Prolonged 4

With the water still invading his body. He could feel himself giving up. But a small voice cracked out. "You think, that this is you're end?. Fight on Jurgen Fight it!." That familiar voice called out to him. How long has it been?. Since he last heard those words. Then like a fire, his spirit reignited. Fighting his way out, from deaths grip. This will not be his grave! This will not be his fate!. Like an animal, he thrashed his arms and swam up. Getting closer towards his freedom, his lungs burned, his heart beating slower. Bursting through the water like a hazed dream. He flailed his arms to keep him above the water. His equipment heavy as they are weighed him down. Immediately he looked around, trying to find something to hold on. Looking left right and behind him. He spotted some drift wood, floating towards him. With his strength wavering, he desperately reached out, grabbing hold and hoisting him self up. He began to cough out water. But it wasn't enough to get rid of it all. He felt tired weak and cold. With heavy eyes and shallow breaths. He could not fight the overwhelming fatigue, slowly they closed. His mind seemingly to drift off.

The call of battle rang out. Shells screaming out their songs into the darkened sky. Flashes of lightning and thunder, mixed their destructive melody, along with the hellish orchestra. The field was lit as lightning streaked across the sky. It's thunderous clash sounding over twisted metal and smouldering wrecks. With the mightiest clashing there swords. Four armoured giants, clashing their harden steel, with every flash and spark. They've skittered over harden steel or pierced through thin plates to wound one another. The muzzle flashes of guns and the clattering of rifles, machine guns, sub machine guns, artillery pieces and the rumbling tanks. Guns firing with a thunder clap or the screams of shells raining on the land.

The land now plagued with war, is nothing but another place, to spill more blood. Trenches engraved along the hill. The army clad in green and brown, holding onto the hill for what it was worth. Trenches filled with men willing to die for the motherland. Machine gunners and riflemen stood in knee high mud. The M1937 anti tank guns, laying within protective barriers. Alongside with light mortars and the dreaded heavy M1938 mortar.

Away from the hill stood three cultural divisions clad in Grey and black uniforms. Beyond the frontlines a new armoured fiend approached slowly. Clad similarly as the three giants. But they way it marched and held its shield, the way it sang through rain and mud. Underneath it's steel helm held a fire unmatched by it's allies. The column of panzers, armoured cars and trucks advanced slowly.

It stopped out side the reds effective firing rang. Disembarking the troops, they began to form up effectively behind there light and medium panzers. The leading panzer IV Ausf G's top opened, allowing the Hauptsturmführer to come out. The rain pitter pattered on steel and cloth, turning he spoke loud and clear. "Comrades!" Yelled out the man, standing on top of his panzer IV asuf G. "Our allies!. The Slovakian's, Hungarian's and the Romanian Legionnaires, have failed to take this position for the past 2 weeks!. We the das Reich of Germany! will show them how to sweep over this futile attempt with success!." His voice grew louder, with every word, rallying his troops. "We will show them and the world. Why we are the best!. That the Fatherland has to offer!." He got down, sliding back into the panzer. "I will lead the first assault. I want grenadiers to clear out those nests, once we breached far enough."

The shrill of a whistle rang out. With a roar, the first line of panzers moved forward. soldiers, infantrymen...brothers. Ran up behind the panzers, as tracers skipped or strike across metal. Machine guns rattled from the top with quick flashes. Rifles cracking into there opposition with reckless fanaticism and zeal, mortars sang high and true. The clap of small caliber anti-tank rounds soared through the air. Only to come up short, splashing mud up from the closing German war machine.

The panzers made there slow crawl. Slowly behind them, was the Waffen SS infantry providing covering fire to suppress Ivan. With every ground taken, one soldier will falter from the now panicking Russians. They deathly held onto the dirt mound, with everything, they've got. With there increasing ferocity like a cornered animal. The German war machine, claimed more and more ground with every step. Through thick mud and the uneven terrain. The three hundred meters they've made up this hill. The German troops started to feel the offensive force radiating from the dug in rat's. anti-tank rounds beginning to threaten, there rolling shields, rounds sparking off from shots that where too wide. While others started to receive burning holes. or shells that could not penetrate the frontal armour. Leaving shallow indentations or a hole. There where shots, that where directed to stop them, tearing into the caterpillar tracks. Armour ballistic shells ripping them apart or destroying the sprockets themselves.

