German Accents incoming... Also, sorry I haven't updated in a while.
---9th Armored Infantry Field HQ, 50km S.W. Of Leningrad, June 20th, 1941---
The Would-Be British Army Lance Corporal sat on the fender of a Krubelwagen.
"I don't like this one bit, Smith," Obergrefreiter Nelson said from beneath the Stahlhelm.
He and Smith had found themselves in an odd predicament: After the German occupation of the British homeland, and the surrender of the British government to the Reich, the British Army had been adopted into the German one.
"You'll get used to it," Schuetze Smith said in a far-off tone.
Edward looked in the direction Thomas was looking in. A woman with short black hair, with her bangs over her left eye, was of by herself (well, mostly off by herself. There was this one bloke with spiked hair who seemed to be trying to make her laugh. Neither of them could tell what exactly he was doing, but it wasn't working.)
"A girl you're interested in?"
"You could say that."
Smith slung his modified Lee-Enfield, which now chambered the 7.92mm round the Germans used.
"Ted, leave her alone."
"Aber..."
Thomas tossed an unamused look at Ted.
"Ach... fine..." The scout walked off, defeated (this time, at least).
Marina simply looked at Thomas, then spoke after the British sniper had stood there silently for a good five minutes.
"Vhat do you vant, Thomas?" she asked her British counterpart.
"An apology would be a good place to start, Marina."
She shuffled her feet a bit.
"Fine zhen. Sorry."
Thomas sighed, and the two tossed semi-angry looks at each other before the Brit walked off.
"It vas... 'nice', shpeaking viz you."
Thomas gave no response, as he walked back over to Edward.
"What was that, Tom?"
Thomas gave a fake smile, and said, "Nozhing" with a fake accent.
---Leningrad---
Normally, Dmitri was a pretty nice person. He was considerate, and, unless ordered otherwise, would general place the lives of his soldiers before himself.
Alekzander Vladmirov wasn't so considerate, as he shouted from atop his T-34 down at the lowly squad.
"...you fucking idiots! How do you lose something like a pair of prisoners?"
Demyan spoke. "It's Oleg's fault. He decided to take a leak when they came!"
Alekzander tossed a look at the lancer that greatly implied that he wasn't happy.
"Comrade Lieutenant, please..."
"No, Orlov. They are your men; they were guarding the prisoners, so it is your fault. Go find them, Dmitri!"
The three larger members of the squad gave a quick, unanimous salute. Oleg had to kick Ivan to make him salute, but the PPSh gunner did.
They split up; the division was getting ready for combat; a large German Armored Infantry Regiment, plus a pair of Imperial divisions had been spotted by air getting ready for combat.
Oleg undoubtedly ended up with Ivan. Automatic weapons tended to stay in close proximity to each other (though, the volume of aforementioned automatic weapons might have explained it).
The larger of the two had to keep the smaller quiet; it was hard enough trying to find the German lieutenant and her Corporal with all the clanking of treads, roar of engines, and stomping of boots, so the last thing Oleg needed (and wanted) was a voice constantly yammering from half a meter beside him.
---Washington DC, United States of America---
Steven sat on the front porch of the White House. He'd found that he did this many times over after making an attempt to get Roosevelt to get involved in the war in Europe, but for now it seemed to be called the "European War," and seemed to be staying that way.
"General?"
Steven jumped at the voice; but then calmed down when it turned out to be one of his soldiers in ceremonial dress.
"Sorry, General, sir."
"No, no. It's fine. Really."
Steven returned to his thoughts, and found that the soldier had joined him.
"Something on your mind, Joey?" Steven asked the lieutenant.
"Nothin', sir." 'Joey' had removed his cap, showing off his dark blue hair.
The Darscen Corps had a considerable pride in being made up almost entirely of Darscens and various other minorities. While, by all means, the States and the Army had their fare share of racist bigots, no-one spoke down to someone who wore the armband with Darscen patterns on it, if it bore the words "US Army" on it.
Steven smiled slightly, twiddled his thumbs, and went back inside the White House.
Hundred and forty third time's the charm, as they say.
---End Chapter 25---