Duty calls ||(Closed)||

[Franz Albrecht]

Warsaw Poland, 1939

A black Mercedes 230 cabriolet sped through the old streets of Warsaw. The car came to a rolling stop at number 25 Szuscha Street. It was a very large building with two massive Nazi banners fluttering in the wind on either side of the arched entrance. The driver exited the car and moved around to the passenger side where he opened the door for Franz, who in return sent him an approving nod. Upon exiting the vehicle the driver closed the door and returned to his side, seating himself behind the wheel. Franz looked up at the building then turned his attention to SS soldiers rushing around in the street. He watched as the soldiers proceeded to empty out Opel transport trucks. From there more men would move the cargo inside. There was everything including Cabinets, chairs, tables, office desks to type writers and communications equipment.

Franz looked over his shoulder at the driver sitting in the car, “I’ll be out soon, take a few minutes. We have been driving for hours”. The driver glanced over to the SD second Lieutenant, giving him a firm nod. Franz lifted his chin, cleared his throat and headed for the entrance where two SS guards came to a quick attention. He flicked his wrist muttering, “Heil Hitler” as he marched by them. After passing through the main gate he entered a large square courtyard surrounded by large glass windows, there were about four floors to the top. Franz crossed the courtyard maintaining a strong posture as he entered the open doors on the opposite side. The building at 25 Szuscha street was the new Gestapo headquarters in Warsaw. It would be the center of operations for the occupying intelligence department of the SS.

Franz announced himself to a secretary on the fourth floor, where he was then lead to a waiting area in front of two large wooden doors. He sat down in a comfortable chair and took a moment to glance at his wrist watch, realizing the day was nearly gone he released a deep sigh, giving a quick shake of his head. The sound of a ticking clock echoed throughout the room, Albrecht could hear phones ringing throughout the building and wondered to himself, “Is anyone ever going to pick them up god damn it?”. A half hour later the sound of jackboots could be heard coming up the stairs, then a group of SS officers appeared around the corner causing Franz to rise to his feet. He clicked his heels, giving an enthusiastic Nazi salute. The group of men returned the salute then the one who was leading them addressed him,“Untersturmfuhrer Albrecht, am I correct?”

Franz kept his eyes straight, remaining perfectly at attention. “That is correct Sturmbannfuhrer”. Franz waited for a scolding as he guessed that this was the Major he had come to meet with. His rank wasn’t visible due to the greatcoat he was wearing. The SD officer nodded once, speaking in a low tone “Well let’s get this started. I’ve been on the road for hours and there is much to do, come Albrecht”. Franz responded with a simple “Yes sir” then followed the men into the office. Inside there were five of them, including Franz. The Captain stood behind his desk while the rest stood at attention before him. “Now, where to start?” He grinned, the others humored him smiling briefly. He reached into a desk drawer removing a large brown file folder, dropping it on the desks surface he looked up at the others, “Gentlemen, we have a lot of work ahead of us. Here I have a long, and carefully considered list of enemies of the Reich”. He paused for a few seconds letting his words sink in, “You will be responsible for apprehending each and every name on this list, without any exceptions”. These criminals are to be dealt with swiftly, by order of the Fuhrer”. We cannot let the fuhrer down. He expects that we will complete this task to the best of our ability, I personally intend to prove him right. How about you?” The SD Major’s eyes moved from one man to the next, someone then mumbled, “Yes Sturmbannfuhrer”. Frowning he stared at the group, “I can’t hear you?” The four men replied all at the same time in a raised voice, “Jawohl Sturmbannfuhrer!” The frown vanished and was suddenly replaced by a pleased but sinister smile, “Good, good. Operations will begin tomorrow, ensure you all get a good sleep and become familiar with the documents. My secretary will have everything you’ll need at her desk on the way out”. If there are no questions you are all dismissed”. The four SD officers clicked their heels, throwing up a salute. The Captain motioned towards the door, lowering himself into a chair behind the desk. The officers took the cue to leave and exited the office, each of them taking a brief moment to become acquainted with one another before leaving.

Franz exited the building, immediately spotting his driver smoking a cigarette. He tossed it away once he noticed Albrecht approaching, he then gripped the cars door handle yanking it open. Franz climbed in the car releasing a sigh, “That took a lot longer than I originally expected. Let’s head to the hotel, what’s the name of it again?” The driver got in on his own side, giving the key a twist in the ignition “Hotel Bristol Herr Untersturmfuhrer”. Franz nodded, “Ah! That’s it. Let’s get a move on, I want to make dinner”. Albrecht dropped the file he collected from the Gestapo chief’s secretary on his lap.

