It doesn't quite work

Thanks for all the reviews!I feel so loved! - There's lots of German in some of the later chapters to come, so translations have been added. Personally, some of the German is a bit dodgy but I have to put it in! It's just cos I'm strange. shrugs Poor karl gets quite a beating in this. Same rules re reviews count!

Karl walked casually down the empty streets, his head bowed against the driving rain, searching for his target. He was armed with his baton swords, hidden in the sheathes at his sides. The blades that had been a part of the uniform had broken several years ago.

Eventually he spotted the man, waiting for a bus on the corner of the street. The German's hand slipped to the hilt of his baton sword underneath his trench coat. This would be no great challenge.

As he drew within a couple of paces of the target, Karl drew his sword and angled it up so that it would slip under the man's ribs and into his heart. He drew close enough to strike.

Suddenly the target lashed out with unbelievable strength, sending Karl flying through the air to hit hard against a brick wall. He felt ribs break.

The target turned to face him, and howled to the skies. He threw off his raincoat and began to grow. His nose and mouth elongated to form a muzzle and fur began to sprout. The seams on his clothes split.

"What?" Karl whispered, shocked. But it wasn't full moon, how could the creature be changing now? Such thoughts were quickly driven out of his head as the werewolf leapt at him. He drew his other baton sword and darted out of the way, bringing his swords across to slice into the flesh of the monster. For all the notice the werewolf gave the wounds they might have been midge-bites. The beast growled at him. Karl ran. He sprinted through the streets, thinking wildly. What was it that hurt werewolves? He ought to know; he had faced enough of the beasts, but surprise and fear drove it out of his head. He turned a corner. A dead-end! He glanced around. No way out except up. With the help of his twin blades he began to scale the wall. Reaching the top he swung over onto the flat roof and waited.

Soon the werewolf entered the alley, sniffing the air. Karl knew he would only get one shot at this. As the beast moved beneath him he leapt down, driving the blade of the baton sword into its head. The monster howled in pain and shook him off. He landed heavily, his cracked ribs erupting in white-hot pain. He was lucky that he was tougher than normal humans or that would have pierced a lung. He staggered to his feet. The werewolf ripped the baton sword out of its head. It seemed unfazed by the oozing wound. It charged him. He plunged his second blade into its side, but not before it clawed him across the chest. His leather jacket tore and he felt rather than saw the blood spurting out. The creature howled again and pulled the sword out of its chest. It growled at him.

Karl leapt for the first baton sword lying where the beast had thrown it. He knew it would do him no good, but he didn't want to leave it behind. The werewolf seemed confused and stood swaying slightly, black blood trickling from its swiftly closing wounds. Karl grabbed his other sword. It seemed that the head wound he had given the beast had temporarily dazed it. All too quickly, it was recovering though. It shook its head and fixed its gaze on the German. He darted away around the corner and the monster followed. He was running down a street full of shops. There was no one around. A sign caught his eye. Silversmith! Of course! How could he be so stupid? Just what he needed.

The werewolf was right behind him. Karl skidded into the doorway and kicked in the door. The beast was too close; it sunk its claws into his arm, over the bone. He ripped free with a nasty splintering sound. The creature's claws scored deep marks through the bone. Blood spurted. The monster was left holding a handful of muscle and splinters of bone. It howled in frustration.

Karl glanced around, looking for something sharp he could use on the werewolf. He felt dizzy from lack of blood. A glint of moonlight off a silver carving knife caught his eye and he staggered toward it and swept it up. The beast leapt into the shop. The German turned around, raising the knife. The creature pounced, and Kroenen drove the knife between its ribs and into its heart. The werewolf knocked him to the ground and began to shrink as it died. In moments it had once more become the man it had been.

Karl shoved the dead body off himself and managed to get to his feet. One more thing he had to do. He staggered over to the door, swung it shut and slid the bolt over. This done he slumped to the floor and tried to stop the blood pumping from his arm. Blackness swirled around him and he sank into the darkness.

Mr Smith was in for a shock that morning when he went downstairs. He saw the blood first; dark red and splattered all over his dark grey carpet. Then his gaze fell on the two bodies lying on the floor; the pale, middle aged man with one f his own knives in his chest, and the strangely clad man with the mask who was covered in blood.

Mr Smith was not a young man and the sight of these apparently dead bodies did nothing for his health. When he had sufficiently recovered he phoned 911.

The police car arrived within the hour. During this time Mr Smith became more and more distraught. As he feared to move the body of the masked man the police were forced to come in the back door.

"Describe to us what happened here sir," said the first. His nametag proclaimed him to be Joe Rochmann.

"I woke this morning and came down here as I normally do," the Silversmith began, "and I saw these two bodies lying here. I have no idea how they got here. I think they might have broken in. "

"Why does that man have one of your knives in him?" asked the second, Pete Durnut, suspiciously.

"I suppose the other man must have stabbed him with it."

"Hmmm." Pete was not convinced.

Joe moved closer to the man slumped by the door. He examined him closely.

"Pete, this man is not dead!" he called.

"What?"

"He's still breathing."

"Call an ambulance!" Pete ordered Mr Smith.

The two police officers crouched beside the masked man.

"I have seen this sort of uniform before, Joe said.

"Really?"

"Ah! Now I remember! It was in a war museum. Rommel wore it, and many high-ranking Nazi officers. Look," Joe pointed to a medallion strung about the man's neck, "that's an Iron Cross."

"He's a Nazi?"

Joe nodded.

"I'm beginning to regret asking that old guy to call an ambulance. Bush passed a law last year, before you came here. All Nazis or Nazi supporters are to be arrested. There were fears that Nazi survivors from the Second World War were attempting to establish a Fourth Reich."

"I didn't think there were any Nazis left."

"Well you're obviously wrong. We have one right here."

To be continued... We will be seeing more of Joe...

Nightcaster, it is sort of the same joe as on the deviantart page, but with less blood. This is the original but I changed Joe for the seeds of destruction site.