With the last one hundred meters before them. Jürgen ran forthwith as storm troopers rushed ahead. grenades armed and primed, with machine pistols spraying lead with abandoned accuracy. The bolshevik's took cover or braved the assault. With dirt splashing marking there impacts and splintering wood breaching or splitting in front of them. Within the two seconds of there charge, potato mashers where sent flying true or saturating into there trenches.

Screams coming from the panicking bolshevik's could've been heard. The storm troopers ducked for cover, hugging the dirt. holding there helmets closer than necessary. A series of concussive explosions rippled through the dirt. Screams, blood and wood showered over the low trenched earth.

Jürgen raised his head afterwards as others jumped in. Taking the opportunity, he scrambled towards his feet jumping into the shallow trench line. Raising his machine pistol, stock laying gently into his shoulder. The small entrenchment was filling in with sturm troopers. Taking cover as they spread out enough, to prevent mass casualties. He took the lead as seven men followed him over the top. Rounds venomously whispered by his ears and the pained Yelp from his comrade. Mortars viciously sang there songs, mud splashing at every shot or impact around them.

Charging once again, following his fellow brothers. Ivan holding strong onto a wooden bunker, a steel plate fell. Revealing a heavy Russian machine gun, Jurgen knew it was the DShK it's large frame and the the box of 12.7mm rounds hanging there. He realized that he was charging Into the maw of the bear. But like an iron eagle diving with it's steel talons open for the kill. He had to carry through with his attack. Heavy caliber rounds thumped into its steady beat, tearing into flesh and bone. Screams of the dead and the cries of agony from the lucky few that survived. It cut through the air, behind and around him.

The DShK was ripping his men apart, and he could only move forward. Sharp flashes and the steady beat coming from that wooden bunker. With every step he took within the hundred meters he made, faintly he could see the gunner twisting wildly. Finally he saw the sights aligned, it was pointed at him. The gunner showed his displeasure with a hardened scowl on his battled harden features. Jürgen could feel his heart stop with eyes wide but the round never came. He saw the Russian gripping the handles and the charging bolt, trying to get out a shot from it. With the gap closed he jumped on top of the wooden bunker, spraying lead into the entrenchment. With a potato masher primed, he tossed it into one of the bunkers slits.

Jumping off, he followed the assault group. They where gathering further towards the front, taking the Bolsheviks head on. The bunker bellowed out dirt and soot as other grenadiers cleared out what was left behind. The Reich's finest held the frontline as the Soviet bear charged head long. Long bolt action rifles, with thin bayonets being used as spears. The Reich putting up a quick but lacking defensive line. The red bear swiped at the iron eagle. Flesh and steel clashed, rifles thrusting into cloth and flesh, wooden stocks clashing with metal. Taking aim with his MP40, letting loose a torrent off at the charging reds. Two Soviet riflemen fell before him, turning he saw one running at him without a weapon. The MP40 made a horrific click. The red grasped the barrel and the stock, locking him and Jürgen in a power lock. They swung their might around, trying to gain an advantage. Jürgen's opponent made the first mistake, in a botched kick he over extended. With a swift strike to his kneecap, allowing Jürgen the killing blow. Ripping the MP40 away, with fluent motions it came back. With the stock connecting towards his jaw a sickening crack emitted from impact. Quickly he recovered from the blow. Biting pain shot through Jürgen's hand, grip slacking. The Russian capitalized taking away his machine pistol.

Backing away Jürgen reached towards his back. Finding the small shovel he always kept, unclasping the tool. It was sharpened on one side and serrated teeth on the other. Swinging the trench tool cut cleanly across the mans chest. Before Jürgen could place the final blow, a bayonet pierced him. Regaining his senses, he saw more of his men flooded the Russian's counter offensive locking it down to a slaughter of close combat. There is no honour, no elegance or a fair fight.