Later on Franz stood on his balcony smoking a cigarette while enjoying the night air. It was a calm evening, a light fog settled over the city. The streets were beginning to clear because an occupational curfew was about to start. The residents were far easier to control this way. Everyone knew that to be out after dark was a considered a crime, it would land you in the Police cells overnight. There was even a chance the offender may be held for good. People disappeared all the time, the Police would arrest them and suddenly they were gone, just like that. The sound of marching interrupted Franz’s thoughts. He spotted two columns of regular army troops patrolling the streets below.

Franz admired the soldiers marching abilities from the balcony, the Whermacht was a force to be reckoned with. The German military was proving to be unstoppable as they quickly ceased Germany’s lands back from her enemies, annexing former claims that were stolen. Upon finishing his cigarette he tossed the butt into the street, retreating back to the warmth and comfort of his suite. Standing in front of a mirror in the sitting room Franz slipped out of his SS jacket, draping it over the back of a chair. He smoothed out the shoulders before wandering over to a table in the center of the room. On the table’s surface were several items, his cap, gloves, a belt with a holster attached and a small Walther pistol sitting on the file from Gestapo HQ. Franz slid the pistol off the file, flicking the front page open. Inside was a stack of papers, attached with a paper clip to each one was a photo. After a few minutes of scanning through the documents Franz raised an eyebrow. The first few suspects were men, but the last three in a row were women. Albrecht shook his head as he eyed the documents, he leaned back in the chair taking a deep breath.

What his department did in the Fatherland was now coming moving east. There had to be a hundred names here, if not more. The crimes ranged from, speaking out against the party to being political enemies of the Reich. Some things about the SD’s way of doing things made Franz think but he tried never to question things. He had interviewed prisoners and even arrested people on the suspicion that they were about to do something wrong. It didn’t take much for someone to denounce you. However in this case some of the personnel files didn’t contain reports. Instead there was no further information other than the person’s occupation. Franz read a few out loud, “Teacher…Hm, what were you teaching to get our attention”? He continued on, “Dentist..- Doctor?” he narrowed his eyes before closing the folder. He slid the chair back, slowly getting up. Franz wondered if these people were really guilty of the accusations made against them. Some of them probably were but it wasn’t any of his business anyways, what happened after wasn’t his problem at all. Many of their appearances seemed harmless but if that were true, why were they to be arrested? Innocent people don’t go to jail, right? Franz wasn’t sure what to think. Standing there in silence he poured himself a stiff drink before heading back to the balcony for another cigarette.

The temperature had decreased greatly since the last time he had been outside. The city was quiet, not a soul was in sight. Golden light filled many windows as far as Franz could see. Warsaw was an old city with some beautiful architecture for the admiring eye. Franz used to travel around Europe with his family by train. He enjoyed taking long trips viewing the scenery foreign places had to offer. Franz intended to do a full tour of the city once he had some time to himself. The quicker these criminals were arrested the better he thought while raising a cigarette to his lips. He brought a lighter out of his pocket, giving it a flick while aimed at the end of the cigarette. The cherry glowed as the SD officer took a long haul, gazing off in the distance. Traveling with his family, Franz missed those days. The days when Germany was at peace, everyone was together at the summer cottage on the beautiful Wolfgangsee(Lake). A smile formed on his lips, soon he thought. Soon the war would be over, Germany will have regained her honor and he could return home. Franz intended to stay with the SD though, even after the war came to an end. He would just request a transfer back to Austria to work locally. Time would tell, he could only dream about what the future would bring.

[Deleted]

OOC: This is mostly a character establishment for future involvement, and doesn't merit a response. This is an earlier take on Hautt, from before he transferred to the Waffen SS

SD-Untersturmführer Friedrich Hautt was going mad. Anyone at 25 Szuscha street that day would have gladly testified at his insanity hearing. He'd been swampe with nonstop bureaucratic bullshit since he arrived in Warschau, and never had time to leave the new Gestapo headquarters, or tour the city he now wished would burn to the ground. Sleeping short hours in his miniscule 'office', really just a closet with his misspelle name on the door, he was starting to think he was off his nut, or else everyone else was.

