Deutchland, Wach!

[Metaliturtle]

wow, finally got around to reading this and I am hooked. I had a good chuckle though how like more than half of your intros are "this isn't really gonna be as good as the rest" then it gets better.

[Micha]

You´re lowering the amount of German language your characters are using, huh?

Btw: Could you please insert the missing "s" in "Deutschland" in the headline of the very first post? Thanks

Edit:
Ah, I see you already have edited the headline, but the threadname isn´t affected...
Well, never mind then.

PS:
Great story, maybe you should make a novel out of it once it´s finished...

[unscratchedfoot]

Okay, I'll try to add more than just "Great story". I read your chapter and felt it wasn't quite up to your usual standard so I'm gonna mention a couple of points you may wish to consider. Basically, there is some unnatural use of verbs and repetitive grammar mistakes.

The radio room, he shot his eyes in briefly, it seemed less populated than the other rooms, there weren’t any major missions on right now, he could start his work there unimpeded.

When I read "he shot his eyes in briefly" I am not lying that I had an image of Jim carrey in 'The Mask' when his eyes came stretching way out of their sockets when he saw the neighboring woman with a mud mask on. This same sentence is actually a run-on sentence with 4 seperate sentences and a sentence fragment all connected by commas. You do not want to let your literature teacher to see this.

There was a gasp on the other side of the room, as the tile rushed up to meet Timothy’s face, his hand quickly tossed in front of it.

Another run-on sentence (2 full sentences) but the main problem here is 'the tile rushed up to meet Tim's face' is a very hackneyed expression which gives your story a tired feeling. Better to use normal english (he dove for the floor) if you can't think of a creative phrase to use. For something creative maybe try something like: "He performed a dive which would be the envy of any dolphin and his teeth snapped together nut-cracker style when his chin met the floor tile." Or if you want to be a little decorative try, "He threw himself down with enough haste that the hardwood bellyflop almost disgorged the spinach linguine he had for lunch and his head hitting the floor sounded like a coconut falling from a palm onto a L.A. drag." (The 2nd example is not so good because L.A. is in a different country so 'beachway' could be used instead).

The second sentence 'his hand quickly tossed infront of it.' is very clunky and strange. It sounds like his hand was blown off by the gunshot and went flying infront of 'it'. Does 'it' = gasp, face or tile?

Sorry to sound picky, but trust me, in university the red ink vultures known as english profs will feast on this. I've been there cause I made the cardinal error of taking some sort of advanced literature class in first year allowable to students who get an A on their graduation english exam. That's why I spot these errors so fast cause those profs made me paranoid of grammar errors. Well, actually if I took the class now it would probably be a blast cause I'm more into writing and stuff now. I used to study all of 20 minutes every couple of weeks in first year university. Woops, getting off-topic...

Let me know if this helps or you don't like it or you'd rather I shut-up or what okay?

[SKILORD]

yeah, Micha, a little. As for the first post I said something back on the first page about needing a mod to fix it, their too busy to bother with me.

Anyway, scratch, thanks for the advice, runons have been a problem since my youth (my youth... ... I speak of my 'youth' at 17)

Anyways, mebbe I'll slip in a new chapter, :shrug: nmothing better to do right now.

[SKILORD]

Chapter 15: The Prodigal Son

Allow me to introduce this chapter

First of all it's a bad idea to kill of your main character, and so I left it hanging there in the last chapter, so that I could have Rommel change his mind if he had to. He didn't. I don't expect to be able to control my characters and though I thought it a mistake Rommel delivered on his contract. It wasn't my idea, I don't think, and I blame Hans (Ch.13) for the whole damn thing. Furthermore I wrote this and got it up pretty quick, huh?

-SKILORD

-



The hatch was open and Timothy Rommel was peering out of it into the eyes of a particularly unfortunate highway guard.

“I’m bringing in a tank from Berlin, reinforcements,” the words commanded belief, the eyes humbled all doubt.

“One tank?” the British soldier, his rifle hanging from his shoulder as he stood in front of a feeble guard rail meant to stop the traffic that was afraid to break it.

“The bloody krauts ambushed us, we’re all that’s left.”

“A major, in a tank?”

“A man gets away from an ambush, he rarely cares how. Now I can do you a favor if you’ve forgotten how to lift that rail there and I’ll break it apart. Are you going to keep us out here away from the fighting with you?”

The cowering guard stepped back and lifted the rail, shaking his head, the tank charged forward.

