IC: Staatsburg, 1941....

SEVERUSMAX

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IC: Staatsburg/ Volganov, 1941....

OOC: It is June 22, 1941. The Greater German Reich has just broken the Nazi-Soviet Non-Aggression Pact by invading the Soviet Union. Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin lead their respective nations in this soon-to-be long and bloody conflict. The main settings are Volganov, Byelorussia, and Staatsburg, East Prussia, whose residents, temporary and permanent, will find their lives intersecting.

IC:

Volganov, Byelorussian Soviet Socialist Republic

Captain Sergei Alexeyevich Bukov of the Red Army's 13th Guards Division was jolted from his nap by a wire at his desk at the Company Command Post. He and his political Commissar, Captain Mikhail Georgiyevich Konstantinov, hurried to answer it. Tensions had been high lately with the Germans, due to reports of Nazi columns massing on the Soviet border. However, Comrade Stalin insisted that such claims were merely rumors and warmongering. He maintained that Germany would never break the pact with Russia.

22 June, 1941, Stop, Wehrmacht and Waffen SS armored units crossing the border, Stop. Luftwaffe squadrons conducting air strikes on the Red Air Force and Red Army, Stop. Prepare for mobilization to defend the Rodina. This is an alert, not a drill, stop. It is real war, stop. Stand in defense of the socialist revolution in Mother Russia, Stop. Signed, Marshal Kliment Voroshilov, People's Commissar for War, Stop.

War indeed. I knew it. We have to prepare for what could have been an easy victory over the Fascists in 1939, with Allied support. Instead, it will be a long and devastating war, since we made a deal that let Hitler crush the West. Now, our only real ally is Great Britain, and what is her chance of survival against the Wehrmacht and the Luftwaffe. The Brits will make a separate peace soon and leave us fighting alone for our lives. Too bad we didn't stand up to Hitler when we had the chance, Bukov thought to himself grimly, as he ordered his zampolit to summon the Company to attention for an official announcement.
 
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"David, are you ready." The officer repeated over the radio.

David Tanzig stood with his back against a building, facing away from several Soviet troops stationed in Volganov. "Da." he said in a deep voice. "Maintaining radio silence now, good luck David." the officer said. "Out."

David leaned out from cover, grabbed his sniper rifle, and fixed on a Soviet private, he fired. The bullet went right in the soldiers eye. David smiled as the soldier screamed in agonoy for a whole minute before bleeding to death. Unfourntuantly this attracted the attention of a Soviet sargent with a PssH machine gun, and the soldier immediatly opened fire. Forcing David back to cover.

"Dammit" he yelled as bullets kept hitting the building. Acting quickly David threw a grenade with all his strength. Killing not only the sargent but the only other soldier on patrol on this street. After a minute David walked onto the street. Seconds later a beautiful, younge, blonde haired women ran out out of a tenneat crying and screaming. He grabbed the dead Soviet private in her arms and began crying over his dead corpse.

Looking at David she yelled several swear words at him before finally saying in Russian, "He was my boyfriend, I was going to propose to him because his term of duty ended today...you Facisit BITCH!"

"Lady, calm down." David said in Russian.

"NAZI FUCKER!" she yelled in Russian. Immediatly david grabbed his revolver and pointed it at her. "Calm down...or I shoot."

The Russian girl just kept crying, probably attracting attention of Soviet troops on the next block over.
 
Corporal Kuylevin

Mika Kuylevin saw the bullet hit Private Koltav straight in the eye from his position in a window in a second floor building. A hell of a shot he thought to himself. If the enemy sniper had been russian he would have gratulated him to the great shot. Unfortunately the poor bastard lay on the street, screaming with pain and fear. If it hadn´t blown his own cover he had finished the work to take him out of his misery. He searched the buildings with his eyes to see where the shot came from. Then machine gun fire hit a building not far down the street and Mika steadied his sniper rifle in that direction.

An explosion disrupted his aim and he lowered the rifle and wiped away some sweat from his brow. When he looked back to the street he saw a few damaged bodies lying there.