Jürgen with his shovel raised, charged behind a Russian locked in a grapple. Swinging down the teeth biting into his shoulder, pulling back, twisting his body. He Brought him down to his stomach, forcefully prying the shovel off his victim. The man beneath his boot squirmed and yelled in pain, blood mixing with the mud.

With Jürgen's shovel freed, raising it again to swiftly come down mans head. Embedding into his skull. Placing his boot on the corpse, prying his weapon free, he ran head first into the bloody fight. Shells still rained into the field at a slow trickle.

A mortar shell screamed above landing into the jumbled mess of bodies. The force knocking Jürgen into the muddy ground. Dazed, sore and bleeding.

He looked around, trying to make heads or tails of his situation. Looking up he saw a female clad in the green colours of the enemy. A battle cry left her throat, rifle held tightly. The thin steel on the rifle. piercing through cloth, entering his upper right bicep missing his heart. He looked up towards her. Her face held a fierce look in her cold emerald eyes, dirty brown hair looking down to him. Rage coursed throughout his body as he lunged at her.

Bolting upright, his breathing coming out of his seething teeth. A nurse with chestnut hair wearing a blue uniform was in front of him. His hand was locked around her throat. ("Die dogs of Stalin! I'll put all of you down!.") He yelled out. His grip more firm and closing the gap. Fear seeped into her core looking into his cold dead steely eyes. She tried and tried again to break his grip, tears streaming down her cheek, fearing for her life. His face a harsh battle hardened scowl, seeing not a boy but a man that went through hell.

Several more nurse and a doctors rushed in. Trying to pry his iron grip from the suffocating nurse. They called out to him, shaking him to snap him out. But one revive a jab into the stomach, the nurse crumpled over. With no other choice the doctor called out. Hurriedly a nurse ran to his side with a syringe, injecting the sedative. Jürgen growled out in pain as his mind began to be foggy his body going limp.

Slowly he let out a low moan. Trying to register and gather up his state of mind. Pulling his hand up to sooth the pain, only to be met by force. Slowly his senses came back, too slowly. He could feel the set of straps around his arms, wrist, chest and the legs. The door opened with a creek on hinges that haven't gotten a good oiling. A nurse walked through, only to stop dead in her tracks. He could see it within her eyes the hesitation and the fear.

("Good day") he tried to sound friendly. But came out as a choked form, from a dry throat.

The nurse placed down the tray she carrying on a small table. She began to call for the doctor. Soon afterwards, the doctor came through. He stood there carefully watching the young man with a inquisitive eye. "How are you feeling today, stranger?" he asked.

Hearing the english tongue spoken from him. His muscles tensed, his breath hitched. ("Doing well I suppose. Could be better, without being strapped down.") Looking at the nurse and doctor, all the while holding a fake smile.

("So you speak Solitas. But the question remains, how did you end up in that stream?") pulling a chair next to him, while flipping through Jurgen's medical paper. ("So... what did you do.?")

Watching him carefully as best as he could. Letting out a tired sigh, then taking a deep breath. ("Me and my men... we where supposed to set up a radio beacon. To reach out to command or any one within the vicinity.") As he spoke but he was just staring forward. With a look as if he could see through the wall. ("The city of Stalingrad was overrun, by the red tide. The order to retreat was hell... just like operation Barbarossa... the evacuation was fruitless. the reds had already broken through our lines, our allies where decimated or routed. The Romanians, Hungarians, Italy and Croatia. The city was starting to be crawling with them. We gathered stragglers, lost men or the routed. So we had a small amount of two hundred... and only fifty of us chosen to remain behind. To halt Ivan... or go out fighting till our last breath") his breath shuddered recalling his recent event.

Looking to the good doctor, watching his unreadable expression. ("I have no idea if you are lying... or telling the truth. but they way you spoken about it, seems to be that... or you're the best dam storyteller or bullshitter.") he let out a puff of air, slumping slightly. ("Well do you remember anything else?") Pulling himself up next to him, loosening the straps.

("No. I do not remember much, when that hellish wolf knocked me through the window.") A low chuckle escaped through his mouth, with a small smile. ("Took the bastard with me.") siting up rubbing gently around the irritated skin.

