Deutchland, Wach!

[unscratchedfoot]

Wow, we're being introduced to Skipie style intrigue for a change. Something bad is going to be waiting for Johan at the museum no doubt.

Isn't anyone else reading this rubbish... whoops... I mean exhilirating stuff?

Keep the material coming.

[KuriousK724]

this is thrilling! although i cant fully enjoy it cause of class.... well back to autocad... looking forward to the next tvma installment!

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Hey SKILORD I heard you been looking for me well here I am !

Excellent stuff, truly excellent, they should make a film of this !!

I thoroughly enjoyed reading that chapter, please please please keep the goods coming

[SKILORD]

Thanx for the support, I'll get the next chapter up asap.

(I'm graduating from high school soon, I'm a little busy)

And I'm trying to start up 'Wonderland'

[SKILORD]

I've got the next chapter almost entirely written. I'd finish it but its on another computer.

Anyway... I'm thinkin of youse guys.

[unscratchedfoot]

hurry up

[SKILORD]

Chapter 10: Taking the Cheese

It was convenient to have a gun, it occurred to Johan as he approached the tall fence of the Museum storage area. He smiled at his acquisition, which hung limply from a shoulder strap, as he slid a wire cutters out from his pack.

He was dressed entirely in black, the little belt pouch was black, he slid like a ghost through the slit in the fence, it was slender enough that it wouldn’t be noticed by a pudgy, overpaid museum guard. He had been here before, escorting pieces he had unearthed, he knew the sort.

There was a light on the end of the gun that he now clenched against his shoulder, it was off, he felt it necessary not to be noticed. He shot through the darkness, keeping himself low, peering deeply into corners before venturing them. He knew where they would have put the sword, unless they were trying to trick him. If it was a trap, as he suspected, they had no intentions of tricking him.

He crawled up to the roof of the building, using the maintenance ladder, he wasn’t sure they wouldn’t have this entrance covered, but it seemed a better chance to take.

The rifle peered over, he was holding it in one hand and hoping that he could hold on if he had to fire.

The roof was silent, empty, black.

Johan pulled himself up, his rifle now at his hip as his free hand stabled him.

He looked around, a little confused. They’re just trying to confuse me.

He walked over to the ventilation outlet, sliding the cover off and lowering himself in. His legs wouldn’t reach the bottom, and he started to wonder if this had been such a good idea.

He tried to pull himself up, his average sized arms strained against the weight of the rest of his body, the metal sides of the ventilation opening dug into his flesh.

He cursed.

He let go.

-

The bottom of the long metal shaft was dark, he rubbed his hand along his rifle, checking it for damage.

Finding none he flicked on the light, letting it dash down the ventilation shaft before flicking it back off.

He started to crawl forward, his gun perched on his shoulder and pointing into the dark.

-

He was lost, and he wasn’t very surprised by this. The dark alleys of the ventilation system had few openings, and the only way to drop lower was to drop all the way to the floor, a good fifty feet if he guessed right from his memories.

He cursed under his breath, the tunnel creaked.

His head jerked around as the aluminum tunnel began to droop with him inside of it.

He darted forward, up an incline. The tunnel stopped creaking as he darted towards a nearby ventilation hole. He peered through it.

He saw the top of a box, illuminated by the moonlight that peered through one of the immense windows near the roof at this point the didn’t care where it was, he only hoped that the Limey’s weren’t close enough to see him.

He kicked out the grill and slid down.

He took a quick look around the warehouse, there was no light but the moon. He started to crawl down the front of the box, down the front of the massive shelves that held myriad bounties from the modern raids into ages past.

As silently as he could manage he slid down to the stark cement floor.

There was no noise besides him, he lifted his gun up to his shoulder and started to look around him, identifying his location.

He saw an immense stone structure, and it occurred to him that he had broken into the wrong building.

-

He grabbed a fire hose, severing it from its source, cursing as he did so.

He went across the small street, avoiding the flashlights of guards making their lazy patrols, and climbed up the maintenance ladder.