After a minute or so he saw a man walk out in the street, carrying a rifle. Mika smiled grimly as he took aim at the man´s head. Squeasing the trigger carefully he was just about to take the shot just as a young woman ran out, blocking his view. "Damn it!" Mika cursed but held his rifle steady. Determined to not miss the shot if he got the opportunity.
 
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"LADY DUCK!" David pulled his revolver and shot 2 shots towards Kuylevin, one missed and the other clipped his arm. "I SEE YOU COMMUNIST BASTARD, DROP YOUR WEAPON OR..." he thought for a moment. He turned his pistol to the crying young girl "SHE DIES!" he yelled in perfect Russian. Clicking the saftey to prove his point. The girl could only cry and lay on the ground next to her dead boyfriend.

In his other hand he held a grenade, and was ready to throw it at the Soveit sniper. "Drop your weapon now!" He shot a bullet that barely missed hitting the girl in the neck and she began crying uncontrollably. He pulled his arm back to show he was ready to throw the grenade.
 
Captain Bukov

Reports of a Nazi sniper were not exactly great news. True, Volganov wasn't far from the German border, but clearly, the blitzkrieg was getting the enemy across Soviet frontiers at an uncanny speed. Of course, they could be Fallschirmjager, too. Paratroopers were tough SOBs to deal with, especially German ones. They'd proven it in Crete, Holland, and Belgium.

"Comrades, to the streets! Fight back! Rally all civilians and put them in arms! We must fight back against the Fascists and drive them from our town!" he found himself ordering his men over radio. Konstantinov gave him an approving smile and headed out to recruit civilians for armed resistance to the Nazi aggressors. The chances were not great that this small rifle company could hold off what appeared to be either mechanized infantry or paratroopers, but they had to try.

Orders from Comrade Stalin and Marshal Voroshilov were clear. There was to be fierce resistance to the Hitlerite tide before they retreated. Rumor had it that Stalin was contemplating a "no retreat" order at some point, but right now that was suicidal. In the meantime, they would make a stand before they had to retreat, if they indeed needed to do so.

"Fight, comrades of Volganov! Fight in defense of the Soviet Motherland! Do your best to kill as many Germans as possible!" Bukov heard Konstantinov cry out to the people from the streets. Damn, he might be a fanatic, but he has a way with words, Bukov thought. Quite useful in this situation, that crazy zampolit's rhetoric.

Grabbing his sidearm, Bukov headed out to the streets in his motorcar. He ordered his duty officer, his driver, and two sentries from the Command Post to accompany him. At this point, the front-lines need maximum manpower. The troops needed to see that their officers were leading them and facing danger with them.
 
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Corporal Kuylevin

The next series of events was so sudden so Mika just reacted instinctively. Tree splinters flew through the air as he dove to the floor. The pain in his right arm was what told him he had been shot. "I SEE YOU COMMUNIST BASTARD, DROP YOUR WEAPON OR..." The words where russian. "SHE DIES!" Mika checked his right arm. The bullet had only graced flesh and the wound was not very bad, but it bled pretty much. That was a good thing though. The more it bled, the less risk of infection.

As Mika sat covered under the window he heard a single shot and wondered if the woman was dead. Either way he would not surrender. The life of a civilian was not worth the life of a soldier, especially a sniper. Good snipers did not grow on trees.

He crawled away from the window and went down the stairs, heading for the backdoor. He was not about taking the risk to stay where he was, now that his cover was blown. He entered the backvalley and was soon gone. Next time he would get that kill he thought to himself.
 
David saw the shillotute of the soldier ran away. Fine, next time he saw him he was dead.

Looking down at the crying women he grabbed her by the collar and brought her up to him. "Stop crying you soviet bitch." He threw her against a wall. "Get the fuck up and lets go, I'm going to need you."

"What for."

"In case I need a hostage." This sent the women into more tears. "Now comeon." When he heard the Russian broadcasting his message through the town, he ran towards the sound, reaching the Captain but so the Communist couldn't see him, David threw a grenade which exploded near the Captain. It wasn't close enough to kill him, but definatly close enough to give him shrapnal, damage his hearing and give him shellshock.

