The graveyard part IV

The first thing that Jurgen felt, was the binds around his wrists, and the stiff muscles. Reeling in his scattered thoughts, it quickly dispersed upon him. Realization spread throughout his body, firing his nerves into action. Sitting up was his first mistake, the pain within his side and his right arm crippled his execution. ("By Stalin's dogs, that hurt's.") Hissing out. ("You should count yourself lucky Herr Kommandant.") Snapping his eyes open, he looked towards that familiar voice. Tied up next too him was Detlf, his big build had shrunk, and the signs of malnutrition was starting to be evident on him. But the man did not share his enthusiasm, he held a harden glare towards Jurgen. ("You left us for dead. Kommandat.") Jurgen looked away in disgust, he had the gaul too spit in his face.

A roaring spike of anger punctured through his relief. Without any warning, he reeled his head back, before connecting into Detlf's thick head. He was earned with a cry of pain, from his fellow brother. ("You better start getting into regulation. Herr Oberschütze") Now was not the time for pleasantries, it was now the time too take control. Still reeling from the sudden hit the man was about to rebuke, until he looked into Jurgen's bloody red eyes. A flame that he'd never seen before, with a light grunt, he sat up straight. ("Jawohl mein Hauptscharfuhrer.") was his defeated reply.

Taking in a breath, he noticed the three other soldiers, of the Reich tied with them. ("Rank and battalions.") He ordered, then he saw the hateful eyes of Fritz looking at him. Jurgen gladly returned the favour with his cold blue orbs. ("Fixing our situation. Is top priority Fritz, hate me afterwards.") He earned himself a slow nod, from the silent sharpshooter. Shifting around he spotted a boy, covered in dirt and grime. ("Dominik Kogalniceaunu. First Armoured division of Romania.") Was the quick reply, shifting his sights too the next man. ("Uwe Krause. Apart of the Fourteenth panzer Corps, third Motorized Infantry Division.") nodding his head, the next one didn't say anything. Until he shifted his position, then he spoke up. ("apart of the 6th Army reserves.") the way he spoke. It roused an old memory, and it tickled the back of his head, Trying too remember. He slowly nodded his head, accepting the lack of an answer.

Testing the bindings around his wrists. They where tight and firmly constrictive, he couldn't help but praise whoever tied his bonds. But, it eliminated his more direct approach, of using brute force. Letting out a small grunt of frustration, he took the time to view their surroundings. The store they where in, was just like the rest of this forsaken city. Decaying and smelled like a shallow grave, the once red painted wooden walls are torn apart and rotting. Jurgen could see signs, that a tank shell ripped through here. Moving his foot forward, towards a pile of debris. Pushing it away, it moved several broken glass and wood. He raised an eyebrow upon seeing the wooden stock of a Mosin-Nagant, broken and beyond for use.

A counter top was located just a few feet towards their left, the broken display cases that once held wears for sale. But with the state of this store. Shaking his head, he shouldn't care what was here, there where more pressing matters at hand.

Glass and rocks crunched outside, he focused upon that sound. The amount of sounds he could hear outside, they where close. Returning his sights, back to the front door, three masked individual's walked in with noticeable injuries. A fairly well built man with a rustic coloured hair, favoured his left leg, more then his right. Behind him was a much shorter one. If he had too guess his height, it would be the same height as him.

But his mask was broken in chips. There was clear webbing from his left cheek, and pieces that where missing, Jürgen saw the young youthful face underneath. Slowly he clenched his hands together, the anger coursing throughout his spirit. When the youth fully removed his mask and hood away. Big round ears stood in attention. Not just any ears of an animal... those ears. Those ears, could only belong to a mouse. His whiskers twitching as he rubbed his nose and messaged his sore ears. The mouse stopped his actions when his eyes met Jürgen's.

