Healing

Can you guys review this and the chap before pleeeeeese! I don't remember whether I said this but this Joe is sort of what Joe from SoD and my DA page might have been if the circumstances were different. Karl decides tobeat someone up in this one Mwahahhahahah! He also meets someone who gets him mixed up with his father. He doesn't attempt to xplain cos it would probably just confuse the guy...

It took the ambulance only minutes to arrive. It seemed they were having a slow day. Two stretcher-bearers overseen by a female nurse came into the silversmith. The nurse took in the scene with a practised eye. With quick gestures she signalled for the stretcher-bearers to take the wounded man to the ambulance. She herself stayed behind for a few moments.

"Murder?" she asked the policemen. They nodded.

"Know anything about him?" She jerked her thumb at the unconscious German.

"Not really. We have reason to believe that he's a Nazi, but apart from that…" Joe shrugged.

The nurse nodded and left.

Karl began to regain consciousness. He felt weak still, and the pain from his injuries although lessened, was still agonising. He knew he was in a hospital from the intrusive feel of an IV drip in his arm. He was relieved though to feel that his mask was still on.

Now that he was awake he began to consciously speed up his healing processes, using the magic that had been a part of him ever since that fateful day… He searched out the extent of the damage the werewolf had caused. He had at lest eight broken or cracked ribs, claw wounds across his chest, a huge gaping wound in his upper arm, and numerous small cuts that he hadn't noticed at the time they were inflicted. He had better concentrate on his arm otherwise he could easily lose the use of most of it. Normal scar tissue wouldn't work for that; he would need to spend a long time carefully crafting new muscle and blood vessels for it. The rest he could leave to heal naturally, maybe speeding the healing of the ribs a little. He would have started then but a shadow fell across him and a hand lightly touched his arm.

"Are you awake?" asked a soft female voice.

"I am," Karl replied, his voice slightly harsher than usual.

"I'm surprised. We didn't think you would wake up for a while yet."

"How long…"

"…Have you been asleep? Two days."

Karl nodded slowly. That sounded about right.

"How are you feeling?"

"Good, all things considered."

The nurse left and he began to work on his arm.

By the time two weeks had passed Karlwas completely healed. The doctors and nurses of the hospital were amazed at his speedy recovery, but he gave them no clue as to how he had managed it. Even though the Armour of souls was many miles away he could still harness its power.

Very soon the policemen would be coming for him. He could escape before then but wouldn't leave his baton swords, which were almost certainly in their possession. He had asked what they had done with his uniform and had been less than pleased to learn that it had been almost destroyed. The Iron Cross though was undamaged and he had hung it once more around his neck. When he got back to Area 51 he would find a new uniform or, if necessary, make one himself.

There was a knock at the door at the end of the ward. A nurse opened it. Two policemen were standing there dressed in the black and indigo modern uniforms. The patient next to him, a bank robber whose leg had been broken by an attack robot, leant over and whispered, "Do you think they've come for you or me?"

"They've come for me."

Karl watched them through the darkened circles of his mask as they said something to the nurse and advanced up the aisle. They stood one either side of his bed. He could see their name tags, Pete Durnut and Joe Rochmann. A German. Maybe I can turn this to my advantage, he thought.

"Was mast du mitt diese wahnsinn Americanischer? What are you doing with this crazy American>" he asked Joe.

Joe Rochmann started slightly.

"What did he say?" Pete asked.

"He asked me what I was doing with you."

"What do you mean by that?" Pete demanded.

"I mean that a patriotic German shouldn't be working with an idiot American."

"Maybe in your eyes Nazi, but not in the eyes of most Germans."

Karltilted his head, and the glass circles over his eyes glinted.

"My name is Karl Kroenen."

"Well Karl," Pete said, "you are coming with us. We need to ask you a few questions."

"No point in asking for my phone call, Karl thought. It would not be granted to him.

He rose, still dressed in the green of a hospital patient. Joe tossed him some clothes. Jeans, boots, blue shirt, jacket. Not what he would have chosen, but they would do.

The prison was a dark grey building, foreboding and with an evil air about it. Karl would probably have liked it if it hadn't been for his predicament.

Paul brought the car to a halt and they got out. A sign above the door proclaimed this to be the Washington State prison. They had come quite a way then.

The policemen signed him in, and they walked down the dim passageways.

Eventually they reached a cell filled with what looked to be some of the toughest criminals in the prison. It was here that he was sequestered.

Karl sat on a bench and looked around his cell. Two of the criminals were arguing over the best way to kill a man. He was tempted to join them, but thought better of it. At least he had his Iron Cross back. He was very fond of it.

One of the criminals sidled over to him.

"I'm Cobra LaMoaz. I'm in for attempted murder. You?"

Karl felt like humouring the man. "Karl Kroenen. Murder and Nazism."

A thin man in the corner looked up at this and stared at him.

Cobra whistled appreciatively.

"Who'd you kill?"

" Just this man," Karl had no wish to elaborate. Cobra would have said more, but just then a tall, burly man came over. He glared at Karl.

"I hear we have a Nazi scum in this cage with us," he growled.

Karl stood. The two men were about the same height, but the other was much bulkier than he was.

The man's arm came forward in a powerful punch, but Karl easily dodged, and grabbed the fist as it came past. The man over balanced slightly, and he bought his hand down on the other's forearm. There was a crack and the man cried out in pain. His arm was broken. The German gave a final jerk for good measure and let his assailant fall. The man groaned in pain. Karl sat back down.

The thin man hurried over to him.

"Colonel Kroenen?"

"Do I know you?"

"You contacted me ten years ago. You wanted information my grandfather had on former SS commanders."

"I remember you. Your grandfather inducted you into the SS underground, didn't he?"

The man nodded.

"You were only ten then," Karl continued, "You've changed a lot."

"You haven't changed at all. If anything you look younger."

Karl laughed.

"Well that's my secret."

Cobra listened as the two men talked about the years gone by.