Grabbing his hostage by her shirt, he ran towards the other end of town firing his revolver behind him in case he was being chased, but he couldn't slow down.
 
Captain Bukov

Captain Bukov didn't see the potato-masher grenade coming his direction until it was too late. His adrenaline was pumping, his mind racing, his energy and attention directed at leading his hodgepodge band of riflemen and civilians. His driver was dead, blown to ashes. His duty officer had been worse hit by the shrapnel and was bleeding from a perforated spleen. He wouldn't last. Bukov, wounded and in terrible shock that obscured any possible pain, forced himself to get up and led his sentries to a great vantage point. They started firing at the advancing enemy platoon. Clearly, this was the front-line platoon, made up of crack Wehrmacht troops.

He saw Konstantinov get sprayed with bullets from a German MP-38 submachine gun. Mischa was dead. He had no chance. The brave zampolit had earned his glory, the hard way, and there was no beauty or romance to it. It was now solely Bukov's job to lead and organize the fragments of resistance to the German force taking over the town with stupifying speed.
 
Corporal Kuylevin

Corporal Mika Kuylevin heard firefights on some streets now. Still the defence held somewhat but he suspected it would not hold very long. He was hiding in a basement of an abandoned building. This was not the ideal situation for him to operate in. He was wounded. The blood had dried but it hurt like hell. His momentum had passed as he checked the improvised bandage on his arm.

He needed some rest before he tried to find and regroup with the russians. He needed stitches and then go bsck, defending the city.
 
Anna Vabka slowly released her breath. The man who had stumbled into the supposedly abandoned warehouse was now sitting in a corner across from the peep hole of the secret door behind which Anna was standing. Her heart pounding so hard that she was sure she would see her chest moving to its beat if she looked down. The sounds of gun fire and grenades had been going on for what seemed like hours now. She had hidden behind the door at the first sound of the rifles. The room she was in was not large but it had been designed to house four or five people adequately for a seige of several days. But the others had not made it back in time, and now Anna was alone with a soldier on the other side of the door.

Anna didn't understand why the Germans were invading, she had read that a treaty had been signed between the two groups. Apparently, someone had forgotten to tell the Germans that fact. Now she was trapped, alone, in the center of a town which was about to become a German hold from the sounds of things on the streets. She knew she would be safe in the secret room as long as no one heard her or the building wasn't bombed. When Anna's brother and his friends had designed the room, the idea had been to hide from their parents, but as the troubles with the Germans had begun, the young men had begun to stock the room with real foodstocks and bottles of water.

When the sounds of fighting started to echo through the town, the men had taken their rifles and ordering her to remain hidden, had run off to help the townsmen protect the town. But that had been in the early morning hours and now judging by the movement of the sunlight in the warehouse, it would soon be dusk. Anna was pretty sure that Gregor and his friends were dead. She knew that Gregor would have been back to check on her by now if he was capable.

Brushing back the light brown strands of hair that had fallen loose of the old shoelace that was holding the hair out of her blue eyes, Anna debated what to do about the wounded Russian. Her first inclination was to rush out there to see if she could help. Her second thought was that she had best remain where she was as there was no telling whether the Russian was a gentleman or not. While Anna wasn't a young girl, at the age of 22 she had seen enough of war and killing. Shaking her head she pushed back those memories and concentrated on the issue at hand, the bleeding Russian on the other side of the door. If she appeared he might shoot without asking questions and she would compromise the secrecy of the room. If she didn't go out there he might bleed to death in front of her. She wished he would fall asleep so that she could help him without worrying about him shooting her.

When he moaned and laid his arms on his bent knees, his forehead on his arms, Anna knew that her decision was made. Quietly opening the secret door, she slid out into the warehouse and whispered in her neighborhood Russian, "Hey Mister, don't shoot! Are you all right?"
 
David looked, and saw his hostage and ran away. He also saw his brothers in arms had joined the invasion. Quickly David ran 2 miles accross town to its center and went thorugh the back door of a small warehouse, going around the building to find a good Sniping location to assist his Germnan comrades he came upon a young girl and a wounded Russian. He reconized the Russian, and pulled his gun. Ready to fire at either of them.
 