It disgusted Jürgen greatly, how he looked at him. He gladly returned the favour, with his own hardening glare. ("Disgusting.") Breaking eye contact. Jürgen turned towards his right seeing the unnamed man. His eyes, they carried a ferocious, killing intent. An intensity that Jürgen shared for Russian blood. But in there current situation he had to reel him back. ("Do not invoke them.") Jürgen harshly whispered back. Before he could retort back, a dull silver blade rested against Jurgen's throat, stopping the both of them.

"What the hell are you two talking about." With a gentle push, the blade dug in further. Thinking quickly on the matter, he had too play the dumb card. Tilting his head in confusion and a look of loss. ("What are you saying?") a look of frustration spread across his features. "speak Valarian dam it." He hissed through his teeth. "Grey! Stand down." A Commanding voice spoke out. Catching both prisoners and grey's attention. "Adelina. What are we even doing with these solitas?" With a gesturing wave of his sword around the tied up men.

With a snort, Jürgen looked over towards his unnamed comrade. ("It seems that this pathetic excuse of a subhuman. Is taking orders from a mouse.") With a huff of annoyance and a bitter voice. ("If I get out of these bindings. I'm going too put a bullet through his head.") It was punctuated more as he tested his wristband. ("Dummkopf. Be silent before you make our situation worse.") hissed out Jürgen. Then his world exploded into a shower of stars and pain. Reeling back with a held scream, it slowly pushed out of his teeth in a angry huff.

Looking down at him with disgust. How dare the Untermensch look down at him. "Speak Valarian you bastard." Glaring back at his captor. Jürgen held in his tongue, despite the Colourful words wanting too escape him. But it didn't stop his comrade. "Pray that these bindings hold me, Untermensch. I'll take great pleasure ridding you from this world." The Faunus went livid upon hearing those words escaped. Jürgen felt his heart sink, at their now angry wolf.

With a flash of steel, his comrade cried out in pain. "Shut up!" The wolf yelled loudly, his lightly coated blade dripping with blood. "Grey!" Struggling within his restraints, "stop right now Grey, for God's sake!" A sound of shifting gears, unfamiliar towards his ears. Jürgen took the chance to look at the new sound. His sword changed into a unfamiliar model of a pistol. That was aimed at his comrade which Jürgen thought it wise not too intervene.

The mouse came in, pulling the firearm away from it's target. But it didn't stop it from discharging with a loud crack. Then it was soon followed up, with the larger Faunus fighting for power, over the weapon. It was a spectacle. Seeing the much smaller framed Faunus, fighting for strength over the weapon. Just like how the larger one simply moved him around with ease. The mouse gathered his footing, stopping their little dance. Bearing his teeth the mouse growled out. "Grey!" With a grunt he steadied his stance once more, "Stand down Grey. That's, an order!" Grunted the mouse. It was all in vain, as the wolf tossed his small frame away. "The bastards deserve too die!"

Slamming into the brittle wall, it gave way underneath the force. Crumbling around him, Jürgen couldn't hold back the feeling of his mouth, curling into a small smile. It soon vanished, when the armed Faunus. Aimed it at the young Romanian, with the intent too kill. His prideful heart exploded into a fire. A fire that he felt, coursing throughout his own body. With a roar and twisting his bindings. He exploded out, with renew vigour and anger. He could feel his hands burning, a sensation that was calming. Yet so much more, than he could've said.

Working through the motions, of years of experience on the field, and tested through the blood and Iron. Jabbing his hand up, grasping the strange pistol. The gun harmlessly shot into the ceiling. Twisting his hands around the weapon, pulling the gun further down, forcing his opponent with him. Lowered and off set. Jürgen struck out, sliding under his guard. With a few hits and forcing the Faunus into the floor.

That was the opening Jürgen made for himself. Straddling onto the wolf's torso, he began too rain in the blows. his foe, tried too defend himself. Jürgen found ways to get around his guard, striking wherever his shield lacked. And struck them hard. His spirt felt alive, He felt alive. That addictive thrill he's experienced, in the mud, through Poland, the harsh push through France. And through the lands of Mother Russia, the pain, the blood shed. And finally the god forsaken tundra of the Bolshevik.

