of the newly assigned doctor as he strode up to him elegantly. The Italian had heard good things about him. How he had laughed when he had heard of the way he had treated that buffoon Golodkowski! If someone had managed to burst his bubble, then he was certainly worthy of Nazario's respect.

"I'm well, doctor, never you mind," grinned Nazario. "But you won't find anyone to treat around here. Well, unless I get bored and decide to shoot this slovenly bunch!"

As if to demonstrate this, several exhausted privates who were all clustered at the back stopped almost simultaneously and doubled over clutching their sides.

"Get moving!" bellowed Nazario.

The privates looked close to tears but still battled on, fighting commendably against the powerful winds and the irresistible urge to just stop running. Within seconds, the weakest group of all were charging into the lead, terrified of any more rebuke from their Commanding Officer.

Suddenly, a new figure emerged amongst the masses and began to lead the pack. Nazario didn't recognise him but he certainly wasn't SS. The Italian didn't put much though into it. Perhaps it was an associate of Wolfram's just trying to show off.

Nazario turned back to the doctor at his side.

"Obersturmführer Nazario Battista," he smiled, holding out a well-manicured hand for the doctor to shake. "I am in your debt, sir. I've been waiting for someone to deal with Golodkowski for quite some time!"

[☤Theodorijk Wijzemens]

Doctor Vlakte had definately earned himelf some credit in the unit by shooting Golodkowski down. He put his cup in his left hand and shook the awaiting hand of Lieutenant Battista and smiled, "my pleasure to do the unit such a favour." He looked out to the field and saw the soldiers running. They were indeed straggling. Dieedrik thought Schutzschtaffel soldiers were supposed to be among the best. He was sadly dissappointed with this group's physical shape.

He turned back to Battista, "Herr Obersturmführer," he said in his usual polite and direct tone, "I've seen my share of battle, even as a doctor. I was caught behind enemy lines in Russia; and it was running that got me out of there alive. This group desperately needs some help. Actually, in my studies of the human muscular system, I found that certain exercises work better tha others for the legs. Running is good practise for running, but try some squatting to get their legs stronger for all sorts of jumping and running. In the unit I was in before this, the soldiers called the exercise the 'shit steps.'" The doctor gave a large grin. The soldiers were refering to the position one takes when using the latrine in the field.

He gulped down the last of his tea and pulled his hands softly behind his back and looked on as the soldiers continued to struggle in the field.

[Leon Wolfgang]

Quietly watching as the SS-Soldiers trampled past, Leon shared a half glazed and distant stare between the curious and a few aggravated men that glared towards his general direction. He couldn’t help but grin to himself as he watched them, winking provokingly and cheekily as they continued to slumber along, it seemed as if the great SS; His cousin’s well renowned Division wasn’t up to scratch after all. The thought made him laugh a little beneath the concealment of his breath, oh what a funny thought… He almost had the urge to scream out “INCOMING!” and watch their reactions as they’d most likely run and dive into the nearest pot-hole they could find.

Standing idle for a moment, another two figures caught the lisp of his eyes as he curiously looked over to what seemed to be two Officers. Perhaps one of them was this motley crew’s commander? Or his dear cousin himself. Concealing that trademark devious family grin beneath his lips, Leon brushed his hands down himself and coughed a little as he briskly began to make his way towards the two Officers who seemed to be having a polite acquaintance of sorts, one of them dressed a little more formally, a tunic he hadn’t really seen much around the barracks before; it was a medical stature, but what rank he wasn’t too sure.

Approaching closer, the Flight Lieutenant stopped a few feet away before speaking, as to not scare them or take them by surprise - for all he knew, he could be walking into a private conversation. “Heil Hitler--” he smugly said in a quick respectful salute, nothing major or grand, before stepping a little closer to smile towards the two well dressed men and stand there, almost like a grubby thorn in their sides. He was dressed in training gear and looked a little dirty from the running, sweaty anyhow. “Herr Obersturmführer, you wear the Wolfs-angel insignia of the Das Reich! Second Panzer Division” he said in more of a statement, rather than curiosity as he roughly pointed towards his collar insignia, before smiling widely to mutter out “What a privilege”, as if it were a little more sarcastic rather than meaningful.

Leon wasn’t here to stamp upon their parade, more gloat and see how his Cousin’s division was fairing. Glancing between the two men, his eyes caught wind of the Medical Officer wearing the wolfs angel insignia too. Has his cousin really shot up through the ranks so quickly, that he had such wealthy ranking Officers beneath his command? “Ar, forgive me, I’m Oberleutnant (Flight Lieutenant) Leon Wolfgang, of the Luftwaffe” he said proudly, making sure they knew he was a flight lieutenant, rather than werchmart lieutenant, but he didn’t offer a handshake…

[☤Theodorijk Wijzemens]

As Doctor Vlakte and Lieutenant Battista had their conversation, Dieedrik looked over to see a man in training uniform running up to the two officers. It was the man who had run up through the ranks of Battista's company. Upon coming up to the officers, he gave the Nazi salute and came closer. He pointed out Battista's SS Panzer insignia and smiled. Doctor Vlakte recognised the smile, or grin more like. He couldn't place it to anyone though. He returned the mans salute with a quick raise of his old hand and said, "Heil" in an uncertain manner. He was still no Nazi, and he disagreed with many of the der Führer's policies. He looked at the two Lieutenants next to him, Oh how young they are, I must be at least 20 years older than these two, he thought to himself. It was a slight exaggeration, but he knew what he was thinking.