"That's a nice jacket, but why are the sleeves so long? And what is that needle for?" he would ask as they escorted him to his padded room. At least his bed would be soft. He could bash his hea against the wall all he wished, his only worry being whether he would have apple or orange juice with his cookie. And whether or not his next shot would be 'the big one' that put him down for good.

"I don't care if you were told to deliver it here!" he shouted at the red-faced SS-Sturmmann supervising the unloading of a truck. "Stop unloading now!" he ordered a young SS-Mann caryying a box labelled 'Kommunikationsausrüstung' - communications equipment. Down went the box. "Keep unloading!" barked the Sturmmann, fire in his eyes. Up went the box. He advanced on Hautt slowly, poking his finger into his chest with great vigor. "Listen here, puke. I've got orders to deliver these radios to this address," the man bristled, his nose an inch from Hautt's. "I've been driving since yesterday afternoon so you can chat with your sweethearts in Berlin. I'm hungry, tired, and need a bath," the man continued, to which Hautt agreed. He smelled like a paper mill.

"Thunder weather!" Hautt blasphemed. It was his turn to move menacingly, his 6'2'm frame towering over the stocky Lance Corporal. A car pulled up, a well-dressed SS-Untersturmführer getting out, his uniform making Hautt's look like rags. "Open your eyes, shithead!" Hautt spat, climbing into the rear of the truck, and with a great push of his foot, sent a crate flying to shatter into a dozen pieces. "Aw jeez," the Lance Corporal cried, covering his face in disbelief. Hopping down, Hautt angrily heaved a radio from the wreckage and thrust it upon the Sturmmann. "What kind of radio is that?" Hautt asked, gesturing smugly at the item. It took a man a moment to find it, but at last he came upon the designation. "Funk-Gerät 5."

"Fucking right! Hautt crowed, shaking his fist in victory. "These are for tanks. They don't transmit. Receive-only, dickhead! We jave no use for them here. Take them someplace else, leave them on the sidewalk, whatever. We won't take them." He started walking towards the front door, passing the young SS-Manm who observed the whole thing, crate still in hand. Hautt stopped and turned, eyeing the Private As if he were shit on his shoe. "Don't forget your monkey when you leave."

Climbing the stairs to his floor was like descending the seven rings of hell, each level worse than the last. It was an incredibly busy time in the land of socialism and universal bliss. There were places to loot, people to shoot. Denouncements were up, recommendations were down. Hautt knew where the power lie, and that was conflict. For a system vaunted as representing order, National Socialism was becoming a breeding ground for chaos. If anyone needed surplus military equipment, all they needed to do was visit thei local Geheimestaatspolizei-stab. Tank radios for everyone... Except tanks.

He reache his floor behind a group of SS officers. They stopped to greet the young SS-Untersturmführer that had arrived a while before, the long-awaited Franz Albrecht. Hautt had a file on him that he had conveniently 'lost'. He kept many such files, stashed away where his enemies would never find them. Hautt was a constant source of cynicism in Gestapo offices, his only protection from imprisonment being his thorough evidence against party officials. Not to enough to trace to the big-wigs - he wanted protection, not a death sentence - but certainly enough to condemn prominent local party leaders and their connections within the Gestapo.

He looked behind him at the SS crowd, the infamous Major among them as they filed into his office. Hautt did not participate in meetings, an wouldn't if he could. His job was to run the minute details of the building, keeping lesser offices in line, and greater ones in fear, never bothering the boss. He would find what was discussed soon enough anway.

Reaching the door to his office, Hautt beamed at the name there, 'Frederick Haas'. He knew the Major did it on purpose. Nobody could mess it up so many times, not even a thick-headed oaf like the Sturmbannführer. "Aww, he really does care," he joked to himself. The Major hated his guts, and for good reason. Hautt knew about his indiscretions with local Polish women, one of them a Jew. A potential death sentence in the right court. Hautt wouldn' notify Heydrich's office in Prague so long as the Major jumped when told to. The Sturmbannführer was powerless to do anything but screw up Hautt's name, a petty punishment which he did not mind at all. The unimportant would not know where to find him, wandering right past his non-office.

Opening the door, Hautt took a seat inside. It was tiny, little more than a broom cupboard. There was enough room for a chair and two shelves on either side of it, but little more. On the shelf to the right was his pending folder, simply marked 1 through 31. When expected something on a certain day he woul put a note in that day's file, saying exactly what he expected and at what time. He checked his file at the start of the day, and knew exactly what his day would include.