A swift and vicious blow, connected to his head. Throwing, his stray mind, into a crumbling stall. That was a miserable mistake. Being cowed into a startled child. Then, it came, that familiar burn, that bittersweet pain across his right cheek. Reeling backwards, the beast kicked him, being pushed further and humiliated. Looking back up, the Untermensch had the weapon align with him. His blood boiled. His spirit and pride, cried out in shame. Such a sloppy execution!. For one, being the high caliber that Germany could breed. He felt that foreign power again. Just brushing along his parameter, waiting. Reaching for that force. A force that gave him strength again and renewed his resolve.

His hands brushed briefly against the floor, feeling the harsh debris. Something that he grasped tightly with an Iron grip, with a cry leaving his lips. Leaping towards his target, his mind racing through the tunnel, he had built. But It all came crumbling down on him, when the mouse kicked, his comrade aside. Then afterwards, Jürgen found himself pushed aside with much more force. He could feel something, slithering around his body, tightening it's hold. Crashing into the wall, as something bit into his flesh. "Tuk!" Fighting through the pain, and holding back a breath of pain. "Get them out of here." There was no time for reprieve, with a yank from his bindings. Jürgen was forcefully pulled up, with gritted teeth, he took the chance to see his assailant.

His anger soon changed into confused. And the words, that where going too leave his lips, soon died upon seeing his handler. It was A Faunus. But not just any breed. Her disheveled auburn hair was parted, and standing clear for all too see. Was the ears of a hare. But her eyes held a fiery stance, within her unique eyes one that was green yet the other held a soft shade of hazel, yet he had no time to think about it, as she began to lead him away.

Stumbling into the new room, Jürgen's left leg gave out beneath him, falling shoulder first then feeling his head bounced off the wooden floor. With a hot breath, escaping from his lungs Jürgen, tried his best too get up from his limited bindings. He was not prepared for the gentle hand helping him up. Though, he was prepared for the coming, harsh treatment from his handler. ("Come on.") was he soft spoken words. Words, that where spoken in his mother's tongue.

The next room, was what looked like the remain's of a restaurant. Most of the debris and garbage where moved towards the front as a pitiful barrier, for Cerberus to simply push aside. The shattered pale moon light peeking through the cracks and holes. Then, they called out, it started out as a, lone, drawn howl. Then it became two, now three. As more and more joined the sound. It sent a shiver up Jürgen's spine, reminding him, that Cerberus spawns are still roaming the graveyard.

"Such a sad sound." being taken out of his brooding thoughts. By the soft spoken Rabbit. She had lead him and his comrades up the stairs, before stopping in front of a door. "Get in." Was the quick order. Shambling inside, the small mix of the Axis, sat down. With a small flick of her wrist, the strange blade uncoil itself from Jürgen. Snaking it's way back towards it's owner, with every click.

Freed from his chains, Jürgen didn't have the strength to capitalize the opening. His wounds still festered from his desperate gamble, he could feel it. The strength he felt from his heart and spirit, was leaving him. Making him feel weak. Yet his spirit felt renewed, and much stronger too push though the pain. He wasn't surprised when she sat in front of him. Gently she pulled his arm out. Pulling back and away from her, she gave him a disapproving look, before she spoke in German. ("I know you can't fight. let alone that you're aura is completely depleted.") This time she wasn't so gentle, forcing his arm out making him released a pained hiss. Relenting himself to comply with her movements. ("I'm not even sure, what you where thinking, when Adelina and his group found you.") She was relentless, every time she applied medical attention on his more prominent wounds. ("I mean. You blew up a building for peats sakes. For what? Just to take out a few measly Grimm and there alpha.") She was dutiful in her work. But for the love of god, could she please stop.

