The Smouldering Recluse

[Angelus Wolfram]

Location: Frontline settlement in France.
Time: Noon (1205hrs)
Weather: Clear-skies, sunny spells.

OOC: This is open to one good role player to join immediately. PM me for more details on the story, it’s an improvised plot, but I do have milestone targets in store for the storyline.


A four truck convoy rumbled noisily across the open French terrain, spearheading it’s way onward to a small established frontline settlement to counter the Allied advances any further into mainland France. Hauptmann Wolfram still retained the Wehrmacht captaincy rank, despite his recent transferral to the Blitzkrieg command of the Schutzstaffel’s 3rd Armoured division. More than likely than not, they hadn’t the time to deliver his new uniform or lapels in such a disastrous state the Germans had found themselves in since the Allied fools had decided to take on the German might. It caused little problem however, the rank stood for it’s self and commandeered the same respect in all lime-light of the Schutzstaffel’s branches.

The convoy came to an abrupt halt half a mile just outside of town, the small frontline settlement they were sent to garrison and defend against the Allied push. Angelus spurred an impatient look to the driver sitting next to him who was driving the lead truck of the convoy and bringing their convoy to an unnecessary halt, or so Angelus had thought. “Heer, schauen Sie!”[/I] the driver commanded with urgency to his voice and pointing the flat of his index finger onto the windscreen in front of himself and toward the settlement’s distant location. Angelus squinted his eyes through the varying light of the peeking sun behind the few random clouds and gazed into the distance where the soldier pointed; smoke, plumes of thick black smoke billowed like musk clouds from the settlement’s location and headed skyward to where it faded into the blowing afternoon breeze.

Gasping with shock, perhaps awe, Angelus immediately went rigid within his seat and began to feel his fingers go cold from the shock of what he was witnessing. Had the Allies already advanced this far!? Had they claimed the settlement for themselves? Maybe this was just the doing of their artillery or aerial bombardment? Something to be expected from the advancing Allies, they weren’t about to run into heavily fortified positions without weakening their opposition first. All these thoughts parried through his mind within split-seconds, something that came to feel a lot longer to Angelus as he sat idly in shock, deliberating his next - their next - plan of action.

-Tap-Tap-Tap!- A rapping on the window sucked Angelus from out of his temporary idleness and back to his senses. Standing outside of the truck’s door and tapping on the window with the rigid corner of his square-framed silver SS-Thunder Bolt ring was an SS-Obersturmführer looking rather unimpressed and nonchalant with the Hauptmann’s silence. Rolling down his window, Angelus looked to the subordinate officer whom spoke first. “Heer Hauptmann, oder werde ich Sie Hauptsturmführer jetzt nennen?”[/I] he remarked with a cold tone to his voice, but didn’t bother waiting to be corrected by his senior officer as he continued to speak of their current situation at hand. “Ich schlage vor, dass wir die Straße sofort Heer beseitigen und eine Aufklärungsmannschaft ausdenken, um die Ansiedlung zu untersuchen. Ich vermute, dass es unter der Verbündeten Kontrolle jetzt sein würde”[/I] the Obersturmführer said with a subliminal tinge of telling his superior what to do, before he even had a chance to survey the situation for himself.

Angelus knew the smouldering coming from the settlement could easily have just been the ruminants of a well aimed artillery barrage or aerial bombing, opposed to a direct land invasion. “Obersturmführer schlage ich vor, dass Sie sich in Ihren Lastwagen zurückbekommen. Die Ansiedlung könnte nicht durch Alliierten angegriffen worden sein, weil die Verbündeten das tief in Frankreich noch nicht vorgebracht haben! Das ist wahrscheinlich die Nachwirkungen ihrer Artillerie oder Luftbombardierungen, Sie können für sich selbst sehen, wie klar die Himmel heute sind.” Angelus berated and levelled a reasonable excuse all within one breath. He was taking a gamble, it wasn’t as though he was a hundred percent certain of what he was saying, but the radio had been silent for most of the day and no reports of Allied activity this deep into the French mainland had been reported; the Allies were still firmly miles away, but their artillery had been reported of making it this far inland and there was plenty of aircrafts aloft on clear days like these, so he was adamant in his recluse of a decision, just not totally sure.