On the left-hand shelf were two telephones, one marked 'important' and te other 'fuck off'. He always answered the important one. These were official business calls, mostly from people of position. He had the honor of speaking to Reinhard Heydrich's personal assistant once. The 'fuck off' telephone was for the unimportant. Locals mostly, with complaints against their occupiers or neighbors. As Hautt sat down, it rang.

"Heil myself," Hautt answered as he picked it up, immediately replacing it on the receiver with a click. It rang again almost immediately. "Polish my balls, Pole," he answered, hanging up again. Ring. "Happy Christmas. Oh, it's not? Then fuck off." Click. Ring. "Kiss my ass." Click. Ring. "Kiss his ass." Click. Ring. "Kiss your ass." Click. Ring. All day long. He usually disconnected the line at sundown. After messing with the locals a while longer, he did so. The building was slowly emptying as men left for the day. Hautt would stay up until 1:00, manning his 'important' phone until relieved by the morning guy. He usually found an empty room to sleep in.

[Franz Albrecht]

Franz rubbed a brush covered with black polish over each of his jackboots, while sitting at the table in his suite. When Albrecht was finished he moved to the bathroom where he covered his 5 o’clock shadow in shaving cream, before thoroughly slicing it away with a straight razor. This was Franz’s morning routine, each man of the SD/SS had to be clean shaven and their uniforms in immaculate condition. He rinsed the remaining shaving cream from his face, it smelled minty and fresh. After finishing up in the bathroom Franz finished dressing then picked up the phone. A voice on the other end greeted him at once, “Hotel Bristol, how may I direct your call sir?” Franz responded, “Front desk please, I was wondering if my car had arrived yet?” The voice on the other end replied, “It will be looked into, please stay by the telephone, thank you!” Franz hung up the phone. He paced back and forth for a few seconds when the phone buzzed loudly, upon picking it up a voice on the other end said “Sir, your car has arrived and is outside waiting.”

Albrecht exited the hotel room with his file in hand. It was still very dark outside, thick fog made visibility under a kilometer. As he marched along he put his game face on, there was so much to do with such little time. It was still dark outside when Franz emerged from the main entrance and got in the waiting car, the engine was running. The drive to HQ was pretty fast, there was next to no traffic in the streets. The large building at 25 Szuscha Street towered over the street, Franz noticed things were far more quiet compared to when he had been there in the afternoon. Inside the air was cool, the lights were dim and very few people were around. Upon reaching the fourth floor he was greeted with a smile from the Major’s secretary, who was seated behind her desk.

“Good morning Untersturmfuhrer”. Franz nodded to her then spoke, “ Is Sturmbannfuhrer Meisinger in?” She replied, “He isn’t at the moment but his aide called ahead and left a message for you sir”. Albrecht nodded a few times watching as she dug for a small piece of paper in her desk, upon locating it she offered it to him. Franz snatched the paper from her and began to read it to himself, “Carry on with the tasking’s, report back to headquarters around noon. The property repossessions are to take place at once”. Feel free to acquire some help from others at the office”. The secretary smiled as Franz shifted his gaze back to her, “Thank you”. He pocketed the note then took a glance over each shoulder, “Ahh..’ we seem to be a little short staffed, is there anyone else here for Officers?”. She nodded politely, “Yes sir. There are others that stay in the building overnight. Someone who can give you further information can be found on this floor, right down the hall. He's in charge of the others and should be able to assist". Franz looked in the off to the left, where she motioned with her hand. “His name is Hautt, Untersturmfuhrer Hautt sir”. Franz nodded to her a couple times, threw up a quick Nazi salute and stormed off. The secretary suddenly stood up and called out to him, “It’s labeled Haas on the door!”. Without turning around Franz lifted one arm in the air to show that he heard her.

He read each name on the doors as he slowly passed, he then came to a stop in front of one labelled Frederick Haas. Franz said out loud, “This must be it”. He tapped lightly on the door with his middle knuckle, “Hallo?”. Franz cleared his throat and stopped knocking, awaiting a response from the other side. He glanced down at his watch, it read 4:30am. He was required to arrive for five O' clock, however Franz always showed up early. The higher ups tended to notice and it made one look good to his superiors, enthusiastic even.