Jürgen tried again, too pull away. But not before making the mistake of speaking out his thoughts. ("I don't need to be berated by a woman. Let alone by a Rabbit, of all things.") he muttered, but it was too late as he felt a hard flick, connecting his tender flesh. Flinching from the sudden pain. He met her eyes as the both of them, sharing the same look of annoyance and hate. She pulled away, gathering up her medical supplies and waste. Jürgen just sighed in resignation from her actions. In defeat he simply held up his arm for her. She watched him for a moment, before her lips curled up in Victorious smile. ("I see, that you know where you stand right now.") Her small smile, simply turned content as she administer him and hearing him give out a small huff, but it was slowly fading, seeing more of his wounds. ("My, my, how hard did you push your semblance?") she waited for a reply or anything, but she took the chance to glance up at him.

He was sitting there, looking at the four tied up men, then towards the broken wall that showed this hauntingly city. It sent a chill down her spine, they shouldn't be here, Hell, even the very men before her shouldn't be here at all. The smell, the very air disgusted her, and the infrastructure when they took that step, felt, wrong. ("We cannot stay any longer, then what you already have.") Startled by his voice, she couldn't help but ask. ("Are you afraid of the Grimm?") he stayed silent for a time, his eyes carefully looking for something. ("It's not them, you should be worried about. It's this graveyard's inhabitants, you should fear.") The poor rabbit couldn't give out her question. Blinded and unaware, she was hit in the head from behind. Jürgen simply watched her crumple into the floor, a small disappointing frown on his lips.

Standing above the prone girl, was the marksman holding a red block. ("Free the others. Where on precious time here.") He ordered, looking back down at the prone girl. He felt pity for her, she was beautiful, and her voice was soft and caring, but it was a shameful waste of life. as blood began too trickle from her head. With a tired sigh, he grabbed her bag shifting through it. With the acquired items in hand, he began too clean her head, taking note of the wound. With a light huff, he finished wrapping her head. A tired sigh left him seeing the same type of wounds on his men. ("It will be up to god. If she lives or not.") turning around, his comrades where free and ready to leave their host behind. ("Detlf, Fritz, Dominik, Uwe. Follow me.") was his sharp command. Walking towards the fallen street, he looked down both ways. On his left stood the skeletal frame's of the Industrial district. Facing the right stood another church but far larger and more preserved. ("We need too move swiftly men. Follow me") jumping out of the building, he landed on top of the large pile of brick and mortar. Turning he saw his men following after him.

Taking the lead. Jürgen swiftly made his way into the open street, stopping mere centimetres from a shelled out part of the street. The sewage pipe open and disgusting. But thankfully the fighting had taken the waters and the smell away. Carefully they made their way forwards, the dark tunnel was broken long ago, from multiple attempts that Stalin's symphony made across the Volga. Stalinorgel it's distinctive howl and how it made the sky turn red when they streak across the air. Without warning, Detlf grabbed him by the shoulder, slamming his frame into the solid bricked wall. "You have, a lot to explain. Herr Commandant." Holding Jürgen against the wall, lifting him a few inches off the ground.

It was quiet throughout the tunnel, not a word escaped the five gathered men. Three of them watching the two men, starring each other, daring one another to break. The first to break was Jürgen. Letting out a deep, tired breath as he gently placed his hand on top of Detlf's shoulder. "I came back here for two reasons Detlf... how long have you known me?" he asked softly a calm expression. The large man didn't let his stance change. But his harden gaze shifted. "Detlf. How long, have we've had each other's back?" Gently, Jürgen patted his shoulder. Slowly the larger man put him down, a sad smile on his dirty face. "Since the day you've been thrown into prison, from that scuffle. You made back in Leipzig." A rye smile came across him. "Ten years. Ten long years Detlf, since we've known each other. I'm asking you as a friend, to trust me one last time." The large soldier still held onto Jürgen's shoulder. A torrent of conflicting emotions raging about until a frustrating growl escaped. "Alright. I'll let this go for now. but you're going too buy me beer and the fattest steak after this mess." With a chuckle he patted his Brother on his shoulder. "I'll buy all the biggest steak's they have. If we get out of this alive." Taking the lead once more. Jurgen couldn't help, but let his eyes wander. Seeing dry blood and casings, a small smirk creased his lips seeing the signs of the red army.

