Forum Heroes II: Einsamer vs. The SS
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Tom Houlihan
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Commissar D, the Evil
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Commissar D, the Evil
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AND A FIRING SQUAD
At dawn they brought Einsamer Poff to a drainage ditch just outside of the village and stood him in it. An SS soldier ripped open his tunic jacket and ran back up to the road to join his fellows in the firing squad.
Einsamer, clenched his fists in impotent fury. None of his protests had mattered, none of his struggles had prevented them from taking him to this horrible place. He resigned himself to die bravely and stood at rigid attention, presenting his naked black chest to the merciless soldiers.
The MCO watched, standing a few feet from the soldiers as they loaded their rifles and formed a line.
SS Standartenfuhrer Deutschlandwache strutted up to his position. It was still snowing, but his smile was as bright as a summer day. He opened up a book, “The SS Guide for Summary Executions and Genocide” and flipped to his favorite passage.
“Dearly Beloved”, he began to read, “We are gathered here today in the sight of the Fuhrer to execute this subhuman spy, and send him for all time to the Bolshevik God that was his maker.
Does someone have a bullet?”
“Jawohl”, the firing squad said in unison.
“Good”, you may cock your rifles.”
Einsamer heard the metallic clack of six rifle bolts being pulled back.
“Black Bolshevik spy, do you take these bullets to be your just desert, for now and forever, in death and defeat, so help you Adolf Hitler?”
Einsamer snarled something to the effect that they were all pigs and could kiss his black ass.
But the Standartenfuhrer ignored him and continued reading.
“And do you, defenders of Aryan civilization, Nazi justice and German culture freely offer these bullets, now and forever, in victory and for the Fuhrer?”
“Jawohl”, the firing squad yelled in robotic harmony.
“Good, I now pronounce you, oh Bolshevik subhuman, as justly sentenced under the laws of Nazi Germany to death and an unmarked grave that you might ponder forever the error of your
heritage. Let no man set asunder this verdict nor try me in the future for any atrocity or war crime. Should any man have an objection, let him speak now or forever push up daisies.”
The Standartenfuhrer paused for the appropriate two seconds.
“Ready”
“Aim” The firing squad raised their rifles. Einsamer tensed in anticipation.
But a great rattle and roar distracted the firing squad momentarily as Johnny Wolftruppen gunned his Panzer down the road and brought it to a screeching halt in front of the firing squad.
“Here now!” Sam bellowed from the tanks cupola. “What the hell is going on? What are you doing with my radio operator?” The three Forum Heroes scrambled out of the tank, Johnny untied Einsamer’s hands as Sam and Prit confronted the Standartenfuhrer.
“You can’t shoot him, he’s a German soldier–he’s my radio operator, and a damn fine one.” Sam said, judging that a tiny white lie about Einsamer’s performance was justified under the circumstances.
“The devil you say”, the Standartenfuhrer replied. “The man’s black as coal–he can’t be an Aryan, much less a member of the glorious German Army.”
“No he’s not”, Sam said, “he’s not black!”
This caused some laughter among the members of the firing squad.
“He’s white!” Sam insisted.
“He’s really white,” Johnny agreed.
“He’s really, really white”, Prit joined in.
“He’s most assuredly white” Sam added,
“As white as the driven snow”, Johnny said.
“As white as a sheet”, Prit commented.
“As white as a ghost”, Sam rejoined.
“Enough!!!” The Standartenfuhrer screamed. “Can’t you see that the man is black? Would you have us deny our own eyes?”
“And he failed the Aryan Manhood Test”, the MCO interrupted.
Sam shook his head angrily and marched over to Einsamer. He bent over and grabbed the radio operator’s foot, stripped off his boot and the one sock he wore. Sam remebered that the sock was the one piece of clothing Einsamer hadn't lost during his unfortunate "accident".
“So what do you make of this?”
Einsamer’s bare foot, as white as the snow falling about them, gleamed in the weak sunlight. Sam held it forward for all to see. Several of the SS men in the firing squad began to murmur.
“So what does that mean?” The Standartenfuhrer said stubbornly. “So his foot is white. I think that if 95% of him is black and the other 5% is white, he can still be executed as a subhuman. Or at least the subhuman parts of him can be shot.”
“Yes”, the MCO opined, “He may be some sort of genetic mutation. I have a doctor friend by the name of Mengele who has written about such cross-breeds. Perhaps we should preserve the foot.”
This was all too much for Sam, who bellowed, “That’s the most moronic thing I’ve ever heard! He’s a white German I tell you. We had an accident and his skin was discolored. Isn’t that right
guys?”
Prit and Johnny nodded vigorously. They didn’t want to go into the circumstances, for obvious reasons, but they were all determined to save Einsamer.