“Hell of a job there, sir,” one of Rommel’s men looked up to him.

“Yeah, just drive the f***ing tank.”

“You do an awfully good impression of a limey officer.”

“Drive the f***ing tank.”

“Almost like it was the olds days, almost like we4 were out there, turning our backs on all of the struggles and pain.”

Rommel slid down into the tank, fists slamming into the driver, drawing blood and cracking noises from the flesh.

The gunner pulled him back, “Sir, cool it, we need him.”

“The driver fired an angry glare up the tank, “He doesn’t give a f*** about what we need, Derik, Timothy Rommel is only looking out for himself, and f*** everyone else. Why can’t the rest of us have gotten caught in the ambush leaving this lone Major limping through the f***ing desert on his own? He’ll kill us without a second thought.”

“Karl, you’ve been with me through all of this, you know me better.”

“I know you better? I damn well thought I did, I took you for a patriot, for a man who gave a f*** for his country. I knew that man, who the f*** are you?”

Derik’s grip tightened on Timothy, “Karl, stop it, Rommel isn’t gonna kill us, let’s just get to the Volk and pick up our payment.”

“I don’t want it, I don’t want to take the blood money for killing my Fatherland.”

Rommel’s foot shot out to Karl’s face, catching him squarely and causing Derik to pull him up even further.

“Is everything alright here?” called the guard from the ground, where he looked up at the tank that had been sitting motionless on the road for a few minutes.

Derik let go of Rommel, letting him slide himself up, straightening his uniform. He smiled confidently at the guard, “These men have just lost the rest of their Division, we’ve lost a lot of friend, you can’t expect them to get through it without question.”

The guard chuckled, “Sounded like insubordination in there. I smell a court-martial.”

“Things don’t always work out like that on the battlefield you green eyed son of a b****, maybe you should get out there and do some real soldiering someday, or would you like to sit there and tell a major what to do instead? Must be awfully convenient to know so f***ing much without ever having had to go through what I did to get these f***ing bars, I imagine that’s why you’ve been assigned to this proud post here.”

The guard stepped back, shuddering. He turned to the guardhouse and started walking.

“Drive,” Rommel commanded.

Karl forced the tank forward.

-

Timothy Rommel stood in front of the Volk, watching them bring up the briefcase and slapping it down on the desk.

“Four hundred thousand, just like we agreed.”

The case flicked open, the queen’s image, confident and snobbish, stared at him.

“You guys have awfully lax security here, considering all that money.”

“You plan to try something, Rommel?” Damien picked up a revolver and placed it in front of him on the desk next to the briefcase, “Go ahead, you’ll get a couple of us sure, but you’ll die.”

Rommel grinned, “What’s so bad about that?”

“Death?” Damien snorted, “From a man who deals in it! Haven’t you ever looked into the faces of your victims, the terror, the horror?”

“Johan had none of that.”

Damien snorted again, leaning forward, “I knew the man, he did, I assure you. All men fear death.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know why we’re having this conversation, take your money and go.”

“I want to know what’s so special about death. Why’s it so f***ing fearsome. Everybody does it, you think we’d be used to it by now.”

“Major Rommel, I don’t know why we’re having this conversation, yes it’s funny that men fear death, alright. That doesn’t change the fact that they do.”

“I’m not a major,” Rommel stepped forward, “never call me that.”

“Delightful, Mr. Rommel, now please leave.”

“Why don’t you answer my question.”

Damien took a deep breath, “It’s a silly question.”

Rommel pulled out his pistol, pointing it at Damien, “Are you afraid, Herr Konsig?”

Damien looked into the handgun’s barrel. He was silent.

“Are you afraid?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Everyone has to die. This bullet is coming for you, why does it matter how long it takes?”

“You don’t have it in you, Major Rommel.”

“I kill men like you for a living, Herr Konsig,” Rommel spat out the words, “frightened little bastards like you. I haven’t met more than one man who accepted it when he realized what was inevitable. I’ve been fought, the men who fancy themselves brave retreat that way, some have pleaded, but their all cowards, Mr. Konsig. All of them are running away from it. I’ve met one man who stood up and faced it. One.”

“Major, put your gun down,” one of the other men picked up a handgun and pointed it at him.

Timothy Rommel laughed like a madman. One hand in front of him, holding the handgun, the other shoved into his jacket. A wild grin spread across his face.

“Don’t fear the reaper,” Timothy Rommel pulled both triggers.