They crawled out of a small pipe, when they came across a Panzerkampfwagen mark three, an effort that closed off from the many passages in Stalingrad. But the Blood of the Fatherland knew the streets better and where they are. Helping one another through the tightly pack battle grounds, and over burnt wreckage's, both made from Soviet and German hands.

A short call from Krause, caught the groups attention as the Grenadier began too open a trap door. "There's a Soviet outpost here." With great effort and determination, the floor moved aside allowing Jürgen too peer into the dark. "Where going to look inside." With his spoken words the men looked at him with credulity. "We need guns and munitions if where going to survive from Hades hounds." Stepping forwards, he brushed his squad aside as the wooden floor creaked beneath him. The first thing that hit him was the smell of decay, recoiling in disgust, Jurgen covered his nose noting that a lantern was burning weakly. Stepping further down he reached for his youth knife along his boot. He cursed loudly as his hand felt nothing, but he felt his anger shimmer, when he spotted a Russian blade embedded into the wall.

Freeing the bolshevik steel, he continued on only to stop when Detlf came up next to him. "I'll go first, stay here. Anything that attacks me. Hit them from behind." Taking in his first step, his boot pushed aside empty casings as they clattered and rolled away. His eyes never left what was before him. Russian bodies were strewn about, in various parts of being eaten or in different stages of decay. Blood that is long dried and weapons that are broken, or still firmly held by the dead. Slowly the German made his way, careful where he stepped, and watching the dead and the shadows for those red hellish eyes. "Detlf. Get the others, I think where good for now." Hearing the larger man walking away. Jürgen continued his slow pace, only stopping when a corridor came in front of him.

Coming across the sixteenth Russian body, his annoyance grew even more. Holding the Soviet machine pistol, holding the flimsy butt stock and the warped guard rail. With a angry huff he tossed the weapon back to its deceased welder. Keeling back down, he search the body next to him, opening pouches and the thick heavy coat. Feeling around he felt something round and small, pulling back to see what it was. He looked at the silver watch turning it around his grasp, with a slight flick it opened up with the time still and a picture of a beautiful woman. Pulling out his knife, carefully removing the small frame, with a flick he tossed the picture on top of the corpse.

Walking out of the underground post, Jürgen and the few men where rearmed with Soviet rifles. He cursed lightly underneath his breath for their rotten luck. The walk was quiet, yet it was broken from one of them with a firm sharp tone "How are you going too get us out of this mess. Exactly?" Tilting his head slightly, catching sight of the so called reservist. "Until we make it at the church for a breather. And to reorient myself." Was his swift reply.

It was a long and quiet walk for them, but their stance remained taught. Ready too uncoil at anything, that dared to harm them. Reaching the outskirts of the church. Jürgen couldn't help but be impressed by its condition. Signs of German presents where clear to see. From trenches and torn flags of the Reich, where strewn about the place. Just down the street towards his left was a damaged husk of a T-34 tank. A sneer came cross his lips upon seeing it. When they made it inside the church was large, suitable for the Reich's forgotten or left behind, command equipment. Radio's where left where they stood, maps and battle plans where either in ashes or saved by Soviet hands seeing a few half charred papers. "Spread out, And gather anything that's salvageable." Was the quick call. Jurgen turned around spotting the still unnamed man. "Stay in groups of twos. If you find anything that shoots faster then a rifle trade it, I don't care if it's a machine gun. Rate of fire is the only thing, that will save us." Jurgen spoke afterwards as he paired himself with the soldier.

