Deutchland, Wach!

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Nice quip there SKILORD

Good stuff this but still more development needed, I hope you can find your way with this. It has epic potential

[Paddy]

oh, do you want your knife back now SkiLord,

the dac finally got it out

[SKILORD]

I'm having a wee case of writers block right now, but it should heal and then we'll be alright.

[unscratchedfoot]

NARP!!!

Sorry, my brain is shrinking after arguing with those off-topic loonies. Skilord stay out of there if you want to be creative!

WRITER'S BLOCK???

Go for a long walk and it might help. I walk for 1 hour and 10 minutes to get to the weight gym 2 or 3 times a week which helps to keep fresh. Also do some cardio is important too.

Dude, I only wish I had writer's block. I got 4 more stories I want to write but will never have the time for it all. And I want to finish all the stories I started.

One of the stories is true about me! And another is some dreams I've had. Wacky stuff. Maybe you can break writer's block by using true stuff that happened to you cause no one else is ever going to write it. Some of the stuff that happened in my stories is actually true and some of the weirdos are real people!!

[SKILORD]

I have my own weight gym, I work out for 1 hour every day of the week (not weekend), and do Brazilian Jui-Jitsu for an hour twice a week (works cardio big time).

I'll get through the block.

[SKILORD]

So... scratch... you reakky built a cell phone vibrator that could be measured on the seismec scale?

[ChrisiusMaximus]

he probably did SKI or one of his Whacko Mates

[SKILORD]

Chapter 8: Meeting the Volk

I'm not sure if the motivations in this chapter are always good enough. It's a try :shrug:

-


“Johan von Bismarck was sighted in Berlin yesterday,” the manila folder slid out of her hands across Edward’s dark desk.

Edward looked up balefully at her, “He wants to bring the fight to us.”

She shrugged, “He’s only one man.”

Edward shook his head, “The man is patient, methodical. He was a’ archaeologist for Christ’s sakes. He’s trouble.”

She snorted, “Only one man,” she repeated.

“He single-handedly caused a jail uprising that broke our highest security prison wide open.”

She shrugged, “England is not a prison.”

He grinned, “Ask a German.”

-

Johan caressed his scruffy beard, it wasn’t much help yet, and it probably wouldn’t be much help ever, but it could always lull him. He appreciated the false soothing, some small comfort in his life.

The bus stank; public transportation in England was a frightening prospect. A million scents scarred his nostrils, the intense smells of the smoke, the sour milks, the urine. God, he grew to hate this nation more and more each day. How loathsome.

The door flipped open and he scurried into the long line of people, blank looks upon their faces as he tried to make his way out.”

A pair of children stood a ways in front of him in the line, pointing fingers at each other and making gun noises, shouting at each other about the assorted invisible heroics they were performing. One held a pair of toy handcuffs out, and held them menacingly, tauntingly.

“I’m gonna have to lock you up, ya dirty Kraut.”

The other boy, whose appearance betrayed no German, frowned and held out his hands, palms down.

Johan filed out of the bus, following the person in front of him, he shared a meaningless smile with the bus driver.

He sent his eyes up, towards the well-clouded sky. Past the apartment he had once called his own. He shoved a hand deep into his trench coat, pulling a cigarette to his mouth and lighting it.

“No place like home,” he grinned, thinking of one of the last films he had seen before his life had changed forever, it had been an American picture about a girl with red slippers who had merely to click them to return to the old familiar delicacies of a Kansas backyard.

“If only things were so simple,” he muttered, drawing an awkward glare from a passing woman, whose scraggly hair and unkempt appearance exposed the gutter she called home.

He tugged down the fire escape’s lowest stairs, climbing them quickly. With any luck his tools were still in the closet. Luck had been stingy lately, perhaps today her tune would change.

The window was locked, bolted to the side of the frame, he grinned familiarly at this. The landlady was strict about such things, as she was about curfew, the strictness of the two had made Johan adept at getting in. He slid away the false panel from the side and flipped the bolt back.

Crawling into the window Johan looked quickly about, he hadn’t seen anyone on the outside but there was no room for error here. Perceiving nothing he went directly to the closet, digging determinedly through the top shelf.

Nothing.

He glanced across the walls, a familiar miners hat adorned one, he shook his head, walked over and propped it up on his head, a small victory he supposed.

A rifle clicked at the door, which swung creakily open.

-

“Calling unit 87, a break in is reported at 732 East. Please investigate.”

Officer Vonholts shook his head and put his doughnut carefully back into the box. That damn woman was always calling in stuff like this, she needed to hire her own security.

He forced his car down the street that would take him to the apartments, wondering whether or not he should bother with the siren, “I’m on it.”

-

“John?” the feeble old woman who stood behind the massive rifle uttered.

“Yes ‘mam, It’s me, don’t worry.”

“This inn’t yer room nahmore,” she reminded him, she hadn’t gotten along with him well when it had been. He always got his rent in on time, but was absolutely never at tenets meetings and never obeyed a rule that was inconvenient.

“Ye stealin stuff?”

“No mam, this is all mine.”

She frowned angrily, “Yer lyin.”

He backed up to the window, “No, mam, I’m not.”

“Why ye here then?”

“I’m getting some stuff back,” he edged his way onto the fire escape; she followed him, standing menacingly in the window.

“Yer stuff? I’d venture not. Yer stealing.”

He had seen her use the rifle before, she was always happy when the occasion presented itself. She was taking careful aim; he realized that she had no intention of him surviving this. He backed up to the edge of the fire escape, looking down the three floors to the pavement.

The rifle’s trigger was pulled back.

He jumped.

-

Officer Vonholts whistled to himself as he began to pull his car past the bus stop, into the tiny parking lot for the apartments.