("You mean the Grimm?") he asked then stopped ("you said building and a city of Stalingrad? The closest city was mountain glenn. So that's where you came from. What where you doing there?. Absolutely no one lives there, nor do they have any military operations taking place.") Skepticism seeped onto his features. Standing up the doctor took his leave, before Jürgen stopped him.

("Do you still have my equipment somewhere?") he politely asked from his position.

The good doctor watched him carefully weighing his options. ("Yes we do but they are under lock and key for now. But the weapons and equipment are... how should I say lacking certain parts. But I have never seen the way it has a cross an eagle and the dual thunderbolts. And I can not forget that arm banner pure red white and a black X with four protrusions going in a clockwise matter.")

("I need to see if I still have the trinkets and my journals still) he spoke levelly.

("No you will see them when you are better. And I have another thing to say.") he looked back at him ("You have P.T.S.D. As how I know. You where choking one of my nurses. Hence why you where strapped. You are lucky that she is not pressing charges.") he spoke but didn't get a reaction out of it other then a nod. (Jugging by that. I guess you knew about it your condition and that you dodged a bullet.")

Jürgen spoke up ("she has every reason to be mad and press charges. But it confuses me that she hasn't. It is unjustifiable of what I did.") The doctor nodded his head, before he walked out with the last say. ("Doctors orders are to stay and let your body rest.") He spoke. Leaving Jürgen to his own devices. Looking over the small room at spot a journal and a pencil.

Unknown date 1942

"I'm worried about that nurse, how could I have done that. My mother would have slapped me till my cheek was red and raw. My father would have just given me a slap on the hand. He never really cared how he treats anything. I remember that my mother told me, that he respected her and loved her with his heart. That was before, the Great War. after that. He changed into some stranger she has never met. The man she loved, was nothing more than a husk of his former self. But his love for her was there. But he hardly showed it. He practically ran his fathers business into a new level of cruelty. It was unjust and harsh but with the Great Depression. I can not fault him for such actions. But his manufacturing plant survived and turned into a masterful armament working force. Giving the poor hard working force labor a placeholder to give them strength and a purpose.

Yet. I have no idea where I am now, so I cannot trust anyone here... if I am in a new land or the latter. I can not let my guard down. I must remain vigilant and rely on my instincts for now. I must find my bearings and gather intelligence. It will be hard to suppress my zealous pride. From all the battles that made me a harden fighter for the Fatherland. I need to play it safe... for now. Once I gather enough to sedate my iron blood and have a firm foot hold, I will find a way to the Fatherland."

February 12th 1942

"It has almost been a week since my fall. I have been given the ok... but the bill was a problem. Thankfully I still had gold on me. I got it from a run down Jewish owned bank. I still remembered when we began our assault against the motherland. How everything went perfectly and as planned. I gave them the small golden bar for payment. Turns out it was a bit more than what I was paying. I only asked them, to give me a small amount of Reichsmarks. I guess it wasn't the smartest thing to say. Should've known that currency was vastly different here, than what was the Fatherlands currency. I still have more gold located within my journal, in a secret compartment. But I am left with nothing... for now I have some of the locals currency and my homeland. Since my stay here, I have gathered some material to gain a bit of a foot hold. It's not much to go by... it's better then nothing though."

Leaving the small two story community hospital. Jürgen took in his surroundings. Taking note of the rather large town. In the far distance he could see an opposing wall just about a few kilometres away. Surprisingly to see it stretched as far as he could see. Wondering what, it's main purpose supposed to provide?. He shook his head, ridding the stray thoughts. Proceeding towards the town, his steps crunching or clacking on the partially covered stone pathway. Years of service to the Fatherland and marching alongside his fellow Schutzstaffel. Has affected of how he walk, just like breathing. He walked with a purpose, a strong presence that he revelled in, with the thundering sound of boots, tracks grinding under German steel and a song. Sung by the thousands of troops singing from the heart and with pride.