Anna was crouched down in front of the half conscious man when she heard the running steps of someone else entering the warehouse. The sound of a gun being shifted made her freeze, her body instantly bathed in a cold sweat. She looked at the man in front of her, his body also stiff with the knowledge they were about to die. "If only she had done what Gregor had ordered her to do, she would still be behind the secret door. Now, if Gregor was alive, he would find her body draped over that of the Russian man in front of her," she thought regretfully.

There was a moment of absolute silence while all three of them paused in shock, then Anna saw the Russian actually wink at her. Her eyes went wide and then she was flying through the air, and slamming up against a wall. Dazed, she slumped where she landed, the loud sound of guns going off all around her. She began to cough as the smell of expended weapons filled the room. When she looked around she saw that the Russian had shot and killed the German man. She gasped and looked away from the body, ripped by the sniper's rifle in close quarters, blood everywhere.

As she realized she was no longer in danger, her heart began to beat again, her lungs began to breath again, and she closed her eyes and gave a thankful prayer of survival. When she heard a rustling noise, she quickly opened her eyes and saw the Russian struggling to get to his feet. Jumping to her own, she paused, her body weaving slightly as her head swam. "She must have hit the wall with her head," she realized just as the Russian asked if she was all right.

She was surprised at the amount of concern in his voice, as she looked over at him and replied quietly, "I am fine, just a little dizzy, but I am all right. How are YOU?"
 
Umm...excuse me, I'm dead now? What the fuck? I think you lost your train of thought somewhere, you just killed ME!
 
OOC: The first three paragraphs here are the introduction to my character that I mistakenly posted on the OOC thread last week. The rest is my next post.

IC:

Commander Nigel Brooke, English SAS operative, deep undercover in Straatsburg. Sent by his superiors to infiltrate the area and gather intelligence on both the invading German forces and the Soviet defenders, Brooke is one of scores of SAS agents working in the general area. Their mission up to this point was to plant ideas and thoughts in the minds of the Soviets. Churchill was convinced that Germany would lose this horrible war more quickly if they were isolated. He trusted Stalin no further than he could throw a tank, but he figured defeating Hitler was the first priority, and he would handle “Uncle Joe” later.

Brooke and his cohorts working around the area had the job of germinating the idea that any kind of treaty or non-aggression pact with Hitler was a folly. Suddenly, as the German forces overran the area, the dreaded Luftwaffe overhead, his mission was pointless. He would no longer have to convince his new Soviet allies of Nazi treachery.

Nigel would, however, have to think about how he would survive his new predicament.

***
The confusion that abounded was known as the fog of war. Desperate people performing desperate acts, either according to their training or their basic urge to survive. As Nigel watched the brutal battle unfolding, he could feel a distinct disadvantage. The German soldiers, under the control of their Nazi masters, would drive hard and make the townspeople pay in unspeakable ways. The natives, under their communist masters, knew they were in for the fight of their lives, and many had already lost that fight. Nigel’s disadvantage was the absence of a passionate attachment to either side. He was here to persuade the Soviets that their non-aggression agreement with the Nazi’s was not in their long-term best interest. This was now moot, as the gunfire and grenade explosions helped to exclaim. But he had no particular affection for these Communists. He detested their view of the world, and felt that their leader, the hideous Stalin, was as much of a criminal as Hitler. His fellow SAS operatives had filed report upon report indicating so, and many had paid with their lives.

During the past six months, Nigel had convinced the locals that he was an electronics merchant, selling and fixing radios and any other paraphernalia the townspeople had brought to him. Such a place was good for local gossip and planting ideas. It was also good for regular contact with military men who would come to him for assistance with their radios. In order to avoid suspicion, Nigel had hidden his own radio, one that he would now use to contact his fellow SAS agents and tell them that Staatsburg was where the shooting had begun. Come at once.

