A Bodyguard's duty Pt.1
To summarize the plot: They had expected absolution through vengeance in the flames of London. Instead they faced a monster fiercer than the Russian winter. They ran, shattered, but not beaten. This is the story of how these men would turn the world on its head. Pt.2 will focus on Rosario verse.
Disclaimer: The following content is used solely for entertainment purposes and the franchises belong to their respective owners
Warning: please check the previous chapters
Chapter 10: Wolfsrudel
June 1941, Mitau (Jelgava)
Herman whistled Panzerlied as their jeep slowly tread through the streets of the city and with the slightest bump in the road, Johannes winced. Herman completely ignored that in favour of looking out of the Mercedes-Benz L1500A, the anti-armour team were supposed to be helping to move paperwork, but knowing the Austrian he probably went out of his way to avoid doing his duty. Herman sometimes wondered why he even allowed this. Herman stopped whistling at the prospect of another tongue lashing from
„Johannes, do you know any places our wayward squad might be?" Herman asked the Rottenfuhrer.
„Well," Johannes 'hmmed' "Otto said something about being very bored yesterday, after we finished setting up the anti-air defences, something about old fashioned fun and girls…Gott verdamnt."
"Do you happen know where the establishment is located, Rottenfuhrer?"
Johannes stammered something in Czech and shook his head. From the back of the truck Herman could hear jeers and laughter as the men had gotten the wrong idea.
"Johannes?"
"Ja?"
"Stop the truck." Johannes knew that despite being lax in the enforcement of rules in their free time, Herman was vicious when an assignment made its way to him. He hit the brakes and parked the truck on the sidewalk, alarming the civilians and soldiers alike minding their own business on the street. Herman got out of the car, leaving his cap inside with a face that looked carved into stone. It didn't take long for the degenerates in the back understand the situation they were in.
Curses and cries of mercy could be heard to anyone in the immediate vicinity as the officer climbed into the back of the truck. Johannes knowing from previous experience immediately turned the ignition key and with speed seemingly surpassing the human speed the L1500A was back on the street and sped towards the underground brothel, while in the back of the truck cries of pain could be heard and to an average onlooker it was another piece of evidence of German brutality.
The building of the brothel looked like any other building, painted in mellow tones, located in the outskirts of the city, in a walking distance from the camp. The windows were draped with dark curtains and the door had no distinct marking that it harboured the ancient profession. Only thing that looked out of the ordinary was the small, black metal cat sitting above the door, with its glass eyes peering into any visitors.
"Here we are. Shall I go and fetch him, mein Herr?" Johannes asked as Herman stared at the building. Herman noticed someone pulling back the curtain for a bit and hoped for the sake of the entire squad that they would be presentable when he entered the building.
"No, I'll fetch them myself." Herman replied, taking out a cigarette and climbed out from the car.
"What about the punishment?" the squad leader asked as his superior officer exited the vehicle and put on his sidecap, looking the very image of the merciless SS bogeyman. To Johannes, Herman managed to inspire and terrify almost simultaneously, but the former schoolteacher regarded it just as another of his unique quirks.
"Get the men outside, it seems that Otto has forgotten the Siebenmeilenstiefel." the last part was said with slightly malicious intent and Johannes involuntary shivered as he had just recently received the said kick. Herman waved to the man, who uncomfortably shifted in his seat, before going into the building.
The interior of the brothel looked rather respectable, if he had to say so himself. There was nothing that indicated of the true nature of the place, as there was a simple desk with a guard and a notice of the Registration room on the second floor. While this was in no way reminiscent of Soldatenbordels of France and Poland, the owner seemed to at least follow a vague resemblance, a smart decision. While not an active subscriber to such services, Herman had his card lying about somewhere.
As he approached the table, the guard merely looked at the uniform before pointing to the board and went back to reading his newspaper. The Unteroffizier shrugged and climbed the stairs to the second floor, his face promising pain to anyone invading his personal space and one certain Austrian. Upon coming up to the door Herman knocked twice and without waiting an answer entered the room.