The subordinate officer returned to his truck with a drag to his heels, but Angelus knew he had to retain the chain-of-command, perhaps prove himself to the men. He was a new commander to them, they had little reason to trust his judgement as of yet and this was the first real test to his commandership, he just hoped he wasn’t wrong on this occasion. After a brief moment, the convoy continued to trudge it’s way towards the small town and German settlement half a mile away. It wasn’t only Angelus who was feeling apprehensive…


Translations:[/b]

Heer, schauen Sie!
- Sir, look!

Heer Hauptmann, oder werde ich Sie Hauptsturmführer jetzt nennen?
- Heer Hauptmann, or shall I call you Hauptsturmführer now?

Ich schlage vor, dass wir die Straße sofort Heer beseitigen und eine Aufklärungsmannschaft ausdenken, um die Ansiedlung zu untersuchen. Ich vermute, dass es unter der Verbündeten Kontrolle jetzt sein würde.
- I suggest we clear off the road immediately Heer and devise a reconnaissance team to inspect the settlement. I suspect it would be under Allied control now.

Obersturmführer schlage ich vor, dass Sie sich in Ihren Lastwagen zurückbekommen. Die Ansiedlung könnte nicht durch Alliierten angegriffen worden sein, weil die Verbündeten das tief in Frankreich noch nicht vorgebracht haben! Das ist wahrscheinlich die Nachwirkungen ihrer Artillerie oder Luftbombardierungen, Sie können für sich selbst sehen, wie klar die Himmel heute sind.
- Obersturmführer, I suggest you get yourself back into your truck. The settlement couldn't have been invaded by Allied forces, because the Allies haven't advanced this deep into France yet! It is probably the aftermath of their artillery or aerial bombings, you can see for yourself how clear the skies are today.

[Tristan Herman]

Two trucks behind the Hauptmann, sitting in the rear of an Opel amongst his squad was a young man, some twenty years younger than the senior officer seated a short way ahead. His hair was black, and a bit long for regulation on top. His face sported a number of small scars from burns and shrapnel; nothing particularly attractive or heroic in appearance. His hazel eyes were focused intently upon the floor, seemingly tracing the intricate detail of the wooden surface beneath his feet, clothed with the standard issue leather boots of the Wehrmacht. His name was Tristan “Lächeln” Herman; a Stabsgefreiter.

Lächeln, or, Smiles, was outwardly, reminiscing on the various places he had been. Everywhere had gone to get to this specific point in his life. Four years ago, he wasn’t far from this spot, geographically. He was nineteen, with a certain untapped vigor that was now displayed in almost every last action he partook. He had entered the war with the thought that they would win without effort. That they had everything in their grasp and that Germany would have spread its modernized, progressive arms across the entire continent, and far into Russia. Instead, he had fought in three separate theaters, and experienced countless setbacks and defeats at the hands of the advancing allies. He had been shot, stabbed, set on fire, blown up, bombed, punched, thrown, and battered in every conceivably possible fashion. And here he was, back in France.

And for the first time in, well, a long time, Jace wasn’t by his side. He was elsewhere, fighting some other fight against some other enemy. Perhaps he was still on the Ostfront, or maybe somewhere in France as well.

Not many tried to understand the relationship Jace and Lächeln had. It wasn’t of the atypical or unnatural kind, simply peculiar. A Wehrmacht and a Schutzstaffel enlistee, arm in arm, thundering across the no-man’s-lands of Europe. They rarely left each other’s side after so many years; it had to have been some kind of divine intervention that the two were not separated for much longer than a few days, with a month, give or take, being the longest the duo had been out of contact. Now? It had been four. Four months without a word from the Strumman. Tristan didn’t know to be worried or thankful; perhaps he had been discharged, and was finally away from this self-inflicted Hell. On the other hand, perhaps he was in a ditch somewhere between Kursk and Berlin. It was hard to forget the man you had spent days with under heavy artillery fire Stalingrad.


Just enough of a rabble had aroused when the trucks stopped for Lächeln to snap out of his thoughts. The men around him---a squad of unfamiliar greenhorns---were beginning to rise and peek out the back of the Opel, craning their heads around either side to try and discern the cause for the halt in their advance. There was a brief mention of smoke, of the Obersturmführer talking to the Hauptmann ahead, and how impatient they were to arrive at the camp. It was, in fact, enough to push Lächeln to his feet. He pulled some of the Schutzes away from the rear of the vehicle, and leaned out the back, the bright sunlight hitting his face with intensity, forcing a squint.

