Didn't See it Coming...

[∬: Gero A. Fritz]

Weather: Overcast and Breezy (Not raining)
Time: 5PM

OOC: Open to anyone.


Throwing his head back, he took a long swig from the bottle of schnapps and prompted the glass bottle of fruit brandy down against the rugged plain of a tree stump at his side. Burping quietly beneath his breath, he tasted the aroma of the well savoured and sought after drink, that most Germans adored to relish themselves upon. It was a German delight and it was certainly one of Unterscharführer Fritz’s delights he adored as a beverage.

Shuffling his body against the bed of dry dirt beneath his tatty SS uniform, he rolled back his left tunic sleeve a few turns, as to not get it greasy from the belt of bullets hanging from out of a ripped open silver container by his side and then proceeded to dab his hand into the broken foil and hoist out the belt end. His right hand made real quick work of unhitching the chamber and throwing it back, his index finger rubbing into the stock of the chamber, making sure it wasn’t too shabby. He did clean his weaponry often, but as he was going to do a spot of training with it, he decided he’d do the brunt of the cleaning afterwards.

Wiping his sooty and greasy index finger into the dying patch of grass beside him, he sighed heavily and dragged out the rattling chain of bullets. Taking his time and with a hint of perfection, he aligned up the first round against the chamber and slammed the hatch down, making sure it was locked into place. Yanking back the bolt catch upon the side, he loaded the first round and lifted the wooden shoulder butt frame against the pit of his shoulder, leaning into the gunnery for a firmer grip and iron aim.

Down range, against the skirting of the woodland, he’d set up several propaganda posters on shoddy sticks, it didn’t matter who was on the posters, but they had faces and that was all that was required for a good sport of practice - targets with faces. Reaching over to limberly grab at the bottle of schnapps, he took another swig and heavily thumped it back down, returning to his MG42 at hand. Squinting, he leant into again and shuffled his neck against the frame of it, his cheekbone squeezing against the side, to line up his sight down the barrel.

Making appropriate aim, he pulled at the trigger in brief second intervals, sending small bursts of accurate fire at the first propaganda poster, watching as the bullets ripped through the adverting and painted faces, kicking a small muck of dirt up with it. Releasing his finger altogether, he leant up and looked down range with a pleased look upon his face, smirking. “Sie haben nie gesehen, dass es kommend”, he mumbled to himself, before he heard a peculiar noise erupt from behind him -- more along the sounds of something being dropped or heavily thumped against the dirt. Twisting his head, he looked behind himself through the glooming light of the overcast sky, getting a little spooked from the unnatural noise of sorts.

Quietly, he dragged his legs in and pushed himself to one knee, unclipping a stick-grenade from his belt to glare off into the foliage on his rear hind, trying to work out who or what it is. Slipping the grenade out, he watched silently for another clue, his greasy hand from handling the belt of bullets drew towards the bottom of the hand-grip, ready to ignite the grenade at the moment one of the partisan bastards showed themselves from creeping up on him!


Translations:[/b]

Sie haben nie gesehen, dass es kommend
~ They never saw it coming

[revien]

Marlon shouldered his way through the vast bushes, a single bead of sweat appearing on his grubby forehead. The day was unnaturally cold and the Sergeant had spent most of it searching wildly through hedges and the like with a group of imbeciles hobbling after him. And so, his day hardly improved when he discovered a clearing, only to find a grenade aimed at his face.

"Nun," whistled the Frenchman. "Dies ist ein warmer Gruß. Ich hatte nicht erwartet, eine Parade, aber das ist ... ... eine Überraschung..."

He gestured for the figure before him - a fellow SS-Sergeant - to lower his weapon and jerked his thumb forward, a signal for the seven men behind him to join is side. He nodded curtly at the undoubtedly shocked figure and grinned.

"Wir haben nicht von Höflichkeiten ausgetauscht, glaube ich. Sergeant Marlon Revien, Französisch Verräter und insgesamt bastard," he said, holding out a hand for the German to shake, only to remove it again to point vaguely at his troops. "Meine ... gut, ich zögern, rufen sie Männer .... wurden auf der Strecke von einigen jüdischen ... wie Sie sagen ... Rebellen,"

He swallowed, suddenly realising how thirsty he was. It was ironic, really. He had prayed to God nightly that once - just for once - he would make Germany at least tolerable in its heat. And how did he repay him? Make it bloody scorching. Marlon was careful to keep his face away from the sun. He was content with having un-burned off eyebrows, thank you very much. Marlon turned back to the German and continued.

"Offenbar, sie haben es geschafft, brechen in die Verbindung und versuchen, Sabotage einige Massenvernichtungswaffen. Zugegeben, das einzige Gerät in dieser Basis sind eine Handvoll mausers, ein paar Granaten und eine leicht gepanzerte Zugmaschine, aber immer noch ... haben Sie etwas gesehen?"

