Deutchland, Wach!

[Kaos XIII]

Very nice, good job SKI.

[steamthunk]

I'm a big fan of alternate history Germanys so this looks interesting. Have to agree with some of Vovan's comments though about moving through it too fast. I, for one, want more background.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

You have attracted quite an audience here SKI, now all we need is another chapter

[SKILORD]

Yeah, you do, don't you?

I started work on one last night, and if you give me... and hour... I'll have it up.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Woo Hoo

[SKILORD]

Chapter 3: Denied

Johan von Bismarck lay quivering in his bed. Memories ringing painfully through his head.

-

Damien punched him, “Think it’s funny? Smartass?”

“It’s not what you think,” Johan put a hand to his bleeding nose, “I really am.”

Damien hit him again.

-

Johan peered over at Damien’s cot, wondering if he could get a new cellmate.

-

“Hey Otto!” someone called from the mass that had encircled them, “Wanna crown?”

-

These people are barbarians, he realized, blood dripping onto his pillow as the cement of the wall scratched his back.

-

Damien had knocked him down, had him mounted.

“Never pretend to be someone you aren’t.”

The punches landed like hailstones, one eye had already swollen shut, a few cuts were heaving blood with each new strike.

-

If only I could prove it, but he realized that nothing could ever prove it while he was still locked up.

A soft clink of metal came from the cell door.

-

They had left him alone in the yard, bleeding and desperate.

It had taken ten minutes for him to pull himself up and hobble back indoors, the guards had been angry that he was so late. It seemed so distant.

-

The barrel of a gun was pressed firmly into his scalp.

is this how it ends?

-

The guards were no less cruel. Just as the other Germans hated him; distrusting his royalty, the British guards hated him for causing trouble.

-

Johan threw himself off of his cot. The bullet screamed as it left his pillow in ruins and dug into the wall.

“S***,” he could hear through the bars. Another clink as the gun pulled away.

Damien shot upright, peering about.

“What the f*** are you doing?”

“Somebody shot at me.”

Damien was quiet again, “I should beat the s*** outta you again smartass. We’ve got a lot of work to do on you before you act German.”

“I swear Damien, they did, there’s a bullet hole and everything.”

Damien swung down from his cot, his bald head glistening in the moonlight; he squatted down and touched the bullet hole.

“I’ll be damned.”

Johan nodded.

“I’ve never seen ‘em do this before.”

“Really?”

“Nah. Interrogation, torture. Never a murder in the night though.”

“What’s it mean.”

“It means that no matter how much of a liar you are… maybe we can get someone to believe you.”

Johan frowned, “And so what?”

“It means you’ll stop going to bed coated in your own blood. Johan von Bismarck, get some rest. We’ve got a lot less work tomorrow.”

With that he pulled himself up to his cot and reclined back to sleep.

Johan laid himself down carefully on my cot and stared at the bars, it was going to be a long night.

-

“C’mon Damien, yesterday you were beating the s*** outta him for even thinkin about it, now you think he’s the real deal?”

Damien thought no such thing, “Yeah, I do. The guards tried to kill him in the night last night, you ever seen ‘em try that one? Why not torture, why not interrogation? The limeys obviously think he’s special.”

“Yeah? If they thought he was so special, why not torture him.”

Damien paused for a moment, but only for a moment, “Tortures have to be recorded, they don’t want any record of him. Anyway they can’t kill in tortures, that’s why they’ve gotta be recorded.”

The larger man was silent, peering into Johan’s bruised eyes, judging the spirit that was left.

He sat down, “I dunno.”

Damien stood a little taller, “We’re all Germans here. We need to, for once, put aside our differences. The limeys can lock us up as long as we’re fighting with ourselves. We put all of the fighting aside and then what? If we work together, behind this man,” he grabbed Johan’s well bruised shoulder, “we can get ourselves out of here.”

A look of awe dawned behind every eyelid, “Freedom.”

“Yeah!” Damien was talking faster, excited now, “And if we can do that then maybe, just maybe, we can get our country back.”

Excited, childlike grins darted from mouth to mouth.

Deutschland ueber alles, Johan smiled back at the men who had so quickly come to accept him, above all the petty disputes, above every difference. Deutschland

“Deutschland,” Johan stepped forward, lifting his fist, “Erwache!”

-

“I don’t like being used,” Johan muttered to the cot above him

A snort came in reply, “Ain’t it better’n gettin smacked around?”

“Yeah,” Johan nodded, his arms behind his head, looking across his cell into the next, where a vigilant inmate stared into the darkness of the hall.

“Think they’ll try it again?”

Damien snorted again, “Nah, too late now. I could make you into a martyr.”

Johan von Bismarck, heir to the long forgotten German throne shook his head and pulled his arms out from behind it, setting his head onto the filthy pillow of the cell, wondering whether the inmates had sworn allegiance to him or to Damien.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Superb!! you proved your point

"We got a lot of work to do!"