Ahead was, as gather from murmurs, several billowing plumes of black smoke. The only things that burn black are petrol and rubber, and German vehicles contained both more often than not. Of course, it could always be a crashed plane of either side, or simply a burning petrol dump, and so on. But they were just under a kilometer from the camp. And the Allies, while unlikely in having advanced so far forward in so little time, were not exactly known for hasty assaults. They maintained momentum, but their strikes could not exactly be supported with enough infrastructure to make a concerted, penetrating thrust so quickly. After all, they had not landed so long ago, and there was still opportunity to press them back into the sea. At least, Lächeln hoped so.

Nonetheless, his gut told him to expect the worst, as was usually the better road to travel; set your standards low, and you’ll be much happier when things are only half as bad as you anticipated. He began to check and prime his weapon upon returning to his seat, just as the convoy lurched back into motion.

[Angelus Wolfram]

OOC: You will see later in my post that there is a first section and second section; you may choose which you would like to be in.


The convoy pushed onwards, snaking it’s way around the small winding dirt-road that traversed it’s way around the uneven fielded terrain. Now and again one of the Opel Blitz trucks within the convoy could be heard churning as the driver fought feverishly to ram the burly beast into the correct gear, the gear-box grunting as it reluctantly shifted momentum and pressed the convoy into a steadied pace. Nonetheless, the convoy remained strong and on target, headed directly and bespoken for towards the small German settlement, without fear, with courage and maybe foolishness…

Hauptmann Wolfram wasn’t about to jeopardise the convoy or feverishly order the men to their deaths. No, but he wasn’t one for taking the slow route when such simple logic suggested complete alternatives than a full Allied assault had occurred on the town; the smouldering emitting from the settlement had to be abundantly something else, there were thousands of possibilities and Hauptmann Wolfram sifted each tactical result and possibility through his calculated mind. None of them suggested an Allied invasion, advance or infantry/tank assault and the Hauptmann’s fears slowly resided temporarily as they drew closer to the settlement.

Tapping the driver next to him with a vigorous patting to his arm Angelus silently signalled for the truck to be stopped, the convoy to be halted as he busily stared out of the windscreen and off towards the settlement a stone’s throw ahead. Before them now laid a straight piece of road that lead directly into the settlement, a gateway to the village, a mere cobbled road that now signified their proximity to the ruminants of the unknown. The settlement was comprised of a dozen various buildings, multi-level housing ranging between ground floor stone mason bungalows to three-story chateaus with a balcony or veranda framing the more elegant residents. A church, like most well built villages in Europe, laid within the heart of the established town like a centrepiece to the local folk; this is where the German occupying headquarters was supposed to be, with most of the grand chateaus within the settlement used as garrisons for the soldiers and the lesser buildings used for ammunition and weaponry stockades.

The Hauptmann had been to the settlement a month or two previously, so he knew his way around well, but even a mere couple of months could have had large changes within the settlement, so he prayed most had stayed the same during his absence. Opening his door, he leapt down from the side of the truck’s cab and rallied himself quickly towards the back of the truck hastily. His polished black jackboots clacked against the stone cobbled road as he made haste in his movement to the rear of the Opel Blitz truck, with one of his hands signalling to the trucks behind to scarper their vehicles and join him; it didn’t take long for the arrogant Obersturmführer to be the first exiting his truck and make haste towards the Hauptmann’s position, a wry grin spread across his once emotionless face.

As soon as most of the men had gathered upon the Hauptmann’s position, he outlined their small plan of action. Amongst the group of soldiers were a varied mixture of Wehrmacht and Waffen-SS soldiers, a strange attachment to be seen with both military organisations to be working together, but they were all German at heart nonetheless and the Hauptmann believed both of their skills and assets would prevail their differences or hardship feelings - at least for the day. “Hören Sie vorsichtig Männer” Angelus insinuated with a stern look, before continuing to speak. “Vorsorglich werden wir in die Stadt in zwei Abteilungen eingehen. Die erste Abteilung wird sich vorn als eine zwölf Mann-Feuermannschaft bewegen, sicherstellend, dass der Weg für die zweite Abteilung klar ist, wer die Lastwagen heraufbringen und den Konvoi schützen wird. Verstanden?”