Translations

- Nun, Dies ist ein warmer Gruß. Ich hatte nicht erwartet, eine Parade, aber das ist ... ... eine Überraschung...
(Well, this is a warm greeting. I wasn't expecting a parade but...this is...a surprise)[/i]

- Wir haben nicht von Höflichkeiten ausgetauscht, glaube ich. Sergeant Marlon Revien, Französisch Verräter und insgesamt bastard. Meine ... gut, ich zögern, rufen sie Männer .... wurden auf der Strecke von einigen jüdischen ... wie Sie sagen ... Rebellen
(We haven't exchanged pleasantries, I believe. Sergeant Marlon Revien, French traitor and overall bastard. My...well, I hesitate to call them men....have been on the trail of some Jewish...how do you say...rebels.)

- Offenbar, sie haben es geschafft, brechen in die Verbindung und versuchen, Sabotage einige Massenvernichtungswaffen. Zugegeben, das einzige Gerät in dieser Basis sind eine Handvoll mausers, ein paar Granaten und eine leicht gepanzerte Zugmaschine, aber immer noch ... haben Sie etwas gesehen?
(Apparently, they've managed to break into the compound and are trying to sabotage some weapons of mass destruction. Admittedly, the only gear in this base are a handful of mausers, a couple of grenades and a slightly armoured tractor but, still...have you seen anything?)

[∬: Gero A. Fritz]

OOC: um, you said it’s hot in your post, but I set the conditions to overcast and breezy. Lmao!


The Unterscharführer was almost about ready to twist the bottom cap on the stick grenade, pull it to ignite and then toss it into the foliage upon seeing a torso appear from behind the brush; Thankfully, the male wore the right colours and didn’t seem to eager on hauling up his rifle to shoot him, most partisans were brutal maniacs, hell-bent on being martyrs for their fallen nations. The sacrifice was hardly worth it.

Lowering his arm clutching the stick-grenade, he let out a breath of relief and dropped it back down into the leather pouch at his waist, before pushing himself up from off the ground properly to stand. Watching as the fellow Unterscharführer approached, Gero observed his current weary state and couldn’t help but look on towards the crowd of soldiers following lazily behind, their heads dipped, rifles hanging at their shoulders and hardly any of them looked like they knew what they was doing.

Watching the man extend his hand, Gero looked too it, before glancing towards the men again - well, they looked more like a group of boy-scouts, none them looked as if they were aware of their current surroundings. Shouldered arms, heads dipped, it was appalling and Unterscharführer Fritz merely looked to the man that talked with the distinctive French-Twang to his voice, to smirk a little. “Partisans…” he muttered, filling in the man’s curiosity on trying to find the word for the futile resistance of patriotic civilians in a fallen nation. Rebels, in other word.

Merely shaking his head, he placed his hands upon his hips and shrugged after the head-shake to the man’s questioning. “Parteigänger sind überall in diesen Waldländern. Sie graben sich wie Füchse, Sie werden haben kleines Glück findend sie zurzeit abends ein” he said with a slight carelessness, but it was true, they were a thorn that the German’s couldn’t budge - wandering the forest with a handful of men barely looking battle ready, wouldn’t make a difference, but he figured orders were orders by the man’s posture and approach towards himself. “Sie schauen dürstiger Franzose an”, curiously questioned Gero as he watched the man lick at his lips, sweating like a pig from the aimless walking in the dense woodlands. “Kommen Sie, haben Sie ich einige schnapps. Sie französisch trinkt schnapps, Recht? “ he asked curiously once again, whilst he stepped backwards, before turning towards the position of his gunnery and limp tree-stump.

Kneeling down, he reached for his bag laying beside the ammunition container feeding the MG42, his hands patting at it some, before eventually he managed to drag out a bottle. Standing, he looked towards the Frenchman and grinned some, about to hand it to him, before pulling a look of sudden thought as he lowered his hand holding the bottle. “Erzählen Sie mir etwas, Franzose... Welche Größe ist Ihre Uniformjacke?” he asked once again, looking at the man’s torso, clearly, the fellow Unterscharführer’s tunic was much cleaner than Gero’s - but Gero was a true soldier, hardly SS proud, still, he didn’t fancy returning to the barracks knowing he’d have to do a laundry wash.


Translations:[/b]

Parteigänger sind überall in diesen Waldländern. Sie graben sich wie Füchse, Sie werden haben kleines Glück findend sie zurzeit abends ein.
~ Partisans are everywhere in these woodlands. They burrow like foxes, you will have little luck finding them at this time in the evening.

Sie schauen dürstiger Franzose an.
~ You look thirsty Frenchman.

Kommen Sie, haben Sie ich einige schnapps. Sie französisch trinkt schnapps, Recht?
~ Come, I have some schnapps. You French drink schnapps, right?

Erzählen Sie mir etwas, Franzose... Welche Größe ist Ihre Uniformjacke?
~ Tell me something, Frenchman... What size is your Tunic?