[Deleted]

Friedrich was not asleep long when he was awakened by slow footsteps in the hall. "Ughh... Shut up," he mumbled, placing his fingers in his ears in a futile attempt of going back to sleep. Then came a light knock, followed by a voice. What time was it? Reaching into his field blouse, he squinted in the dim light as he failed to read his watch. "Fuck it, too early." Moving to cover himself again with his jacket, he rolled off the desk he had made his bed, knocking over a row of stacked chairs like bowling pins. His cry of surprise and the crash of the chairs echoed through the empty room, and for a moment he didn't know where he was. Everything was dark. He was surrounded by strange shapes. Bones! He was trapped in a sea of skeletons wielding swords and spears! Swimming through the wreckage, he gasped for air as he struggled to his bed.

Land! He grasped the edge of the desk, extricating himself from the horrifying tangle of chairs. He rolled off once more with a thud, stumbling for a light switch. Click. On went the ceiling fan. He was in a tornado! Click. Off went the ceiling fan. Fumble. Click. On went the lights. He was blinded! Click. Off went the lights. Where was his jacket? Groping around in darkness, he came upon the secretary's bra from two nights back. He'd have to get that back to her. Finalling finding his jacket, he swayed towards the door like a drunken sailor.

He found it... with his face. Damned chairs. Victory! He felt the doorknob and tugged. No good. He was trapped! Wait, he had to turn the handle. Duh. It wouldn't turn, of course. He was trapped! Yanking the handle every which way, Hautt cursed. "Fuh... 'kin... 'ell!" The door would not surrender. He punched it, immediately regretting the action as pain shot up his arm. "Bastard Polish doors!" he cried, kicking it. This too he regretted, hopping on one foot and tripping once more. Prognosis: Face; bruised. Knuckles on right hand; raw. Toes on left foot; in agony. Disoriented. Blind. Complete loss of patience; imminent.

Then his fingers touched upon the lock. Aha! Decisive victory! He turned it with a click, flopping into the hallway like a fish out of water. The lights were dimmer here, but his vision was still blurry, and he squinted like a Chinaman at the feldgrau shape before him. "What is it, what do you want?! What do you need? Can i not just sleep without having to occasionally having to deal with you animals?!" he growled, slowly focusing on the man. His expression changed from anger to confusion when he saw his visior became clear. "Albrecht?"

He was standing outside of Hautt's office, probably feeling like a zoogoer watching monkeys do monkey stuff. Eat bananas. Throw shit. The usual family-friendly activities. That was Hautt on three hours of sleep.

"I sleep in the, uh... office, across the hall," he said sleepily, oferring his hand. "Ustuf..." he stopped, realizing in horror that he was offering the secretary's underthings. He pushed them into his pocket like they would run away. They must have been with his jacket. He really needed to have a talk with Elsie.

"Ustuf Friedrich Hautt, Warschau Sicherheitsdienst und Geheimestaatspolizei Wehrkreis Verwaltung. What are you doing here?"

[Franz Albrecht]

Franz’s thoughts were interrupted by some banging about, it coming from across the hall. Raising an eyebrow Albrecht turned his head towards the sound. It was if someone was in a life or death battle on the other side. He was hesitant to move forward and investigate, this was definitely a strange occurrence. The sound of angry curses could be heard clearly, a thump caused the door to shake. A second one followed, this time the door swung right open. As a man stumbled into the hallway from inside Franz was surprised, the entire situation had taken him off guard. He immediately identified him as a man of the SD. When the man burst into a barrage of questions Franz turned to properly face him, nodding along as he listened to the outburst. He then decided that he was definitely unexpected, Hautt had been through some form of a struggle in that room and it was evident he had woken him up, Judging from the outburst mixed with the overall appearance of the officer before him.

Franz was suddenly surprised that Hautt knew him by name, had they met before he wondered? In Germany, Back in Austria perhaps. Albrecht shrugged it off for now noticing Hautt offer him a handshake with a fist full of panties. Unable to hide the grin Franz released a light chuckle as Hautt hid the underwear in his jacket. Franz removed his right hand leather glove, gripping Friedrich’s hand in his own. While Hautt explained his sleeping situation Franz nodded slowly with an interested look on his face. Albrecht remained quiet the whole time Friedrich spoke, right up until he introduced himself as the man Franz was looking for.