Hauptmann Wolfram looked over the men slowly, not particularly wishing to be questioned about his plan or expected to be questioned either, so he continued to form his orders for their tactical advance - their precautionary advance. “Obersturmführer Sie werden den zwölf Mann dazu bringen, sich Vorderseite zusammenzutun und unseren Weg vorn klären, picken so Ihre Männer auf. Ich werde die zweite Abteilung beschlagnahmen und den Konvoi von der Hinterseite, mit unserer wertvollen Ladung und der Ruhe der Männer heraufbringen”. The Obersturmführer gave a bemused look to the orders and began sifting through the crowd of men, pointing and tapping men he was choosing to be the first section to scout ahead, whilst Hauptmann Wolfram yelled out to those whom would be his second section bringing up the convoy. “Diejenigen in der zweiten Abteilung, formen Sie sich auf mir!” he yelled, ready to give them their particular orders on how they were to move the convoy up from the rear.


Translations:[/b]

Hören Sie vorsichtig Männer.
- Listen carefully men.

Vorsorglich werden wir in die Stadt in zwei Abteilungen eingehen. Die erste Abteilung wird sich vorn als eine zwölf Mann-Feuermannschaft bewegen, sicherstellend, dass der Weg für die zweite Abteilung klar ist, wer die Lastwagen heraufbringen und den Konvoi schützen wird. Verstanden?
- As a precautionary measure, we'll enter the town in two sections. The first section will move ahead as a twelve man fire-team, making sure the way is clear for the second section, who'll be bringing up the trucks and guarding the convoy. Understood?

Obersturmführer Sie werden den zwölf Mann dazu bringen, sich Vorderseite zusammenzutun und unseren Weg vorn klären, picken so Ihre Männer auf. Ich werde die zweite Abteilung beschlagnahmen und den Konvoi von der Hinterseite, mit unserer wertvollen Ladung und der Ruhe der Männer heraufbringen.
- Obersturmführer you'll lead the twelve man team up front and clear our way ahead, so pick your men. I'll commandeer the second section and bring the convoy up from the rear, with our precious cargo and the rest of the men.

Diejenigen in der zweiten Abteilung, formen Sie sich auf mir!
- Those in second section, form on me!

[Tristan Herman]

”Those in second section, form on me!” This was the Hauptmann's mandate. Seeing as the squad assigned to Smiles wasn't exactly, well, enthusiastic just yet about frolicking head-long into danger, it took a slight amount of encouragement from the well-adjusted professional soldier that he himself was to push them in the right direction.

Naturally, he could respond to the new guys with little regard. He could remind them of their relative insignificance, and probable lack of combat effectiveness. Tack on that, at this point, most of them were those scraped from the bottom of the proverbial barrel, and one would be able to venture a guess that words regarding the mens' intellectual capacity and social development were palpable upon the Stabsgefreiter's tongue.

But a disheveled, insulted, weak man lacking confidence fought about as well as a strand of wet spaghetti; why harm or hinder someone who may very well be inclined to save your life in the future? However haphazardly and laughably they might do so.

So, regardless of his personal lack of faith in the new recruits, Herman kept the cohesion of the unit in mind, ordering the rookies to get on his six, and keep a tight spread as they filed in behind the Hauptmann. The man himself was something to behold. Slick blonde hair, strong, geometric features, striking eyes and expression. The man mirrored your archetypal cinematic protagonist, ready to face insurmountable odds with the aid of any number of disposable extras.

There was the slight, commanding aura about the man too, that led Smiles to respect him preemptively. No, he didn't particularly know Hauptmann Wolfram. A salute at his transfer to the unit, a passing glance here and there, occasional orders; he'd only known of the man's existence for but a couple weeks, but it did not even slightly retract from his radiating leadership.

As the squad filed in behind the Hauptmann, the other group shuffled up the road, into the settlement. Smiles charged his Karabiner, and looked to his men to ensure they were, at the very least, following his example. The other squad leader gave a confirmation of his squad's readiness, just to Tristan's rear, which Tristan repeated to the Hauptmann himself.

”At your go, Herr Hauptmann.”