His windshield suddenly shattered, cradling a body in their spider webbed grip.

“S***!” he swerved the car off to the side, slapping the body onto the asphalt.

The man, blood covering his back, wearing a miners helmet shot up suddenly, running back, throwing himself through the streets, bullets followed him. Vonholts flipped the siren on, slammed his car into reverse.

The man was making good time a few yards up the road, the tires on the police car screamed and left rubber behind as they switched direction. The man in the miners helmet cast his eyes backwards, looking at Vonholts. The officer paused for a moment as his eyes were caught. The car shuddered forwards, catching up rapidly, Vonholts dragged it to the side, opening his door, the other man leapt up ion the hood and dashed across. The officers hand shot out, grabbing the runner’s ankle and forcing him to the ground.

Handcuffs slapped around Johan’s wrists before he was shoved into the cage in back of the car.

-

“What’s your name, officer?”

The criminal in the back seemed more conversational than most, gene5rally he got nothing more than profanity.

“Vonholts, why?”

“Von Holtz?” when the other man pronounced it took on the ethnic life that the officer had spent his life playing down, “A German name?”

The officer sneered, “Yeah, what about it? I’m the bobby you stinking limey bastard, and you’re the criminal. Sometimes fate is funny like that.”

There was a brief chuckle in the back seat, “You didn’t ask me for my name, Mein Herr.”

Vonholts growled angrily in the front seat. Mein Herr. My man.

-

The children had been cruel, there were rocks in the air again.

“Mein Herr!”

Like he was a slave, like he was theirs. Nothing of his mattered, it was all meaningless to them, something abhorrent. The rocks hit soft flesh.

“Stinkin Kraut!”

Punches would land just as hard in the future, an awkward adolescent would find himself bloody far too often. A quiet man would find himself, like his nation, conquered, submitted.

“Mein Herr!”

He was still owned; he was still at their mercy and under their cruel auspices. Teachers never interfered, friends would always evaporate.

-

“Please call me Johan von Bismarck,” Johan responded to the quiet, growling man in the front seat.

“Von Bismarck?” a grin cracked across his face, “You expect me to believe that?”

The man in the back shrugged his shoulders, “look, I didn’t steal anything, there’s no reason for me to be here.”

“There’s always breaking and entering.”

The man in the back frowned, “Yes, indeed.”

There was quietness in the car, Johan peered out the side of the car, looking at the site that he had once excavated, the entrance hidden in a hill. Discreet, quiet. There were lights out there, there was excavating today.

“Have you ever heard of the Volkgefängnis?”

The man inside was grinning with everything now, “You come with fairy tales and lies, my friend. But of course I have.”

“I have been there,” Johan held the scarred wrist to the window, the burned numbers of the prison.

The officer sent a glimpse at the numbers and his car swerved off of the road.

“Gott in Himmel!”

Johan smiled in the back seat.

The car sat at the side of a road, in an enbankment. Johan peered out of his window.

“Life has been hard for me since I found out I was German. I can’t imagine how hard it’s been your entire life. I know its hard to trust me but if you just let me go I’ll fix this nation. This is my nation and I’ll bring it back to life or die trying. Please.”

The stark blue eyes of the back seat were begging him for mercy, Von Holtz put the car into park, glaring unmercifully at a flat tire that had developed in the back.

-

“Mein Herr!”

The rocks took to the air with childish accuracy, with childish force. They struck with scarring blows, they drew blood, they stabbed, they bruised, they shattered the spirit of a nation.

-

The back door was open, “I don’t know why I trust you.”

Johan von Bismarck slid out the door, leaving a trail of blood across the back of the seat.

He smiled and shook hands with the officer, “Need help with the tire?”

He grinned and shrugged, “I’ll take care of it, get out of here before I change my mind.”

Johan smiled, not with fervent anticipation but with a sad yet hopeful quality.

“Lassen Sie die Bastarde schleppen Sie hinunter nicht.”

“I’ll try, mein Kaiser, I’ll try.”

The crown was a miners helmet, but with all the appearance of royalty a man turned and disappeared across the street.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

I like it, its great infact. I think you had a great idea with this story and made an excellent start, then you sort of lost your way a little.

But I think you have managed to get this back on the right path here, and now the development and build up is about the right pace.

I like the way Johann's luck to date seems to of gotten worse, much worse and it sort of would if this was for real. Imagine a nation that was once proud completely smashed and downtrodden, its not that hard actually as its happeneed so many times in real history.

I said before that you have the makings of an epic here and I still think so, however dont be single tracked in your approach, there are many Paths of drama!!! Sad, Happy, Glorious etc etc! Tragic even!!

It was simply delightful to see a change there at the end in the characters luck, however significant that turns out to be as you progress.

Good luck with this SKI and never give in as good old Churchill would have said

[Paddy]

well done SkiLord

[unscratchedfoot]

Are you sure falling onto a car windshield would cut someone up? I broke a truck window once and it shattered like ice so I think autoglass is designed to incur as few cuts as possible by breaking up into little pieces all at once.

[SKILORD]

Who says that they have safety glass here?

I'll look into it scratch, that's not a good excuse, I'll look into it.

[Micha]

Great story!

However, you shouldn´t use an online-translator for the German parts. Especially the first posts and the last sentence “Lassen Sie die Bastarde schleppen Sie hinunter nicht.” are... well, not really meaningfull

If you want me to correct those mistakes, pm me. However, a good story! I hope he can restore the Kaiserreich!

[Whoha]

So this is how cities that have been mine for thousands of years can culture flip to a single city on an island a world away(damn ai respawning )

[SKILORD]

Thanks Micha, I try runnig it back and forth a couple of times to make sure.... but apparently I've failed anyway.

-



I'll have a new chapter soon... I hope.