Nice stuff SKILORD very nice

[Paddy]

Thank you for this.... appreciate your work...

[SKILORD]

Yeah,. now if I could only spell Deutschland properly

Where's a mod when you need 'em?

[SKILORD]

Chapter 4: Rising

This isn't so good.

-
Damien’s cigarette sent smoke spiraling towards the sky, “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t she?”

Johan nodded, staring out the barred window.

“When’ll we be free, you suppose?”

Damien snorted, “Free? That’s not goin to happen to us, Johan. We’ll be slaves to the limeys until time runs out. Those of us stuck here in prison don’t like it, but that’s the way things are.”

“Why not rise up, I mean, no one could say we don’t have reason.”

“Why should we? So that we can get a closer feel of the great British heel?”

The guard at the end of the hall stood up, “I don’t like the sound of that, mister.”

Damien stood up, stubbing out his cigarette.

“You goin to do something about it, ye limey bastard?”

The guard was a plump man, a nightstick hung at the side of his belt, a sneer crossed his face.

“Yeah, I am. You want a taste of the British heel?” he pulled his wireless transceiver to his face, “Torture? Yeah, we’ve got a Kraut up here who wants a closer feel of Britain’s heel.”

Damien spit through the bars, “f*** you.”

The guard stared cruelly at him, and turned to his wireless, “Yeah, make sure this one gets plenty.”

-

Johan sat in the cell, leaning against the wall, trading meaningless conversation with the men in the cell next to his.

“He’s been gone a day, it usually take that long?”

The other men frowned, “Ja, Mein Kaiser.”

“Scheisse.”

The other man’s cellmate appraised him as he propped myself on my knees, “Kaiser, do you really think we can make it out of here?”

He smiled with the certainty that any leader must learn, “Of course mein freund.”

The gate at the end of the hall opened, swinging on it’s rusty hinges, two guards dragged a body across the hall to the furthest cell.

The door to Johan’s cell swung open, “You done with him you bastards?”

The body bled from countless wounds across his back.

“Shut up ye Kraut, or we’ll find you next.”

The British turned and slammed the door shut, “Ye sadistic limey bastards, you can all go to hell for all I care!”

Damien looked up at Johan, fury burning in his eyes.

Johan nodded, defiant to the last.

The bells rang at the far side of the hall and the guards came down the hall to usher the Germans to the outdoors.

-

There were a few guards who waited with rifles, watching the Germans.

Johan had learned of several occasions that those rifles had been used, he had been promised that the guards weren’t afraid to use them.

The sun beat down on Damien’s cuts, the guards didn’t have the mercy to leave him inside.

Eager eyes awaited the furious Kaiser, “Mein Volk,” he began.

The crowd became tense, staring furtively at the guards, then it grew bold, screaming.

“Ueber alles, Ueber alles!” resonated across the yard.

A guard approached the crowd, his rifle raised, “Disband, now.”

They stared out at him, yet bound together.

“Disband.”

The guard watched as out of the crowd came a single man, the crowd watched the tall man the guard had heard called the Kaiser, the man who seemed at the center of everything from hunger strikes to mealtime riots, he aimed his rifle delicately.

“Deutschland Lebt.”

Johan von Bismarck swung his fist across the guard’s face.

-

Rifles had punctured the air, blood had spoiled the ground, Johan had personally been shot in his arm and it now hung limp beside him. Rocks had caught the guards who had shot from the walls. The Germans had been buried and the limeys left to feed the vultures. The stench of death still permeated the truck.

Someone had been digging a ditch under the wall for months. The British attempts to lock them in the yard had failed. The ditch hadn’t led to freedom, as it had been hoped, instead they found themselves in the shipping yard, they had beaten a trucker, his truck was filled with escaped Germans and the gates had fallen before them, the guards hadn’t been in place until too late, too busy trying to understand what had happened.

Johan’s arm burned as he forced the truck down the road at desperate speeds.

But it seemed a small price to pay, he contemplated, watching destiny speed towards him.

[SKILORD]

I sahn't feel confident to continue this if none are present to read it.

Were your aim but to curse, I would as a brother embrace ye.

[Paddy]

But Sir, we are here.

We just sit quietly in the presence of your work.

May we have some more Sir, Please?


Paddy and the Scots

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Hey its not so bad, sometimes you are by far your own worst critic SKI.

Im enioying this sure enough, although it is not your best work yet!

I stress the Yet for it is early days in this story, Im anticipating a tale of epic proportions, of the rebirth of a nation. Has Fight for Freedom been of any inspiration to you in this story ?

I definitely wish to see you contimue, and would advise you to expect at times the response to be limited, this forum is very quiet at times. Trust me I know

[History Guy]

Well, I like what I see here.