“Good morning Untersturmfuhrer Hautt. I am, well..- Franz Albrecht as you already know" Franz remained curious as to how he knew who he was already, it just added to the strangeness of this morning.”I am newly assigned to these headquarters after requesting a transfer closer to the front. Anyways, the reason I’m here is because I’m under orders to carry out a whole list of operations in the area”. He paused briefly letting his words sink in before continuing, “The problem is I don’t know the area and have not been assigned any men yet.” He shrugged his shoulders before addressing Hautt once again, “I need some good help. The morning will consist of property repossessions, carried out under the property repossessions act. These actions will require about five or six of us, I have a car waiting downstairs. A second car wouldn’t hurt.”

Franz kept his eyes on Friedrich as he spoke. He softened his appearance, relaxing a bit while awaiting a response. More people were beginning to arrive, multiple personnel were now using the stairwell and surrounding offices. Albrecht put his arms behind his back, joining his hands together as he stood there.

[Deleted]

Hautt did not notice the Untersturmführer's chuckle, or his grin. He was still too dazed for that. Birds were beginning to sing outside, and people were already moving about in the stairwell. Morning alwayd arrived too quickly for Hautt. It wouldn't be correct to say that he was used to getting by on a few hours' sleep, but it was a common enough occurrence for him to recognize that he would not be going back to sleep. Ballsack.

Claspint the Untersturmführer's hand, Hautt did see the note of surprise on his face when he addressed him by name. He forgot that they had not officially met yet. He only knew Albrecht from his files, nothing too detailed. He hadn't even looked at them except the rank, name, and photograph.

"Just a second," he said, holding up a finger as he opened the door to his pitiful closet-office to grab his pending file. "No wonder i didn't know what was going on. There's nothing in my folder. They told me they weren't going to start repossessions until next month," he said with a sigh. He looked from the file to Albrecht. "I don't just work in the Warschau Wehrkeis, you see. I kind of run it," he explained eith a shrug. The military equivalent would be running an entire Corps' worth of files and paperwork. He acted as a needed intermediary between the big Wehrkreis-Polen boss and the individual offices and departments.

"Eight sections: Fiscal matters. Auditing of Unit Accounts. Rations. Garrisons and Billeting. Hospital Administration, Clothing, Legal matters. Construction. Living Quarters for Staff. Personnel Matters. It all goes through me. Your visit was no surprise since I had arrange payment for you stay at Hotel Bristol weeks ago," he stated flatly, rubbing his eyes.

"The Wehrmacht may soon turn its attention West, but we still a war to fight here." He place his pending file back in its proper place. The 'fuck-off' phone rang. The morning phone guy must have hooked it back up. "You lewd crude rude bag of pre-chewed food dude," he answered instinctively. Click. He had forgotten he was in the presence of an officer, an uninitiated in the ways of the office. "Ah. My apologies. Here we apply philosophy to our phone-manning strategy. 'Only when a man invites insult will others insult him. Only when a family invites destruction will others destroy it. Only when a land invites invasion will others invade it,'" he quoted, some ancient saying from Sun Tzu or Confucius or some shit.

He thought about the day's predicament. "About your task; I think i can help you. Most of our staff here are unfit for dangerous duty such as forced eviction," he started, as an incredibly obese Obersturmführer waddled by them, struggling for breath. Fat fuck. "In fact, most of the staff is unfit for duty above ground floor," he lamented as Tons'o'fun turned out of sight. "...But we have a few good eggs, mostly in Section D, Garrisons and Billeting, on the third floor. You take your pick of the lot. If you want a senior hand, I can tag along. I know where the most profitable repossessions are," he trailed off. He considered taking Willie from Fiscal Matters, but he didn't participate in looting. "I'd just need a few minutes for a quick shave and coffee, and I have something i jeed to get back to the secretary," he added with a sly grin. She was probably tired of having breezy thighs by now anyway.

[Franz Albrecht]

Franz stood very straight and still while Hautt spoke. After a few moments he brought his hands behind his back, joining them together. Albrecht was always so formal when it came to carrying out his duties. He nodded along while listening attentively as Friedrich spoke. Untersturmführer Hautt was an interesting character, one like Franz had never met before. He seemed somewhat unorganised at a glance, due to his clumsy entrance and fist full of panties. However as the seconds passed he seemed to be more of the kind of good help Franz required to get the job done. Being in charge of those departments was a lot of work, the man chosen for the job would have been handpicked. It wasn’t the type of position one was just assigned to. This Hautt was in good with somebody in Berlin, it had to be true Franz thought to himself. When the phone rang Albrecht cleared his throat taking a few steps around, gazing at random items. After the outburst and apology Franz sent him a nod, “It’s alright. And that is a good quote. It speaks truth, well said”.