He looked inside a large window near the roof, there was no light, he pulled on it until it lifted, propping it up with a metal extension.

He shook his head, tying the hose to the extension.

He’d be an easy target for a little while, but he wasn’t prepared to go through the hell of the ventilation systems again. He grabbed the line with one hand, using the other to hold on to his rifle. It was an intimidating posture that did little to help him, he had only a feeble hold on the hose and his control of the rifle would have been better if he had just let it hang. If anyone decided to start firing at him he would probably kill himself with a combination of the fall and stray bullets. He repelled down the wall.

The rope stopped about fifteen feet too soon, Johan realized that he would have to get better at espionage if he intended to bring about a revolution like this. He started swinging himself out, hoping to reach the nearest storage shelf.

The window swung shut.

The rope gave, dropping him suddenly down right above the ground.

The noise still rang in his ears, screaming that he had been found, that the English were on their way, he pressed his back against the wall and pointed his gun around.

There was no response.

He shook his head, peeling himself away from the wall and dashing silently through the halls. The swords.

He grinned, searching through the carefully preserved artifacts, examining each label until he found the one he wanted.

There weren’t any Englishmen around.

It was almost too easy, Johan grinned and picked the sword up. It was perfectly balanced.

He slid it into the scabbard he had brought, it was a poor fit but he would have time for details later.

Now all he needed were the crown jewels, he grinned, those were held in the Empress’s Throne room, besides the Russian crown and under the English.

He slid open the door, too giddy with excitement about the ease of his grab of the sword to check for the flashlights.

One of the beams caught him.

“You there!”

-

He ran. The bigger man wasn’t as fast, and he fell behind, but there were certainly reinforcements coming. He also realized that he had run in the opposite direction of his original incision, he didn’t think he could waste the time to make another.

A bullet bit the dust next to his feet.

“The next one won’t miss,” the fat man assured him, wheezing sloppily.

“I don’t want to shoot you.”

They stood in the dark, the moon casting disapproving eyes upon them, Johan’s rifle hung at his waist, his finger gripping the trigger tightly.

“You won’t. You can’t get that thing up to your shoulder before I hit you, you can’t hit me from your waist.”

Johan took a step back, the handgun in the other man’s palm rose threateningly, he stumbled a few steps forward, “don’t test me.”

Johan shook his head, chuckling to himself, “You’re pretty ballsy for a night watchman.”

“I’ve seen my share of burglars, you aren’t that impressive.”

The reinforcements were coming, Johan wouldn’t have time much longer.

“Dammit.”

He shot from the waist, clipping the guard in the leg.

He lifted it to his shoulder, slamming a bullet into the guard’s shoulder.

Johan von Bismarck wasn’t a very good burglar, but he slipped into the night.

-

The gurney wheeled madly through the hall, Edward sat passively in his cot, watching nurses hurry up and down the hall, arms full of supplies.

“Excuse me,” he asked a nurse who was passing by, “What’s going on?”

“A gunshot victim, two rounds, from the museum,” she turned her head back to the front, attempting to escape.

“’mam, did they catch the b****** who did it?”

She took a moment more to look in on him, “No.”

She left, caught up in the weight of the man’s struggle, Edward Rhodes grinned happily, all things were coming to pass as had been planned. Magnificent.

“The Mouse takes the Cheese, every f***ing time.”

[SKILORD]

New chapter up soon.

I guess you guys don't like that chapter, I have an idea of why. I'll fix things for the next one.

[unscratchedfoot]

.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Yes I like it, sorry its taken me a while to read this and reply.

Its great, your leaving the chapter with enough of an incentive for us to come back and read the next.

The last bit where Rhodes Grins to himself is superb, nice intrigue, in fact very nice intrigue, well done.

[SKILORD]

I'm gonna try to get a chapter (2 if possible) up today and/or tomorrow before I set off on my Senior Trip.

[Paddy]

Originally posted by unscratchedfoot
.

you have quite a way with your words

/me pour Scratch a cold beer

[SKILORD]

Chapter 11: Sowing

I don't have my 'A' writing game on tonight, but I felt obliged to give you a chapter since I won't be back for a good while.