That was one of the many things. He will miss dearly, his stance faulting ever slightly at the realization. With a shake of his head banishing the gloomy thoughts. Looking up towards the town only to see that he was walking through the street. The street was busy with people lulling about, with out a care to the outside world. It brought a small smile from Jurgen, watching them mulling through the market but it soon dissolved into a slight scowl seeing Negro's milling with the local whites. He's seen Negros before in the heart of Germany. At least there number was small and manageable, but they did not warrant the wrath of the Schutzstaffel.

He watched them carefully, seeing if they pulled something. But Jürgen shook his head, they maybe Negros, but they help him and the Schutzstaffel root out the pests in the past. They know that the path. That Germany is paving into the future, For all of Europe. But that will have to wait even if it pulls at his instinctive heritage. With a shake of his head, turning towards a small building. That the hospital staff, heavily recommended. The state of his combat fatigues was worsened since what they where in Stalingrad. He needed a replacement and a few more for when the situation calls for it.

With renewed vigour, his steps and his stance changed considerably towards his destination. Easing through the crowd. The Life and familiarity that sounded him brought a look of nostalgia. Lost within his own musings, walking towards his intended target. Slipping in between an elderly couple with expensive clothing.

It was a mistake. Not noticing the girl, carrying an abundant amount of bags and boxes. He collided into her. Bags and boxes exploded, contents littering onto the street or clattering in hard concrete. A soft oomph escaped from the pile. Jürgen looked down towards the poor girl, her blonde hair disheveled her blue eyes looking up at him. Her large circular glasses slightly askew on her nose.

("I'm terribly sorry for that. Here, let me help you with this mess") he spoke kindly picking up the scattered boxes and loose contents back into there respective bags.

"I am terribly sorry young man." The elderly man said apologetically before turning towards the young blonde girl. "You should look where you are going young lady. And pick this up!" Yelled the man seeing the poor girl scrambling to gather everything.

Jurgen reached down helping her gather boxes and spilled continents. She looked at him with inquisitive eyes lasting only a second. Once all was gathered and neatly stacked they separated. he looked over to the couple (I am terribly sorry I was not looking and not aware of my surroundings.) he let out a small chuckle.

"I'm sorry what did you say?" The woman spoke looking towards her she was well within her early forties. Jurgen nervously cleared his throat taking his time to speak.

"I'm a-am sor-sorry I do not speak Engl-English that we-well." His thick Germanic tongue butchering the language. "But I was at fa-fau-fault here. I was lack of my surroundings." He spoke his look was caught between frustration and embarrassment.

""I must be off. I need my unifo-uniform repaired." Making his way to the small boutique. Before he could the couple stopped him.

"Sorry there lad. But the store is closed early me and my wife need a little bit of time away from work." Barking out a laugh turning making his way towards Jürgen. "What where you going to ask for?"

"A new set of clothing. Uniforms." He spoke with a bit of a struggle. looking up at the man smiling.

"Well, come around 8 am in the morning. And we will see if we can get something for you."

"Danke" as they turned heading away he let out a restrained slow breath his mood darkening at the Englishman and his wife. ("Ha. Even out here. I still can't seem to get a break." Speaking to no one in particular. Giving a weak chuckle to himself, making his way out of the large town.

He found himself ever near the park. For the better part of a few hours, he gradually walked. The ever setting sunsets dying light bathed the landscape in font of him. It's glorious touch like an artist on a canvas. It always surprised Jürgen what Mother Nature could do. Over the sight he spotted a weeping willow, alone and away from gazing eyes. Making the short distance slowly the sound of whimpering came forth from the tree itself. With cautionary steps as he unslung his PPSH 41 drawing closer. Gently parting the wet green drapes.

There a familiar young woman was huddled closely near the base of the tree. Her legs pulled tightly to her chest. It was a sight that made herself into a small pitiful ball. Slinging his machine pistol back. He took a very slow approach towards her. Her cries was that of sorrow, lost and pain. Quietly she spoke in just a small cracked voice. ("Brother I just wish you where her still. I miss your comforting touch and how you always say that everything will be alright.") Gently he placed his hand on her shaking shoulder. She stopped her small whimpers. Slowly her hand raised up gently placing her's top of his.