There was another desk, but this time with a pretty woman, wearing a very open blouse, displaying the black bra and the impressive cleavage it contained. Her brown hair made into a neat bun and the black rimmed glasses made her a hedonistic parody of one of the many secretaries he had met.
"Zdrastvuyte, ya-"
"Ich sprache Deutsch sehr gut, mein Herr" the woman replied with a tinge of Latvian accent in her voice.
"Wunderbar," Herman said curtly "I'm SS-Unterscharfuhrer Rosenmaunt and I'm looking for my men" immediately he realised how wrongly this could be interpreted.
"My soldiers, specifically" he added, sneering at the slight smirk on the woman's face.
"I'm terribly sorry, but we don't keep records of our clients, but I can assure you that before an hour or so a rather spirited group came here and booked half a floor for today and the next one" Herman looked at the sign with tariffs behind the secretary and even after doing quick calculations in his head, the man was shocked.
How in Fuhrer's name they could spend three months of salary in one day?!
"What floor did they book?" Herman asked quietly and the secretary flipped a page of a journal and dragged her finger across the page, before settling on one of the numbers.
"They booked the fourth floor's right side. Should I call a girl to escort you there?" She stated and took a sip from her cup of tea
"Thank you for your cooperation, but I think I will find them just fine. Do tell, how they paid for their little celebration?" Herman asked, the secretary looked again at the number and shook her head "I'm sorry, but since the Matron made this deal alone, only she knows the details." She replied
"And where's the Matron?" He asked and the secretary sighed, knowing that the answer would do him no good; Herman shook his head and tipped his cap to the woman who nodded in understanding and left the room.
Otto would pay, that was certain.
Climbing up the stairs to the fourth floor was irritating.
When he was upon the door he could hear giggles and light shrieks coming from the apartment. He closed his eye and drew a cross, the soldier inside of him silently praying for Otto, while the man in the service of Schutzstaffel hoped he was doing what Herman thought he was doing. Either way it would be painful for the anti-armour squad.
Herman opened the door and immediately his nose was assaulted by cheap perfume, scented candles and, of course, the scent of rutting. He shook his head in disgust and entered the room.
Spying with his eye Herman saw Otto's two gunners clad only in their shirts and underwear, who had decided to take a break from one excess, only to surrender to another-gorging themselves with wine and fruit on the table. Like a phantom the Unterscharfuhrer crept up behind the unsuspecting unfortunates.
"Guten Tag!" Herman cheerfully whispered to Max and Moritz, making them immediately put down the tray and face their leader. The two brothers had enlisted just out of middle school, the fools. Their faces turned red and then pale as the future practically wrote itself in front of their eyes.
"Siebenmeilenstiefel" they whispered in fear and Herman's smile grew as he nodded. They shivered in fear as if they were thrust straight into the trenches of Somme, just before a bayonet charge.
"Where's your fearless leader?" the accent lied on fearless and the young men immediately knew that someone would be in more pain than them, but that didn't make them relax, not one bit.
"Herr Herman, you're in front of us!" Max exclaimed, trying to salvage the situation.
"Or if you meant Der Fuhrer…" Moritz 'helpfully' added. Herman shook his head and put his arms around the two, hugging them close to him.
"I thought you schwein could have some autonomy in your free time, but I was wrong and the mercies I had bestowed upon you were wasted" He hissed and squeezed the arms around their necks tighter, emphasizing what followed next "Point me to where Otto has made his den." Max pointed at the second door to the left, from which suddenly came a shriek. Herman let the two go and sneered "If something like this happens again I promise your descendants will feel the pain I will inflict upon you."
The two immediately disappeared in another room and Herman continued onward.
He stopped before the door and weighed the options in his hand. He could either do the gentlemanly thing and enter quietly, or…
Herman chuckled to himself and walked out of the apartment.