The Standartenfuhrer considered for a moment. Then, still determined to have an execution, he looked directly at Prit. “Well what about you, you’re brown-skinned.”
“Don’t even go there”, Prit warned him, “My people were Aryans before yours were.”
“Ja, Ja, I read that”, one of the SS men in the firing squad agreed.
“The least you could do”, Sam said tactfully, “is contact the headquarters of the 28th Panzer Division and confirm his identity. I and my crew will assume full responsibility for him until then.”
The Standartenfuhrer frowned and thought about it. Finally he said, “Well, okay, I guess that would be proper. But I’ll be watching you. Go ahead and take him. We’ll just shoot someone else this morning.”
And indeed they did have that opportunity, as no sooner had Einsamer gotten safely aboard the panzer than the Russians attacked the village....
WILL THE RUSSIANS ACCOMPLISH WHAT THE VICIOUS STANDARTENFUHRER COULDN'T?? WILL EINSAMER RECOVER FROM HIS HUMILIATION?? STAY TUNED...
Cheers,
~D
At dawn they brought Einsamer Poff to a drainage ditch just outside of the village and stood him in it. An SS soldier ripped open his tunic jacket and ran back up to the road to join his fellows in the firing squad.
Einsamer, clenched his fists in impotent fury. None of his protests had mattered, none of his struggles had prevented them from taking him to this horrible place. He resigned himself to die bravely and stood at rigid attention, presenting his naked black chest to the merciless soldiers.
The MCO watched, standing a few feet from the soldiers as they loaded their rifles and formed a line.
SS Standartenfuhrer Deutschlandwache strutted up to his position. It was still snowing, but his smile was as bright as a summer day. He opened up a book, “The SS Guide for Summary Executions and Genocide” and flipped to his favorite passage.
“Dearly Beloved”, he began to read, “We are gathered here today in the sight of the Fuhrer to execute this subhuman spy, and send him for all time to the Bolshevik God that was his maker.
Does someone have a bullet?”
“Jawohl”, the firing squad said in unison.
“Good”, you may cock your rifles.”
Einsamer heard the metallic clack of six rifle bolts being pulled back.
“Black Bolshevik spy, do you take these bullets to be your just desert, for now and forever, in death and defeat, so help you Adolf Hitler?”
Einsamer snarled something to the effect that they were all pigs and could kiss his black ass.
But the Standartenfuhrer ignored him and continued reading.
“And do you, defenders of Aryan civilization, Nazi justice and German culture freely offer these bullets, now and forever, in victory and for the Fuhrer?”
“Jawohl”, the firing squad yelled in robotic harmony.
“Good, I now pronounce you, oh Bolshevik subhuman, as justly sentenced under the laws of Nazi Germany to death and an unmarked grave that you might ponder forever the error of your
heritage. Let no man set asunder this verdict nor try me in the future for any atrocity or war crime. Should any man have an objection, let him speak now or forever push up daisies.”
The Standartenfuhrer paused for the appropriate two seconds.
“Ready”
“Aim” The firing squad raised their rifles. Einsamer tensed in anticipation.
But a great rattle and roar distracted the firing squad momentarily as Johnny Wolftruppen gunned his Panzer down the road and brought it to a screeching halt in front of the firing squad.
“Here now!” Sam bellowed from the tanks cupola. “What the hell is going on? What are you doing with my radio operator?” The three Forum Heroes scrambled out of the tank, Johnny untied Einsamer’s hands as Sam and Prit confronted the Standartenfuhrer.
“You can’t shoot him, he’s a German soldier–he’s my radio operator, and a damn fine one.” Sam said, judging that a tiny white lie about Einsamer’s performance was justified under the circumstances.
“The devil you say”, the Standartenfuhrer replied. “The man’s black as coal–he can’t be an Aryan, much less a member of the glorious German Army.”
“No he’s not”, Sam said, “he’s not black!”
This caused some laughter among the members of the firing squad.
“He’s white!” Sam insisted.
“He’s really white,” Johnny agreed.
“He’s really, really white”, Prit joined in.
“He’s most assuredly white” Sam added,
“As white as the driven snow”, Johnny said.
“As white as a sheet”, Prit commented.
“As white as a ghost”, Sam rejoined.
“Enough!!!” The Standartenfuhrer screamed. “Can’t you see that the man is black? Would you have us deny our own eyes?”
“And he failed the Aryan Manhood Test”, the MCO interrupted.
Sam shook his head angrily and marched over to Einsamer. He bent over and grabbed the radio operator’s foot, stripped off his boot and the one sock he wore. Sam remebered that the sock was the one piece of clothing Einsamer hadn't lost during his unfortunate "accident".