Albrecht was over joyed to learn that Hautt was more than willing to assist. He continued to take in the information Hautt had to tell him. He nodded along, at times he would appear deep in thought, in an attempt to piece everything together in his mind. Security was number one, Franz took no chances with these people. He could understand why some refused to comply, he knew for a fact that he would do the same in their position. Franz briefly thought to himself, “If someone came into my house, claiming it as their own..- I would shoot the bastard”. He wondered if that made him crazy or just plain stupid. Maybe it was neither, he just wasn’t that person. He wasn’t the kind of man to just give up and let others control his life. The jews however settled for all the treatment they given. Franz often wondered why they took such a peaceful approach. Was it cowardice? He wasn’t exactly sure but the question lingered in his mind often. Didn’t they see what was happening around them? So many questions and he didn’t have any of the answers.

Drifting back from his thoughts Franz simply smiled at the officer standing before him, “I am very grateful for your assistance Herr Hautt. I am looking forward to working with you”. Albrecht spotted the fat officer approaching, he clicked to attention throwing his right arm in the air. The fat mess of an Obersturmfuhrer returned a lazy half assed salute as he waddled onwards. Franz released a deep sigh, “I see what you mean. Unfit actually describes the situation pretty well. “Ahhh…-“ Franz paused, collecting his thoughts again, “Perfect, take all the time you need. I will head outside and see if I can find a truck. When you are ready we can collect the men together”.

Franz left Hautt’s office. He walked through the hallways, examining photographs and Nazi artworks. The office was very lively now, the sound of type writers and telephones could be heard throughout the building. Upon reaching the front desk Franz addressed the receptionist, who was wearing an SS NCO uniform. “Where can I find a truck? It needs to be capable of transporting prisoners or goods”. The NCO replied enthusiastically, “I can telephone the drivers bunker and have them bring one, sir”.Franz simply nodded. The NCO quickly grabbed one of the three phones in front of him, pressing four numbers. After a few seconds someone must have picked up, “Hallo? I need a heavy transport,yes to Gestapo Headquarters”. The NCO appeared to be listening to the man on the other end, he said yes a few times then hung up the phone. “Your truck will be here within the hour sir. They are just finishing up the service on them”. Franz sent him a single nod, muttering “Thank you”. The two exchanged salutes then Albrecht exited the building for a long awaited cigarette.

The morning air was mild, smoke curled and swayed upwards from Franz’s cigarette. The sky was dark and gray looking as if it may snow. It was that time of year, where snow blanketed the ground and made everything miserable. Franz wasn’t very fond of excess amounts of snow. He only enjoyed watching light flakes fall from the sky. When it actually amounted to something it tended to be more of a bother. His thoughts were interrupted by a convoy of Army trucks roaring down the middle of the road. He counted six just for something to do. Franz thought of the war as an opportunity to advance in life, to make something of himself. He often kept the German fighting men in his prayers. Those men were battling the war on the front lines. Franz’s war was a different one, his war was against those were opposed to the ideas of the party. Maintaining the security of a nation during a state of war was a major undertaking that could not be taken lightly. Support from the home front was a necessity for final victory.

[Deleted]

Hautt was slowly waking up. He used cold water with his lather instead of warm, which helped somewhat. Shaving had become somewhat tiring and intense lately. The blade of his straight razor had been nicked from scraping bone as he cut the throat of a young Jew not long after SS offices had been set up in occupied Warsaw. It had been a terrible night for his belongings.

He had ruined his beautiful straight razor, a gift from Matthaeus Hengl, the head of II./Infanterie-Regiment Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler, Der Führer's personal bodyguard. His cane-umbrella, custom made in Münich, had suffered terribly from thrashing the father of the boy he had exterminated. He had been forced to go to a Pole for repairs, which were rudimentary but adequate. The truth was beaten from the man in the end, but it was nothing valuable. Hautt had known which shops were Jewish long before he entered Warsaw. One has to pass the time somehow.