The intense confusion continued. Nigel had to decide whether to die of indecision or take action. He readied his Bren machine gun and decided to engage the enemy. He might die right here, right now. Maybe when his compatriots arrived to join the fight and assist their new Soviet allies, they would find him dead. This was the life he chose, and he aimed at a scampering German squad from the second floor of his shop, and fired.
 
Captain Bukov

Captain Bukov led his two sentries in ambushing a squad of the lead platoon of German paratroopers. That was clearly what they were. Their helmets and parachute packs gave them away. Realizing that gave him some hope that they could be repulsed, though with some difficulty. It was a weak hope, mind you, but a hope nonetheless.

The slaughtered Nazi squad lay sprawled out on the cobblestone street, their uniforms as crimson as the Soviet flag with their own blood. Captain Bukov used this chance to shout to the men, rally them for a swift and surprising counter-attack. It was the last, fighting chance that the town had to repel the assault.

"Comrades, come with me and throw back the Fascists! Here, here! I am wounded, but I will lead you anyway! Get me a medic, Corporal, so I can chase them out of Volganov!"

Of course, he knew that it was unlikely to succeed against a full battalion or more of Fallschirmjager, but it was a necessary attempt. Mother Russia and the October Revolution deserved no less.
 
Nigel heard shouting. After a few seconds, he recognized the Russian language barking orders. He heard the word “wounded” and “medic”, so he knew things were not well wherever these voices were coming from.

Suddenly, a Russian squad made its way from the shadows, taking position and firing on the still advancing Germans. Suicide, Nigel thought, but what choice did they have? Nigel imagined that if such an attack were to take place against his Chelsea home, he would be just as adamant about its defense.

From above, Nigel watched the valiant fight. Their leader – he appeared to be a Captain – was a very determined man. He was the one who was wounded, and he limped along, instructing his men where to counter the German assault. Several mortars from the daring Soviets paused the Germans just long enough for the Soviets to take cover in a building across the street. This made Nigel feel better and worse. Better, because the Captain and his men seemed to at least temporarily be gaining the upper hand. Worse because suddenly Nigel was behind the defense. This was good if you were a civilian seeking shelter, but for an active participant like himself, it meant he had to be on the move.

Without thinking it over, Nigel ran down the stairs and out of his shop, into the street. Avoiding small arms fire, he made his way to the Captain and his dwindling number of men. “Captain,” he said, tightly clutching his Bren. “You are fighting valiantly. I am at your service.”
 
Captain Bukov

Captain Bukov could barely hear the man with the British accent speak to him, but he could tell that the stranger was offering his assistance. Good. He and his comrades could use any help now, even capitalist help. Besides, having a common enemy made England the new ally of the Soviet Union, even if only temporarily. His hearing was damaged, but he could grasp the gist of the man's gesture.

"Thank you, my British friend. We need any help we can get. You can act as my 2nd-in-command for now, if you will, since Captain Konstantinov, my Political Officer, is dead," he replied, trying to ignore the growing agony from the shrapnel in his left kneecap.

"Comrades, follow me and repel the Fascists from our city!" he screamed hoarsely, waving his sidearm and then firing it at a German lieutenant. The man was hit in the chest and fell immediately forward, slumped over another Nazi corpse.

He heard more gunfire and realized that the local militia had fully joined the fight. Now, they really had a chance to hold out against the Fallschirmjager. As to resisting any new German waves, well, he wouldn't hold his breath on that account. Mechanized infantry and panzers would probably overwhelm his defenses and force him to evacuate. He'd rather not think about that now, instead concentrating on the present counter-attack.

Turning to the Englishman, as they briefly took up a new position, he spoke again,"Captain Sergei Alexeyevich Bukov of Rifle Company A, 13th Guards Division of the Red Army. You are?"
 
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Ooc:

OOC: Please ignore the part where David dies. Let's refrain from killing other players. NPCs can be killed, but not players. Besides, we are short of Germans as it is.

FYI, let's keep this the last OOC post on this thread. Future OOC posts must be made on the OOC thread.
 
OCC: I thought it was one of the players she was RPing as the Russian, but it isn't so

David saw the injured Russian make a weak attempt to reach for his weapon. David reacted immeiadly and fired three shots, one hit the soldier in his stomach, the other in his heart, and the last one in his brain, finally killing him.