Otto Egger was in heaven. When his father had him enlisted in active military he had been furious and terrified of the loss of his comfortable life and life in a foreign land. His old man had threatened to cross out his name from the family will and that alone had been his incentive to join the war effort. First, he had gone through the training and much to the horror of himself and to the pride of his father, he along with the entirety of his Koroporalschaft were sent to fight the Judeo-Bolsheviks and liberate Livonia as their drill sergeant had called it. Through fire and flames, and Poland, the 8 boys, barely men, were attached to three more experienced men. Otto had expected a monster, a sadist or even an imbecile, instead they got a strict, distant, almost fatherly, though only when drunk on schnapps, Herman.
In the beginning he had been terrified of the war, but when they had first ambushed a retreating unit of Soviets, he had started to enjoy the war a bit. Locals were thankful though, especially this one- Carla if he remembered correctly.
She was good at her job. Bouncing up and down, up and down like on a trampoline and her wondrous hands…Gott im Himmel. Otto could've spent eternity frozen in this primal dance between the two sexes.
Unfortunately, this wasn't meant to last.
Immediately the door was kicked in and the men of Gestapo with Schmeisers ready stormed the room and leveled the guns at the whore and her client. Carla immediately grabbed the nearby sheets to cover herself and hid in the corner. Otto tried to get to his coat, but a warning shot from the commissar's luger dissuaded him.
"HANDE HOCH! AUFSTEHEN DEGENERIERTE SCHWEINE!" the commissar bellowed loudly and Otto slowly raised his hands shaking like a leaf.
"Get dressed, before I shoot you on the spot, Juden" the commissar snarled and Otto didn't have to be told twice. The blonde man immediately found both his underpants, his shirt and his shoes lying near the wardrobe and as death was on his heels, he dressed as quickly as he could. He knew that he was innocent, well, not quite, but innocent enough, not to warrant this kind of treatment for minor misdemeanours. Hopefully, his father wouldn't let this stand.
As he was led out of the room, Otto tried to see some of his comrades, they were in similar position as he saw Johannes standing in front of Max and Moritz with a police batton, looking mighty displeased. Seeing Johannes awakened some primal fear as he was reminded of Herman and Siebenmeilenstiefel. The steel toed jackboots haunted their dreams and if Herman found out about this…Otto refused to continue this trail of thought.
The walk down the stairs was torturous and humiliating as the whores going about their business gossiped at the sight of him and while he didn't understand what the locals said, it was clear enough it wasn't anything flattering.
He tried to argue his case, but each word was answered with violence and he knew then that this was to be his end. The skilled tongue was paralyzed and this time no amount of bribery could save him.
As the squad leader was led outside of the brothel, he wanted to know the exact reason for the detainment. This earned him a hard slap on the back of his head, followed by more insults. Then he was put against the wall.
With the corner of his eye Otto could spy commissar putting on a silencer on his luger. He couldn't end like this, he COULDN'T. His knees started buckling and he shook in the grasp of the soldiers.
He begged, and tears rolled from his eyes as he plead for his life. One of the brutes backhanded Otto and with this all hope died within him.
"One wrong move and you're a communist in the eyes of the Reich" the commissar said and cleared his throat as if there was something more to say. The Austrian closed his eyes and prepared to embrace his fate as it was useless to resist any longer.
Immediately the sharp pain of being kicked in the ass in full force sent the man kneeling on the floor. He looked up, determined to look his killer in the eyes and promising to haunt him until his line died out.
Instead he saw the grinning face of Herman, with the support squad behind him.
Gott Verdammt.
"Otto, gibt es sechs Meilen gelassen." Herman leered as he slowly shifted into the stance and pulled back his leg for another savage kick.
Maybe that bullet to the head would've been better than this…
Author's ramblings: I am a very terrible person. I am aware of this and my lack of updates, but I have a very reasonable explanation. I am lazy and then I got my hands on Dark Souls. There, I said it. Next update should be up relatively soon, and we'll continue our trek into Herman's past and then explore the next part of wacky fictional Nazi science wonders. On other hand I could've posted all my other unfinished crap, but that would be too cruel for people who'd decide to read this crap I churn out. Also, I may or may not have started writing smut for Rolf and Mina…
Be merry, marry, I don't care. See you all next time! - Qatzol