-

The briefcase was on fire, it sat on top of the table and Hans was watching it as he lay on his stomach in the middle of a puddle of blood and gasoline. All of the Volk were dead or dying, Rommel stood in the door, pouring more gasoline around the room.

“You saved so many lives, why do you regret it?”

Timothy looked down at the dying man, “All men die, few live. I certainly kept a great many from a faster, less convenient road to death, but will they ever live? They lived for these moments, now they will merely die slowly.”

Hans stared up at him, “You’re mad.”

“Perhaps,” he grinned, “But I’m alive.”

He finished pouring the gasoline and tossed it at the briefcase, walking calmly out of the inferno.

-

Karl and Derik sat on top of the tank as Rommel walked out of the Volk’s office.

“How’d it go?”

“It was refreshing.”

“Where’s the money?” Derik asked.

Rommel grinned, “It’s on fire.”

The fire began to grow in the office behind him, eating at the door.

“Rommel, that’s not funny.”

“I’m not a comedian, Derik.”

Karl started to laugh, “You’ve done your country a favor.”

“A man can’t betray his nation forever, Karl. Let’s get this tank going.”

-

Edward Rhode’s stomach was covered by bandages, “What’s the damage.”

“You have a few broken ribs, sir. One of your lungs was grazed. You made it through it pretty well considering. You’re lucky he didn’t have a bigger bullet.”

“Any idea as to where the sonovab**** is?”

“He supposedly murdered Johan von Bismarck right after he was here.”

Edward shot up, causing him to fall back to his bed in pain, groaning before saying, “What the f*** who’s he fighting for?”

“The revolutionaries blame us, sir. They want him dead, but they blame us.”

“I didn’t hire him.”

“None of us did, sir. The Germans don’t care, they decided that it was us.”

“I want him dead. I want to see every German sonovab**** dead," he paused, out of breath and dizzy, "but I want Rommel first.”

“I know, sir, But you need your rest.”

“I’ll be fine," he was out of breath again, "I have a nation to serve.”

The doctor grinned, “We all do, sir,” he placed the needle into Edward’s arm and sent him to sleep.

[unscratchedfoot]

You still got the runs, you illiterate bugger. There sure is a lot of animosity in that chapter, it kinduv reminds me of the last contest runoff, so is rommel ever gonna get offed, he sure deserves it, he's pretty rude, you know you are still cooking without herbs & spices, you always want to serve the same, if I can be allowed to say, bland cuisine, I think not so why not try some experiment and fantasy for a new flavor?

[SKILORD]

?

I know, I'm still slumping, give me a break, but I'm getting good at forcing it out anyways, curing my Conrad disease. (Conrad would never write when he didn't have his 'a' game so it took him a loong time to write anything)

Sorry, anyways, for the lack of spice, I'll see what I can do.

[Metaliturtle]

bumpiddy bump bump bump hey SKIMEISTER, we gonna see some more activity soonz?

[SKILORD]

yeah.

[Metaliturtle]

;-)

[SKILORD]

Well, I'm having trouble taking this anywhere, now that I've killed off my main character, and I'm considering doiung something really sleazy with the story....

Anyway, I'm working on it.

[Paddy]

indeed... sounds interesting

hope it comes together for you

[SKILORD]

Chapter 16: The Eye of the Tiger

Unless there are continuity errors between this chapter and previous ones that I simply didn't notice then you are about to witness one of the most remarkable revivals, one of the nearest catches, everin the history of Literature. Sorry if the dialouge is imperfect.
-

Several days Earlier.

Johan von Bismarck lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, a wound wrapped on his side, “You think you got enough blood?”

The other man grinned, “Quite enough, mein Kaiser.”

“You sure this is the only way?”

“They meet rarely now, they won’t meet me to discuss the terms of the contract, only to pay when I collect.”

The blood was being splashed across the wall, splatters that even a trained detective couldn’t tell that they were spread and not shot, but that wasn’t necessary since there weren’t any police coming.

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

“There have been occasions, remember to drink a lot of fluids.”

“Where am I supposed to go?”

“I have a safehouse, you should be able to come back in about a week, you’ll know when.”

Johan grinned, “I hope.”

-

Johan von Bismarck squinted in the sunlight, he had grown a ragged beard while in the battered old cellar, a pistol hung alert at his side as he squinted into the alley, unless the radio had been wrong it was safe.

The British were cheering on all of the official channels, an entire German nationalist group had been found dead, brutally slaughtered, in Leipzig.

The Volk.

Johan ran his dirty hands through his now ratty hair. He realized how much he needed a bath.

