Disclaimer: Halo and the Wolfenstein series DO NOT belong to me. They're owned by their respective owners and the only thing to my name is possible OC's and this story.
Author's note: After this Chapter, I may take a while to post another chapter after this. I want to play the Wolfenstein series for a bit on both timelines to look at what I can see happening or not. Might even check my Halo books to see if I can improve on Chief's character or understand him a bit more. As it turns out, it's quite a bit of work. Fun, nonetheless. I don't want to give out half-baked chapters just because I was lazy.
Reviews:
187 and FanciedFanfic - I've updated the chapter and specified that it was the weapon that didn't know about Hitler, not the Chief. I understand where you guys are coming from, I would find it hard to believe too if Chief didn't know the leaders of major conflicts in Humanity's history when learning about strategies and tactics such as the original Spartans. I'll try to be more clear concerning dialogue.
HaloZealotDemon - If you do read this, I would like to thank you first of all. Your comment inspired more ideas for my story and this chapter, and before you think so; I'm not inspired by your grief, but your passion. To me, when I read a story I want to be there with the character. To have expectations of that character such as " I wan't that guy to live/die, win/lose, and/or, grow/crumble because that makes a story memorable as some of the authors here. As for Hans, I could see how I was a cold dude for that (especially with the title of the chapter), but there's a reason why I write how I write. Read further if you want to know his fate, but listen to this - and to anyone one reading this - in this story good and bad people may or may not die. There will be cruelty, sadism, racism, death, gore, torture, and many other messed up things. The Wolfenstein Universe is not a happy place when you look past the fun part of killing Nazis like Doom for demons. If that's not a story for you, that's cool. We enjoy different cups of tea. Hate me all you want, but don't hate the story unless it's illiterate garbage. I'm glad your passionate about it, but give it a chance is all I ask.
Anyway, enjoy.
"Internal monologue"
"Regular speech"
"Foreign language translated"
Blink... Blink... why was the light so bright in his room? Turn that scheiß off...
"No rest for the wicked young man." Light slapping on his face, awoke him from his forced nap. Snapping his eyes awake, Hans tried to sit up in the unfamiliar situation only to feel like someone slammed his chest with a damn sledgehammer. His chest muscles tightening in pain before he laid back against the bed. Actually stopping for a moment, the young man frenziedly looked all around the room for any gold or green before finally relaxing.
"It's alright you're safe." A quick glance showed an old face. Not an elderly face, but well on it's way. Peppered gray hair covered his dome, brown eyes watching him impassively. A... doctor... now that he thinks about it... it's kind of hard to think.
"Let me ask you a question before we go any further. What is your name?"
"Hans Dietrich"
Scratching of paper reached Hans ears.
"What happened?" The doctor looked up from his clip board.
"You were rushed here by the paramedics after suffering your injuries. As of now, you have two broken ribs and a concussion which we determined to have led to your unconsciousness." That explains for a lot things...
"Mr. Dietrich, if you don't mind, what caused these injuries? I find it surprising, that a soldier such as yourself suffered such injuries."
Quick he was to recount his tale, the interruption was even quicker.
"He will mind."
At the doorway of the sterile white room stood a tall man. One who's uniform was dark black with no imperfection to scrutinize, and boots so clean they shined. Wrinkles starting to frame around brown eyes. Graying brown hair peeked underneath the officer's cap. What really set the boy off was the collar badges lining the mans neck. On the left side of his neck was a white outlined equally black badge with a white branch signifying a colonel. The other badge had the same characteristics except the for the two bold lighting like 'SS'.
The hairs on Hans neck stood straight and instinct flared.
"Sir!"
His second escape attempt ending with another chest full of pain though hand still in the hair. The SS officer had kept his disarmingly friendly smile.
"At ease young man. Doctor, if you please?" He stepped aside and waved his hand towards to the door, smile ever present.
"I'll inform your family of your condition." Piece said, the doc promptly left the room.
The officer nodded towards the doorway and an armored black hand reached inside and closed the door with a subtle thunk. Shifting of feet and armor plates muffled yet clear sounded outside the room. Hans hands clenched and unclenched. The officer turned around, grabbed a chair, and brought it up to his bed. The harsh sound of metal on tiled floor more unreasonably loud than normal. Finally setting his arse down, but not before putting his feet up on the end of the bed.
"Colonel Hans Wolf." Hand outstretched. Dietrich reciprocated quickly.
"Firm handshake. Good. Brings out character. Make your back straighter."
Dietrich's back straightened without hesitation.
"Shows confidence to those in need of a display and... women enjoy it as much." Hands fumbling in his jacket revealed a pack of cigarettes and a golden lighter. Hans took the stick presented to him. Two flicks and a spark alighted two cigarettes.
"Smooth, ja?" Coughing answered him. Dietrich persisted nonetheless. The officer took a long draw and slowly puffed out as if he was trying a new brand.
"We have the same name, no?"
"Yes sir."
"Do you understand what it means?"
"'God is gracious.'"
"That's a Bingo!" Dietrich twitched sharply.
"That fucking scared me."
"Don't mind me, I have become interested in American culture. I even have my own little part of property on Nantucket Island. Beautiful place mind you." He took another long draw on his cigarette, the end brightening.
"Wolf. I don't need to explain that do I?" Wolves don't make their prey squirm.
"Yet, what does Dietrich mean?" Another drag, but longer than the rest. Seemingly dragging time to his pace. Silence answered him."'Ruler of the people', tell me... are you one?"
"No sir."
"Really? Your father is of strong character. Supporting the Reich and keeping everyone underneath in service for our glorious future. Are you not the same?"
"I..."
"Anyway, let's get down business shall we?"
"...Yes sir."
"The 'man', you have talked with him, yes?"
"Yes sir."
"You pointed your weapon at him at first then you made a buffoon of yourself. May I ask why?" Ow...
"I thought I was arresting a supersoldat of the Reich. I -"
"And what made you come to your senses?"
"It kept asking weird questions such as where it was. It even asked if it was on Earth! It asked about this group I've never heard before... this Created? Then... his voice just broke... the German I've heard being bastardized. I knew it wasn't right, like... it didn't belong."
"This was before 'it' kicked your ass to the curb, as the Americans would say?"
"Yes sir."
"Splendid! That'll be all." The chair screeched again. The officer readjusted his cap.
"Sir!"
Hand ready to turn the knob, Wolf looked back; shooting a questioning gaze.
"He's not one of ours is he?" The SS member stared hard at the infantry man, the silence becoming heavier.
"Be careful who you ask such questions. For they may be your last." A bead of sweat ran down the boys brow.
"Fortunately for you, I'm not one of them." Stepping out the door, another soldier took the officer's place. Heavily armored, large, and as equally black with red ascents. He held a rifle in one hand and a bag with the other. The bag dropped next to the bed, metal clinging and clanging inside inside. The Soldier left and the doctor came in next, particular annoyed at the smoke that has filled his workplace. Plucking the cigarette out the boy's hand, extinguish it, and threw it in a trash bin. That sucked.
He didn't even enjoy it the whole time. He was preoccupied with other things. Guy never did stop smiling. He didn't want to meet the man again. He reached into the bag and felt his fingers brush cold metal. Familiar cold metal. With some effort, he pulled the largest one.
His chest plate. The inside contours that fit his chest and the straps that would wrap around his torso for a snug fit. He flipped the piece over. To see the white Eagle of the Nazi Regime and the inhumanly large boot print stomping it out.
Author's note: I have great plans for Hans Dietrich here...
Hans Wolf, for those who know... I couldn't resist.