-


The lights were flashing, and the bar was packed, women were dancing on the far side of the room, on top of the bars. Johan shook his head; the underbelly of Berlin was a lusty place.

The crowd at the bar was mostly around a single man, a wiry figure who was wearing a baseball hat that read ‘Freiheit.’ Johan grinned, Timothy Rommel.

Rommel was associated with every story that Johan had heard of the Volkgeffanis before he had been there himself. He had been in command of a tank battalion and was leading them through maneuvers in the desert. He had come across the gefannis. He had quit the army and gone mercenary, he was a dark hero, but the only hero Germany had had for the last years.

Johan reached into his trench coat, grabbing the hilt of his sword, he drew the eyes of the crowd. “Guten Abend gute Herren.”

There was a parade of clicks as dozens of guns were pulled and presented by the crowd, Johan grinned.

“I am here in the name of the Monarchy.”

There was a nearly synchronized chuckle from the bar.

Johan shook his head, yanking the sword out of its scabbard. He held it out, offering it to Rommel.

Rommel shook his head, “What’s this?”

“The sword of the Reich.”

Rommel guffawed, taking it and reading the inscription.

“A magnificent forgery,” he propped it against the bar, “shoot him.”

“Wait,” Johan backed up, reaching for his rifle under his trench coat, “My name is Johan von Bismarck, I’m here to start a revolution.”

Timothy shook his head, lifting his hand towards the eyes that looked to him for a signal.

“You think it hasn’t been tried before? Do you think that the Reich has been sleeping so peacefully for these years? Deutschland Lebt nicht.”

Johan shook his head, “You know better than that, Deutschland lives in prisons across the backcountry of this nation,” Johan pulled up the sleeve of his coat, presenting his scars, “I’ve been there.”

Rommel shook his head, stepping over to Johan, inspecting the scars.

Rommel looked at him, “I’m not going to have you shot, you’re harmless to me, leave this place.”

Rommel turned away, beginning a walk back to the bar.

“What if I pay you?” Johan asked in desperation.

“To kill people?” Johan nodded as he heard the chuckle, “How much a head?”

“A thousand.”

The men at the bar grinned, laughing.

“Try again.”

Johan winced, “Ten Thousand.”

Rommel shrugged, “Who’re the marks?”

“A few officials, Brits.”

“You don’t have that money, do you?”

Johan frowned, “I can get it.”

“I’ll need it in advance.”

Johan frowned, “You want a list?”

“Be back tomorrow with at least one kill’s worth and the list.”

-

The metal suitcase flapped against his leg. Johan shook his head, if he didn’t pull all of this off he was a dead man, the loan sharks would ensure that. He would bleed eighteen thousand dollars if he had to.

“Guten Abend,” One of Rommel’s men cracked the door.

“I’ve got enough for three kills.”

The door swung open, “Welcome then.”

Rommel stood on the other side, “Who’s warrants are you signing here?”

Johan shrugged, “The mayor, The governor, and Edward Rhodes.”

“Edward Rhodes?”

“He’s MI6.”

“What’d he do?”

“He’s f***ed me over a few times, got me sent to the geffanis, tried to kill me.”

“It personal?”

“A little.”

“Why don’t you do it yourself?”

Johan shrugged, “I don’t have it in me, we used to be friends.”

Rommel shook his head, “A Brit and the Kaiser?”

“I didn’t know back then.”

Rommel chuckled, “give me the cash.”

He handed it off to one of the men, who propped it open and started to inspect it.

“So, you gonna get the people involved in your little insurrection or just have some people assassinated?”

“I have a plan.”

Rommel shook his head, “I like you kid, you remind me of myself when I was your age.”

“I’m not that young.”

“It’s not the number of years you’ve been here, years are a number, its your age. I remember it. I thought I could make a difference, help change England from the inside.”

“Just make the hits.”

-

The villa of the governor was located outside of Berlin, in the almost tropical side of the Rine River. The governor had the queen’s authority over the province of Berlin, named after its capital and including the former German cities.