"Donnerwetter!" Hautt shouted at his reflection. Thunder-weather. An atrocious obscenity in German. He glared at his ragged appearance. There was a hint of dark circles around his eyes, and one cheek was red from the rough shave. Someone coughed in a stall, and Hautt had an idea. "Hey, you! Who is that in there?" he asked, and got silence in return. "Hellooo, jackass in the stall! Yes, I'm speaking to you! Who is that?" Once again there was no response.

Hautt sighed and marched to the stall door. It was wood, and old at that. He threw his weight against it, and it's hinges creaked. Standing back, he began kicking the door forcefully, his hobnailed boots beginning to warp and crack the old door. "Okay, okay! I'm coming out. Let me wipe first," came a weary voice from inside. Hautt stood tapping his foot and crossing his arms impatiently as a newspaper rustled inside. There were ripping sounds followed by wiping sounds. The man inside could be heard pulling up his pants, and the toilet chain was pulled, flushing the whole godless mess into the Warsaw sewers.

Finally... Hautt thought, uncrossing his arms. The stall door opened and the same fat Oberscharführer from before waddled out, his face red, his expression cautious. What is it, Untersturmführer? I'm due at the depot in twenty minutes. Can it wait?" One of those lazy Section C sonsofbitches, apparently. "Do you have a razor?" Hautt asked, crossing his arms again. "Uhhh, a what?" Fucking fat fuck idiot fucking fuck. "A razor. Straightrazor? Disposable?" He was getting impatient once more.

"Uhh, no, why do you, er, huh?" Hautt pointed at the fat bastard's hip. "Fine. Give me your bayonet." "Sir?" Hautt stepped forward, getting as close as the man's bulbous gut would let him. "Give me. Your fucking. Bay. O. Net. Right. The fuck. Now. The man unsheathed the weapon and held it out to Hautt.

"Not the blade, fucktard. The handle. The fuck's the matter with you?" Hautt spat, wishing he had a cigarette. "Oh, yeah, erm. Uh," was all the poor fat kid could muster, turning the knife around and offering it to Hautt once more. He took it, and slapped the man's cheek with the flat of the blade a few times. He jerked back in surprise.

"Only playing, space muffin. Now get out of here before I fire you, puss-cake," Hautt growled, jerking his head towards the door. The man sputtered nonsense and stumbled out the bathroom. Fruitcake.

Someone at the rations depot must have kept the bayonet sharp, because it was easier to shave with. When Hautt wiped his face of excess shaving cream he even looked human. He chucked the bayonet into a urinal and headed for the coffee room. He would take a fresh razor from a Jew soon. He stopped to give the Major's secretary her panties back. She surprised him by giving him fresh ones in return. He promised to spend some time with her soon and he left, stuffing the new undies in his shirt pocket for lack of a better place.

"Major's secretary my ass. If he only knew the sorts of things we did in his office after hours, there'd be no doubt that she's my secretary," Hautt thought to himself. His dirty Bavarian hillbilly secretary. Ha!

The coffee room was empty when he entered. Most of the employees got their coffee as soon as they got in, and didn't linger for very long before heading to their workplaces. Lunch was different, but that was some time away. Hautt grabbed one of the SS-marked cups and headed downstairs to meet Albrecht, bidding farewell to the secretary with some lewd hip-thrusting motions and a grin.

Two trucks and a car had been pulled up. One truck was there for delivery, unloading several small crates marked 'wurst' and smelling of sausage. A few others were photography equipment, while the rest were cleaning chemicals. There was a lot of muck in the interrogation rooms, and the smell had been reaching the upper floors. The quantity of prisoner shit washed away daily would probably be enough to house the entire African continent.

The other truck was empty except for a few soldiers riding coach. They were joking, like every German in Poland, about Poles. Something about feeding their tanks dog food and kissing them goodnight. What really caught Hautt's eye was the car in front. A black Mercedes, Hautt had rarely seen a car shine so much. It carried the essence of a Party rally. Complex, orderly, inspiring, and cold. Hautt had never cared to own a car, but if he had to choose one, this would be the one he chose. Like a rolling herald of death. An emblem of authority, much like his cane-umbrella which he carried with him everywhere.

Hautt strode around the vehicle, hesitantly poking the tire with his umbrella. A few silver-plated SS hubcaps wouldn't be out of place. Perhaps swastikas on the doors? He imagined what his car would look like after he was finished with it. Totally uncaring, a blatant insult to the non-Aryan world. An international incident waiting to happen. One finger to the Americans. Two to the British. And a slap with five to the Russians.