David just smiled at all the blood. Immeidatly he turned the revolver towards the women. "Be still woman, or you will join the fate of that red bastard" He pointed at the dead Russian. "Now, if you try to escape." He walked over to the door that the Russiand had come through and closed it. "I will not be afraid to shoot you. See, Chivalry is dead, be it a wounded soldier, a child, or a girl, I am not afraid to kill them."
 
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Captain Bukov

The counter-attack lasted all of 5 minutes. They seemed like forever, but both of the sentries in Bukov's team were gunned down by Fallschirmjager with more Schmeissers. A medic courageously hurried to the scene and evacuated Captain Bukov to a field hospital just east of the city by motorcar.

In the Captain's absence, the counter-attack withered and the Nazis regained what little ground they lost. They were soon at the Command Post and mopping up the remaining defenders of the small garrison. With Company A wiped out, the other 2 rifle companies stood little chance of victory.
 
SS Major Falk

Sturmbannfuhrer August Falk of the Waffen SS rode into the town, quite eager to clean up the remnants of the Bolshevik resistance. The Fuhrer was right. This town was just an example of how hopeless it was to oppose the Reich. A veteran of 2 wars and the street fights from the days before he switched from SA to SS, Falk had seen enough blood to be completely oblivious to the carnage.

"Achtung! (attention) This city is now in the control of the Greater German Reich. All remaining Russians, raise your hands and surrender! You have nothing to fear from the Wehrmacht and the Waffen SS," he lied. He knew very well that they would be deported to slave labor camps, where they would be worked half to death. That wasn't his problem. He couldn't afford to worry much about the fates of enemy soldiers in wartime. They were untermenschen anyway, subhuman, according to his ideology. He had his doubts about that, but it was a convenient excuse in any case.

His troops fanned out and began mopping up the militia and the remaining squads of the Red Army garrison. Most surrendered quickly, but a few brave men and women fought to the death. The battle was over. Volganov is under German occupation now.
 
Frieda Schafer

Frieda stepped off the train, the bitter cold bit at her cheek. She looked around at the remnants of a town scorched by the kind of violence only war can bring. She slowly walked toward the now German command center.

As she walked she looked into the eyes of the defeated Russian citizens walking down the street. They looked at her with subbmission and hate, not really seeing her, but rather only seeing the symbol emblazened on her coat as she walked. Their souls were defeated, they could no longer resist and had siply decided to leave their fates in the hands of the furer's mercy.

She walked into the command center. The warm air greeted her, and the tone was different. The smell was completely different inside, a combination of male musk, disinfectant, smoke, and whiskey, which came from three soldiers standing around in a corner passing a flask and laughing at the naughty jokes they told one another to pass what little free time they had before they recieved more orders.

She strode into the office of the Sturmbannfuhrer. She put an envelope on his desk containing her orders to research the minds of the locals, and to act as counselor for the army as needed. She looked at her commanding officer, feeling oddly uncomfortable about being taller than him but also being used to the feeling "Spezieller Arbeiter Frieda Schafer reporting, I am told that you are expecting me and have been briefed on my purpose here. I await your instrction Sturmbannfuhrer."
 
Nigel Brooke

The time for hiding his true identity had expired, at least with Captain Bukov. He offered his hand…."Brooke, Nigel Brooke. British SAS. I was sent here to clandestinely attempt to convince you Russians that the Gerries were a bad lot. Looks like you don’t need me to convince you of that.”

He was a genial sort, this Captain Bukov. Fiercely dedicated to the defense of this town, although it was becoming increasingly clear that this was not to be possible. Bukov’s men were dying. It pained Brooke to see it, and he knew that the sight of his men dying was tearing at Bukov’s heart.

Brooke stayed with Bukov, unable to assist much with his wounds. A brave medic took him off, and Brooke wished him the best. “This, all of this, is just beginning. Some of my compatriots are on their way to help me. Looks like we’re on the same side – facing down Gerry.” Bukov could only nod in a warrior’s agreement.