When they walked up the stairs. Jürgen carefully watched, the wolf in sheep's clothing, slowly removing his blade. Carefully he stalked closer towards him, when they first made it on the second floor, he quickly spotted the first door towards their left. He stuck out immediately when they where in front of the door. Grabbing him by his collar and carrying the momentum, he slammed his shoulder into his back. Pinning him against the wooden door, with his knife resting on his jugular. "Listen well, and listen closely Herr Kommandant." Jürgen hissed through his teeth, pushing him further. "I will have you're word. That you will not! Jeopardize our current situation, any further." He stayed silent for a bit, both of them looking into each other's eyes. "Do not stay silent." Again he pressed harder, before he laced his next words with venom. "Einsatzgruppen."

Those words alone brought out a reaction. His eyes hardening more. A sneer crossing his features. "We are apart of the same country. The same army, and we follow the Fuhrer of the Fatherland!" Growled the pinned soldier. With a spiteful pull, Jurgen tossed his fellow man through the door. "Do not! Insinuate about my loyalty. Herr commandant." He spoke the last words mockingly. Walking through, he placed his boot heavily onto his back, before he had the chance to stand. "I have fought, alongside you're particular branch before hand. When I served the Schutzstaffel. And this means I'm not too sure about you or you're goals." Kneeling down, he waited for a bit. Seeing that he wasn't going too speak, he took the initiative. "We're no longer apart of the Fatherland, our war is over!. But our Ideology still has hope here." Standing up Jürgen pulled the downed man back up. But his grip never left his shoulder. With a look of determination he asked him the most important question "Will you follow me, and play by my rules?" He only received a small grunted in response. Allowing the silent city to take hold again. "Fine." The soldier finally spoke.

Standing still for a time, he tried to leave but Jurgen still firmly held his shoulder. "Now. This is by far, the most important part of my question." Still holding him in place, a look of curiosity came across Jurgen's features. The man in front of him held, an annoyed expression with a bit of anger. "Now tell me. Which little sub group did you serve under from Herr Obergruppenführer Reinhard Heydrich?" Shoving his shoulder away from Jürgen's grasp he took three steps back. "I was apart of the Einsatzgruppen C. My team was apart of the Einsatzkommando 6. And for my name and rank? I'll just give you my name. Uwe Krause." Nodding his head, the trooper tried to walk past Jurgen again, only for him too stop him. "Are you going to follow my orders too the letter?" He asked while examining the knife. A clear threat for the man. "Yes, I'll play along. For now." Stepping back out, Jürgen waved his arm out. The soldier brushed past him as they made their rounds on the second floor, with Jürgen always behind him.

Returning back downstairs, Jürgen spotted the men gathered around the centre with several weapons and one holding a map. Pulling a chair, it noisily scratched the wooden surface, gaining their attention. The silence between the men was unnerving. A silence that didn't held a light in their current situation. The first too speaks was the quiet marksman "Why are you here?" Those words rebounded within the empty hall of the cathedral.

Reaching out, he grabbed hold a papasha. With a steady hand, he examined the Russian machine pistol. "If you have anything to say about this mess. Speak." With a metallic click the drum mag was released. The four tired and beaten men around him shifted nervously. "Where where you?" Stopping his movement's, Jurgen waited for his comrade. "Where where you. For the last ten days Jürgen." Resting the Papasha on his legs, he was still for a few moments before a tired breath left him. "Tell me this men." Slowly he looked at each of them in the eye, watching, and gauging them. "Can you not feel, What is wrong with this very land. Can you not tell me that god. Has abandoned the soil beneath our feet!" Working himself up, Jürgen paid no mind towards the gun clattering off the floor. His boots clacking on the rubble filled marbled floor. "Can you not see the moon. shattered, above us?" With a wave of his fist, it slammed into the many stone beams. A low unnerving chuckle escaping his lips. "Or... Do I have too point out, the spawns of Cerberus itself, are hunting us?" Defeated and weary, was his short walk. Stumbling and weak as he seated himself brushing his hand across his face. "We only have a day left to gather more equipment. Then we can kiss this hell hole good bye." Releasing a sigh, he straightening himself up, speaking once again. "And the reason that I truly came back. Fritz, Detlf, remember that bank we stumbled upon, during our assault towards the train station?" The two men in front of him both shared a sullen look.