“Hello Berlin,” Johan grinned, “Let’s see if there is life after death.”

-

The tank peered down the street, a German eagle on its side, “Derik, load up.”

Derik was a professional, he was already ready to perform the command, “Fire in the hole, sir.”

The British tank still sat there silently, not bothering to look into the broken down storefront with its miraculously surviving glass. The inside walls hadn’t been so lucky, they had needed to be removed to allow Karl to navigate the tank into, and hopefully out of, the store, Karl wasn’t there now.

“Derik, I think it might be almost time to make this rat dance.”

Derik grinned, “Fire?”

“Wait for it.”

Another tank rumbled loudly down the street, three up, Rommel figured that that would leave at least two more behind, they drove blithely down the middle of the street, Rommel shook his head, “Amateurs,” he muttered to himself.

“Fire.”

The storefront exploded, and the shell lodged itself right between the tank’s body and the cupola, “Load.”

The word was calm, as was Derik as he smoothly reloaded the gun.

“Fire at will.”

The second shell left little of the first tank, the rest of the group was beginning to notice the ambush, the first tank commander decided to take his chances without the rest of the group and immediately shot off. Rommel grabbed the top mounted gun. Letting it loose into the commander of the second tank who had yet to get down from his hatch.

Outside, an explosion rocked the storefront again, rattling the remaining shards of glass that hung futilely to the panes.

“Karl’s made his move,” Derik noted, sliding up from rotating the tank’s cupola.

Another round had already been loaded and even through the limited drivers slit he had been able to guess the position of the second tank, its commander hanging limply from the hatch.

The shell drove itself where Derik knew the shell case to be, the shattering of glass betrayed the Moltov cocktail that had just been thrown into the street, Rommel figured that that would be the end of the last tank.

“Take her out into the street,” he commanded.

“Sir, I’m not even sure we can make it.”

“Damnit, Derik, take it out there, we aren’t about to leave a survivor.”

The tank growled forwards, crushing toppled mannequins and shattering already broken shards of glass.

The tank crawled up the display window, tearing down the flimsy metal bars, before hopping out onto the street.

Rommel squatted before the cannon, shooting his head up to perceive his target, “Take us to him.”

“He’s turning down that street, sir, he could loose us pretty easily, or even lead us into an ambush.”

Rommel shook his head sliding down to the cupola and sending off the shell, loading another one.

Derik rotated the cupola.

The second shot didn’t miss, it tore out most of the other tank’s left tread, leaving the other tank motionless, Rommel pushed the cannon up a bit, finishing the job.

“Derik, go back to those other tanks, see if there’s anything we can salvage or siphon off, we’ve got a ways to go.”

“Berlin, sir?”

“Yeah, there’s a revolution to finish.”

-

Johan von Bismarck crouched behind a checkout counter as the Brits went into the supermarket. He realized that they were probably as hungry as he was, and there for the same purpose. There was no law in Berlin, only guns. Johan’s pistol was in his hand, there had been a shotgun back in the cellar, but he hadn’t thought that he’d need that to reach the rebellion’s base.

But the Brits probably hadn’t counted on him either.

A grenade was in his jacket. It had seemed compact enough to be worth his while as he had been loading up for this expedition.

He pulled the pin out and tossed it towards the produce section, where he had heard the noises of boots.

He ran down the nearest aisle, staying low and hopefully under the sights of the British guns.

The Grenade exploded as he reached the other side of the aisle, turning quickly to the right.

The Brits were predictably firing into the smoke of the explosion, Johan’s pistol took three of them without a pause, the fourth turned quickly enough to get off a couple of shots and causing Johan to dive for cover before finishing him.

The door to the back room swung seductively open, bothered by the noises and hassles in the produce section, Johan stood and dashed towards it, bullets kissed the wall behind him as he dove in.

There weren’t any soldiers in the back, but he could hear them coming. He fired bullets into a storage rack filled with aerosol cans of bug spray, filling the room with the spray.

He slipped out the back door to the sound of British soldiers coughing and sneezing.

Right into the arms of James VonHoltz, one time officer in the British police force of Berlin. His uniform was stripped of insignias now, except for a German Eagle that had been panted on a sleeve.

A machine gun hung in his arm at his side, and a group of German rebels stood behind him.

[Metaliturtle]

Duuuuuuuuude.... awesomesauce, what's reploading? ;-)

[SKILORD]

it's a failure on the part of Microsoft Word.

I think I'll sue.