Bukov knew of Nigel’s true identity, and he felt confident that he would keep his secret. But being British in this town, as it came increasingly under German control, was not a good thing. Nigel would need to seriously bite his tongue if he came in contact with them. Large parts of London were in rubble due to these bastards…something Nigel would never forget, even if this war were to stop tomorrow. He looked at the local people passing by, insanely attempting to go about their normal lives, only now under occupation by the Germans. They couldn’t possibly know the horror that awaited them.

Yes, Nigel would need to slide back into his alternate ego of Pavel, the local electronics merchant. Until his fellow SAS men arrived, he could do little else. He would need to keep his ear to the ground and gather intel where it was possible.
 
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SS Major Falk

"At ease, Fraulein Schafer. You are a civilian attached to the SS, I take it. It may be best to give you SS rank, preferably officer rank. Being a woman, you will need such an advantage. However, I must warn you that accepting even a courtesy rank in the SS will involve taking a Blood Oath of absolutely loyalty to our Fuhrer. There is no going back. The Fuhrer expects completely obedience to his will. Is that clear, Fraulein?

"Now, don't worry about the men. I will make sure that they respect you until you get a courtesy rank, and after that, the commission should take care of it. Of course, all of this is assuming that you are not already in the Gestapo. Then again, if you were, none of us would be the wiser, would we?

"My men are mostly petty bourgeois types, anyway. They will not assault you. Neither will I, as I am technically petty bourgeois in origin myself, despite my proletarian life in my first years as a National Socialist. We SS have learned lessons from the failure of the SA, one of which is greater personal discipline. Are you a Party member, by the way?"

He looked up at her, not a comfortable fact of life, but a reality to which he had to adjust. He was shorter than many of his subordinates, but that never stopped the Fuhrer, or Napoleon before him. There was more to power and awe than height.

"Now, to business. Your assignment is to 'counsel' the SS and Wehrmacht detachments in this town, all of which under my command. You are here to, what else, perform scientific experiments to compare the mental traits of the Aryan race with those of the resident Byelorussian Slavs. Good luck. We will keep this part of your assignment reasonably secret. We don't need the local getting nervous about possibly being treated like Jews. Now, as a good National Socialist, I am not too concerned about their feelings for their own sake, but I am also a soldier, which means that I have to maintain order and discourage guerilla warfare in my rear.

"At the present, people are torn between considering us liberators or conquerors. For now, at least, we need to encourage the former view. This is not the Ukraine, of course, so we'll not as easy a time of it. I hear that similar hopes are being expressed in the Baltic republics. If you can help with propaganda work in any way, that would also be of benefit to our purpose. Whatever the case, be discreet, and no one will meddle with your assignment. Is that clear?"
 
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Captain Bukov

"Comrade Captain, are you okay?" a voice woke Bukov up from his post-operative recovery nap. It was a field nurse, a stout woman in her mid-40s. She was probably a widow and mother of soldiers, but it was hard to say.

"Da. I am fine now. I take it that the shrapnel was removed?"

"Indeed, Comrade Captain. You were lucky not to be hit in the femoral artery. You would have bled to death before getting here. I must warn you that you will limp for the rest of your life. That's just a consequence of having so much nerve damage in the left knee. You will still be capable of limited action, but the emphasis must be on limited. No wild infantry charges. It's strictly the motorcar or the saddle for any combat duty. Is that understand?"

"Da, Comrade Nurse."

"Oh, I'm not in the Party. My uncle is, however. The old man is a kolholz manager. Good day, Comrade Captain."

Bukov could have sworn that he saw her cross herself. Was the nurse religious? Oh, well. She was nice enough to him, despite the restrictions on his combat performance. He'd look the other way this time. That would explain why she wasn't a Party member if her uncle was and had no doubt pulled strings to make her head nurse (which her insignia indicated). The last thing needed in this war right now was to be too picky about the personal beliefs of field nurses. If a Christian happened to do a good job, he'd let her. He hated informers, anyway, even if he used them. He wouldn't be a stukach.
 
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