The man introduced himself aas Lieutenant Wolfgang, stressing he was Luftwaffe and not Heer. Doctor Vlakte nodded his head slightly and smiled back to the young Lieutenant. He replied, "Guten Morgen, Herr Oberleutnant. I am Doctor Vlakte and this is Obersturmführer Battista," he said, introducing the Italian lieutenant, "Might I ask, what is a Luftwaffe pilot doing in an Armoured SS headquarters camp?" He tried to speak politely, but he was still somewhat surprised by the sudden interuption. He still kept a straight face, not wanting to offend the fly-boy.

[nazariobattista]

The newcomer jogged up to Nazario and Vlakte with a confident, perhaps even arrogant grin. The Italian suddenly realised where he recognised him from. He was the spitting image of Captain Wolfram himself! Perhaps this was his elusive cousin...

"Heil Hitler," he grinned cockily. Nazario returned the salute shortly, pausing only for the doctor to do so as well. He seemed less confident in the salute and merely muttered "Heil,".

Nazario knew his uncertainty. He had no intention of hailing a German dictator. He was Italian! But he had learned that it was these tiny gestures that earned you favour with the higher-ranking Nazi officers. They loved hearing the salute. And Nazario was willing to pay any price to rise to the top of the ladder, even if it was one he didn't particularly want to climb.

"Ah, forgive me," said the newcomer with a flourish. "I’m Oberleutnant Leon Wolfgang, of the Luftwaffe,”

Memories came flooding back. So this was Wolfgang. Many a night the barracks had been alive with tales of the brave pilot's escapades. Nazario reasoned he should direct a good deal of respect towards Wolfgang; he was after all his Commanding Officer's cousin. But he had insulted the division. Nazario decided to keep quiet for now but he was determined to best the young pilot in some way before the end of the night.

[Leon Wolfgang]

Standing quietly, he slowly folded his hands up behind his back and stood with that firm furrow look his cousin most likely would’ve done - it wasn’t done on purpose, just instinct when faced with two fellow officers, particularly as the more superior of the two began to speak. “Guten Morgen Ihnen auch --” he slipped out, with a crooked smile, nodding towards the Medical Officer and his the Obersturmführer as they were introduced, before replying to his question at hand. “I am here on business” he simply stated, before slipping out that crooked smile again, his head tilting ever so slowly as he watched a the SS-Soldiers continue to run along in the short distance.

Looking towards the Obersturmführer quietly, he observed the Officer’s derailment into thought momentarily, which made Leon ponder if he knew the connection between himself and their Commanding Officer - Rafael was never one for talking about his family, even when he’d bumped into him a few times on duty, he’d barely taken any notice to Leon. It seemed as if his Dear Cousin may’ve just succumbed to being a true blooded brother of the SS, rather than his real family after all. The Flight Lieutenant couldn’t help but sigh beneath his breath a little, he certainly knew their Commanding Officer well and he also knew Rafael hadn’t replied to any of the letters sent from his true remaining members of his family… The men before him were most likely his true family now, they seemed to share a distant edge devoted to the SS, or so it looked by their stature and insignia; the collar and lapels.

“So, how are the soldiers doing Herr Obersturmführer?” he curiously asked the Italian, before re-phrasing himself a little “There are rumours of the Das Reich to see combat in the forthcoming weeks, without any Luftwaffe support - Klänge primitiv” he muttered out towards the end, knowing without air-support on such a big frontier, they could be inevitably crushed. He could only pray his Cousin had the brain cells to acquire some artillery reinforcements, it only took a good string of enemy detailed co-ordinates to get them crushed either by enemy artillery or the beloved British RAF… Eh, scoundrels they were.

[nazariobattista]

“So, how are the soldiers doing Herr Obersturmführer?" questioned the Flight Lieteunant innocently. "There are rumours of the Das Reich to see combat in the forthcoming weeks, without any Luftwaffe support - Klänge primitiv,"

"Our numbers have swelled in recent months, my friend," answered the Italian. "All the men you see before you are new recruits, fresh for battle. And there's plenty more from where they came from. The details of the mission are confidential, Lieteunant, but I will tell you this, it is extremely far from primitive."

[☤Theodorijk Wijzemens]

Doctor Vlakte watched as the Flight Lieutenant questioned the upcoming battle. He felt uncomfortable now, watching the a conversation that seemed to have a decadent souring underneath. Dieedrik thought it best to leave; he had to check that the morphine was in anyway. Before leaving, he turned from the field and looked to the two Lieutenants. "Well, I must be leaving now. It was good have met the two of you, but I have to get to the med-tent. Wiedersehen"

He turned toward the camp and went to the officers' barracks to deposit his aluminium mug before he went to the field hospital to get the drugs and equipment in order.

[PuNk! ™]

Moderation Post: CLOSED (Due to Inactivity)[/b]

Following CP has been issued;

Dr. Vlakte: 6CP
F.Lt, Wolfgang: 6CP
Lt, Battista: 6CP

~Danny[/color]