A bodyguard held his rifle tight to his hip, peering suspiciously out the window.

Smoke began to creep out from under the door of the closet.

The bodyguard went over to inspect it.

He opened the last door he ever would.

-

The explosion shook the glass in the governor’s office, “What the f*** was that? Get an explanation.”

The bodyguard who had been in the office stepped out, looking down the hall, shouting an order to a man on the other side.

He turned back into the room, looking to the governor, who looked back blankly.

His face was pale, a bullet hole through his chest. There was an object on his desk that hadn’t been there a moment before.

There was an open window on the other side of the office, he realized a moment before he was blown away with all the potential evidence in the room.

-

The rifle smelled like wood polish, the scope was clear, he could see the Mayor through the window of the limousine.

“F***in limey.”

The window was bulletproof; there wasn’t any sense in shooting yet. The air was thick and warm on top of the building; the sun was setting to the west.

The car came to a stop and the mayor stepped out.

“Guten nacht.”

-

The hospital was dark, Rommel grinned as he found the right room. He pushed open the door.

Agent Rhodes was lying asleep on his bed, he was in traction. It would be an easy ten thousand.

The silenced handgun was only a few feet away from Rhodes.

A hand armored with plaster swept it out of the way; Rhodes pulled his other hand around, a gun in his grip.

Rommel dropped to the floor as the gunshots tore into the wall that had been behind him. Agent Rhodes pulled his leg down and dragged himself up.

Rommel rammed himself into the bed, forcing it onto its side and forcing Rhodes onto the floor, the bed between them.

Bullets started to blast through on either side, each man hoping to get a lucky shot on the other.

Rhode’s gun clicked empty, a few moments later Rommel’s followed suit.

“You’re not much of an assasin, are you John?”

Rommel grinned, “I am an excellent assassin Mr. Rhodes.”

Rhodes laughed on the other side of the bed, “I didn’t think he’d have it in him himself. So who are you, a second rate bounty hunter? A lackey?”

Nurses were beginning to creep down the halls.

Rommel slid around to Rhode’s side of the bed, “I’m a professional, and I always get my mark.”

Rommel pulled out a Bowie knife, charging at the man who was covered in plaster casts.

Rhodes threw himself onto the bed, rolling it back and rolling himself off of it onto the other side.

Pain burned through Edward’s nerves, scorching a trail to his brain. He could hardly see straight, he threw his useless gun at the assassin and hobbled to the door.

He cast an eye over his shouler, “The infamous Major Rommel.”

Rommel walked slowly around the bed, whose worn sheets hung in disarray, “Are you ready to die Mr. Rhodes?” he growled.

Rhodes stumbled across the hall, a nurse was at the edge, she wouldn’t help much even if she got there in time, he grinned, leaning against a glass case that held a fire extinguisher.

He hopped to the side, yanking open the case and frantically grabbing the extinguisher.

“That won’t do you much good Mr. Rhodes.”

The spray shot out of the extinguisher at the assassin. Rhodes aimed for the face, hoping to blind him.

The assassin threw the knife out of the icy mist, missing pitifully. Edward ran down the hall.

Timothy Rommel wiped his face clear of the extinguisher fluid as his mark escaped.

It was more than the money now.

It was a personal matter.

-

“Deutschland,” Johan muttered into the camera, “Erwacht.”

He smiled as he turned off the recorder, he had spent four hours crafting the video that he hoped to carry his message, that he hoped would incite the people of Berlin, of Germany. He had broken back into the excavation site, revealed its location to the curious viewers, explained its heritage, explained his heritage, explained his scars, and the impotence of theVolk.

His latex gloved hands slid the tapes into bulky manila envelopes, networks’ addresses were delicately printed on them.

He went out to the car, he had some mail to deliver.

[SKILORD]

I'm sorry about missing umlauts, by the way (to das German speaker) but I'm typing this up on Word and it's wearisome.

I'm sorry I'm such a lazy slob.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

nice developments SKI how long you going to be gone for