("Are you all right Fräulein?") he spoke softly. The late snow falling gently through the cool wind. Shifting his position to kneel down to her level, her hand softly grasping his. Not allowing him to pull away. ("Hey... are you okay") he spoke louder watching her as she looked into his eyes. The sight he saw made him grimace slightly. Seeing her expression, her eyes red and puffy. Her glasses skewered, gently he reached out taking them wiping her tears away and adjusting her spectacles.

("Can we go home?") she asked.

Jürgen let out a small sigh wondering how he got himself into this. ("Where too") he asked back, standing back up. Turning towards the exit as he waited for her to follow him out. He felt hands slinked around his neck and followed by a shifting weight on his back. ("That way, street 77 house number 435") she pointed resting her head on his shoulder.

The walk Jürgen made was silent. Taking in the cool spring wind the sight of many homes looking like the town of Bunzlau. Shifting the dead weight on his back getting himself more comfortable to carry.

Looking at the house or mansion just by the sheer size of it. He let out a scoff, seeing the size, his stance tensed up, as he came closer. With every step he took, he felt spite fill up within his heart. Looking over the fence seeing the numbers in gold 435. A light tap on his shoulder caught his attention. Turning slightly to see her dainty hand, gently she pointed towards a small home fit for a small family.

Knocking on the oak wooden doors. Listening carefully to the sounds of hushed voices and shuffling making there way towards him. Stepping back, the door opened to a sight that his left eye slightly twitched. There before him stood a man that had bore tusks jutting out. "Yes" his voice carried the high standing of a seasoned butler.

Turning he showed the now sleeping girl "ah young sunshine it's good to see she is alright" he said. Grabbing her by the stomach gently prying her off. With hidden strength her hold tightened, unconsciously tightening around his neck. Stopping, the butler moved to the open door, holding his hand out for him. Nodding stiffly Jürgen moved forth. Standing aside he allowed Jurgen to walk through before closing the door.

The walk was quiet. But Jürgen was taking in all of the details around him. Soaking information like a reconnaissance plane. Seeing men and women with animalistic traits. He spotted some that where obvious like ears, tusks, tails and very few was their eyes. The boar opened the last door on the right allowing him in. The room was standard fit for maids and servants, nothing special or unique in terms. Moving across the small room, shifting his stance, allowing him room to Lay the sleeping beauty on her bed.

"Do you have anywhere to sleep?" The butler asked. Standing at the door watching him sitting at the chair, his bag on the desk, uniform horribly maintained.

"Nee. I have... no where to go" he spoke with much difficulty, grimacing at his own take towards the English language.

Nodding "you may sleep on the couch for tonight, but I want you out of here at dawn." Without another word turning on his heels, walking out. Jürgen turned towards his bag, pulling out his four journals and began to write.

February 13th 1943

"I still can't believe that I am not on German soil anymore. For the first time... I have came to a bridge that I thought, I would never cross. Without the Fatherland, or any presence of the nazi party or any military branch. I'm just lost without them I need orders I need a path to follow again. Without it what am I supposed to do? It is something that I fear for myself and my pride!.

But these, abominations, these Untermensch. I feel disgusted being in the same house as them, my instincts and my time apart of the police force are screaming out to beat them and ship them out of our country or towards specific camps... but this isn't my country nor I am willing to bet what will happen. No I must play by the rules for now no matter how much it pulls at me.

But they maybe Untermensch or maybe not. I cannot judge them at first glance now. No. I will leave this thought for another time. I'm hungry, tired, and still weak. I must recover first then I will set a corse."

Authors note it's been too long and I know this was stuck on this dam part during his reawakening in the hospital stuck I tellya so I skipped it still writing as how he went and I think I could have done better but then it hit me from work when some one dropped something on top of me it hurt but it came at the same time and so this is how I came up with this.

And I have been heavily studying back to the good old days of 1900- 1950's and it's really... strange but lots to learn still. I need help on this realizing that I can not do this alone so I need help.

Edit on December 11th fixed hospital scene for better movement could still use improvement I think?