[SKILORD]

Chapter 5: Graveyard

The man behind the computer shook his head, “The traffic authorities can’t find any trace of them, sir.”

His wrinkled blue shirt presented a sloppy tie, advertising a lifestyle that Edward Rhodes could never in good conscious accept, so damn unbritish.

Have them keep searching, they can’t have gotten too far without a stop.”

The lackey nodded, “Of course.”

“They can’t be allowed to get near a city, if this got out…” Edward shuddered.

“Yes, sir.”

Satellites peered from their spacey abode onto the Earth, seeking for him, piercing every nook of the desert that separated the prison complex from civilization.

Edward stepped closer to the screen that projected their progress, nothing.

“Sir, we’ve found something.”

Edward Rhodes, General Commander of yet occupied Germany, turned to his aides, smiling.

The scent was caught; the pursuit would be a little task.

-

The truck dragged itself past the scalding winds of the desert, the engine firing a few last pistons as it slowly died without fuel.

Damien cursed in the passenger seat, Johan pulled the truck off into the caked sands at the side of the road.

“What now? We die?” A panicked expression swept across Damien’s face..

“Maybe, but there should be a station nearby.”

“We’re enemies of the state,” Damien reminded him.

“When did the gas station attendants become concerned with the state?”

Damien nodded, “Perhaps we’ll be safe.”

“Safety has nothing to do with it, we don’t have a choice.”

Damien kicked his door open and went around to the back of the truck, slapping the doors against the side of the trailer.

“We’re outta gas, Honor Guard report.”

The largest of the group stepped forward, pulling themselves down.

“The rest of you stay in the shade back here, if you get killed by something so f***ing stupid as the sun, I’ll whip the body.”

The other men returned to their assorted sprawls in the back of the trailer.

-

The rotors buzzed behind him, Edward Rhodes slid furiously across the desert.

“We’re almost there sir.”

A contingent of Royal Marines twitched nervously in the back of the chopper as they sped towards the location that the satellite had revealed.

The heavy gun mounted on the side of the chopper stared lazily at the sands and dust beneath it as it passed.

“There, sir,” the pilot pointed off in the distance at a stationary truck.

A cruel glint flashed in Edward’s eyes, he turned back and signaled the Marines to prepare.

The Germans heard the engines, came out to inspect.

The pilot swung the ship to dash sidewise as the heavy gun opened fire, laying a few Krauts low.

The heavy gun barked and spewed death. The chopper came to a stop, rocks pelting it in the side and bouncing harmlessly off of the windshield. It landed and the Marines began to file out, lining up and firing, executing heartlessly the enemies of the state.

Shot, pause, shot. The rhythm of the Marines was the envy of the world. The Krauts ran and fell, died and collapsed. Bullets found themselves new homes in these, wanderers came to a final pause.

Edward Rhodes sat himself behind the heavy gun, grinning strangely. The pilot might have noticed but already a thin chord of blood seeped down his uniform. Lifeless eyes stared out the window, lifeless hands gripped the throttle.

The commander of the marines turned back, his job complete the traitors murdered.

The heavy gun barked again.

“No witnesses.”

-

“Yeah, happens all the time, truckers get lost, ferget to load up proply,” the attendant chuckled, “We can get ye all filled up.”

Damien laughed, “yeah, happens I guess. How much it gonna be?”

“Well, thirty pounds oughta get yah back to Leipzig if that’s where yer headed, ssuming you is only a few miles back.”

Damien nodded and checked the wallet he had taken off a fallen guard, he handed over the money.

He lifted his hand and Johan started to pump the diesel into the excessively large container. The Honor guard stood at his sides, watching everything.

Damien shook hands with the attendant, “It’s a pleasure.”

The attendant nodded his gray, wizened face, “You want a ride back?”

Damien lifted an eyebrow, “You serious?”

“Yeah.”

“All of us?”

The attendant shook his head, "I can't take ye all, just the two a ye."

Damien looked carefully at the Honor Guard, “We’ll go for that, sure.”

-

Edward kicked bodies out of the way, proceeding through the remains of the truck.

A redcoated British marine watched him, the jaw sagging open and bleeding onto the sandy pavement.

“No witnesses.”

Edward kicked another body out of the way, pulling the Germans apart and examining each of them, peering into their features.

He cursed to the sky as, in the distance, the sandy berth of a truck began speeding towards them.

-

Bodies everywhere. Blood had spilled and mixed, an orgy of death. The station attendant paused for a moment, unsure that he was seeing this.

Damien stared, petrified, watching the bodies of his friends as the buzzards sat on their chests, whispering of the grave.

Johan leaned forward from the back seat, “Who did this?”

The car came to an abrupt halt, the attendant leaned out the door and vomited.

Johan leaned forward, “I promise you that our boys didn’t do that to the redcoats.”

Dietrich turned back to reply to him.

And saw the chopper hovering behind them.