Leaning down, he reached for his discarded PPSH. Lifting the weapon and the discarded drum mag. "I'll take your silence as a yes. That day will haunt us, just like the others." A loud clack sounded from Fritz as he forcefully racked the bolt of his new rifle. "You still haven't fully answered the question." Fritz's, horsed voice echoed throughout the empty hall.

"You're right." Nodding his head he shifted the weapon on its stock resting it on his chair. "When we failed our mission inside the devils tower. I took out one of those beasts with a grenade... but that lead me and that thing to fall into the river." Removing his helmet brushing the disheveled blonde hair. "The following days, I've tried too find a foot hold in the small town that I have landed in. But in the end I only claimed a small portion of a workshop. What the war had taught me in experience, I've used for repairing vehicles and helping the very few people." A smile started too cross his lips. "And I should say this. The women that freely roams the streets are very... How did the Americans say it?" Concentrating he waved his hand around as if he was shifting through paper. "Their not nearly dressed as whore's... maybe a few. But no, what was it?" The Romanian perked up a little bit "you mean Spicy?" He asked. Snapping his fingers he pointed at the boy with a large smile. "Yes! That's the word."

A lone howl reverberated through the empty cathedral, chilling their blood. "We should pack up and move towards the second floor." Detlf spoke up as he gathered the box of munitions and two MP40's. "Fritz has a hidy hole just above the church organ we can get too the rafters from there." Standing up, they gathered what they could hold, then Fritz spoke up with his quiet voice. "We can get to the tower from up there too."

One by one they pushed and climbed through the small broken wall. It was a unnerving experience for Jurgen being so up high with minimal support and safety rails, fearing that a tiny mistake could end his life. "How... do you, do it Fritz?" He questioned his fellow soldier. He only received a small shrug of his shoulders as an answer. "How far do we have too crawl?" Looking back up he spotted a clearly made platform that could easily fit about seven. Settling themselves down, they made a plan of action as the sunsets. Leaving the grave in a shadowy state. Taking up first watch, Jurgen stood within the tower, watching the entrance and the streets with a dimly lit lamp, just enough for him to write.

March 2nd

I feel joyful that I have been reunited with my old squad mates... yet. My heart aches knowing that only three of us remains here. There where thirty of us. Young capable men, of attacking the Fatherlands enemies. I could still remember my first battle in Poland. It was a day that tested ourselves in blood, the test that didn't give us much of a challenge. A challenge that We took to lightly. We had stuck them hard on our front, pushing them far into their land. But a few of the men got too cocky, they pushed themselves into the open, thinking that our new Luftwaffe would support them all the way. I still remember hearing that radio call for help and support. When we got there, I saw the polish running, our men over with Calvary. They where caught in the open our commander gave us the order too shoot. We didn't get enough of them, to little of a blow for evening it out. That day was awakening for us, too never let our valour cloud us again. But here and now? The first step is to get them out of this forsaken place. But I still need that gold, it's worth more then them. It pains me too write it, it pains me that I didn't make our time table longer. We need a kettenkrad or a Sonderkraftfahrzeug 251.

And Ivory. I wish that I can hold your promise.

A/N

Sorry for the long wait I sorta burnt myself researching the Einsatzgruppen. I wanted too know everything. There posts, how they operated, how they are deployed, how they interact with fellow employees/ soldiers. How well equipped and how much freedom they had during operations. I wanted everything that ticks inside the clockwork. Sometimes I ask for too much when I do research.

And yeah sorry for taking too long again I burnt myself out and got into a spiral and a road block. So I wrote another story that I won't post until I get 60% into this story.

Have a good evening/night/morning.