“So what do you make of this?”
Einsamer’s bare foot, as white as the snow falling about them, gleamed in the weak sunlight. Sam held it forward for all to see. Several of the SS men in the firing squad began to murmur.
“So what does that mean?” The Standartenfuhrer said stubbornly. “So his foot is white. I think that if 95% of him is black and the other 5% is white, he can still be executed as a subhuman. Or at least the subhuman parts of him can be shot.”
“Yes”, the MCO opined, “He may be some sort of genetic mutation. I have a doctor friend by the name of Mengele who has written about such cross-breeds. Perhaps we should preserve the foot.”
This was all too much for Sam, who bellowed, “That’s the most moronic thing I’ve ever heard! He’s a white German I tell you. We had an accident and his skin was discolored. Isn’t that right
guys?”
Prit and Johnny nodded vigorously. They didn’t want to go into the circumstances, for obvious reasons, but they were all determined to save Einsamer.
The Standartenfuhrer considered for a moment. Then, still determined to have an execution, he looked directly at Prit. “Well what about you, you’re brown-skinned.”
“Don’t even go there”, Prit warned him, “My people were Aryans before yours were.”
“Ja, Ja, I read that”, one of the SS men in the firing squad agreed.
“The least you could do”, Sam said tactfully, “is contact the headquarters of the 28th Panzer Division and confirm his identity. I and my crew will assume full responsibility for him until then.”
The Standartenfuhrer frowned and thought about it. Finally he said, “Well, okay, I guess that would be proper. But I’ll be watching you. Go ahead and take him. We’ll just shoot someone else this morning.”
And indeed they did have that opportunity, as no sooner had Einsamer gotten safely aboard the panzer than the Russians attacked the village....
WILL THE RUSSIANS ACCOMPLISH WHAT THE VICIOUS STANDARTENFUHRER COULDN'T?? WILL EINSAMER RECOVER FROM HIS HUMILIATION?? STAY TUNED...
Cheers,
~D
Last edited by Commissar D, the Evil on Thu May 22, 2003 9:53 am, edited 1 time in total.
Death is lighter than a Feather, Duty is heavier than a Mountain....
“Well what about you, you’re brown-skinned.”
“Don’t even go there”, Prit warned him, “My people were Aryans before yours were.”
I'll just have to tell that story next time I explain PIE (Protoindoeuropean) and Aryans.
LOL, LOL, LOL, ROFL, FOFL
Also this is great:
“So his foot is white. I think that if 95% of him is black and the other 5% is white, he can still be executed as a subhuman. Or at least the subhuman parts of him can be shot.”
Excellent when explaining Statistics!!!!!
“Don’t even go there”, Prit warned him, “My people were Aryans before yours were.”
I'll just have to tell that story next time I explain PIE (Protoindoeuropean) and Aryans.
LOL, LOL, LOL, ROFL, FOFL
Also this is great:
“So his foot is white. I think that if 95% of him is black and the other 5% is white, he can still be executed as a subhuman. Or at least the subhuman parts of him can be shot.”
Excellent when explaining Statistics!!!!!
Molon labe
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Commissar D, the Evil
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AND THE RUSSIANS HAVE THEIR SAY ON IMMIGRATION
As fate would have it, it fell to Commissar Fridolinev to clear the village of the Nazi invader. These were hard times for the Red Army. Thanks to the iniquity of the Udense-Stalin, millions of brave soldiers had been lost. The Nazi army was within 40 kilometers of Moscow and already signs of panic had been noted among the civilian populace of that great city.
STAVKA could field only the scrapings of decimated units to fight the invaders across a 2,000 kilometer front in a desperate attempt to hold the jack-booted flood from lapping into the foothills of the Urals.
So it came about that Commissar Fridolinev and a regimental sized group of infantry were tasked with the mission of ejecting the Nazis from this small town. While STAVKA regarded the town itself as insignificant and the Nazi forces in possession of it as inconsequential, it had also decided that the town’s sheer proximity to Moscow required its recapture.
Largely, Commissar Fridolinov’’s men were either convalescents just released from hospitals or convicts salvaged from penal camps. His one reliable element was the 51st NKVD Border Police Battalion. It was with great reluctance and personal regret that Fridolinev, who knew his troops were unequal to the task, drew up his assault plan. It was essentially a simple plan. The great mass of convicts and convalescents would launch a frontal attack, while he and the 51st NKVD would assault the Nazi flank, aiming for what intelligence had determined was the SS command post.
Like most Commissars at this stage of the war, Fridolinev was torn between his essential humanity, which told him that the casualties in his force making the frontal attack would be devastating, and his sense of duty, which told him that any sacrifice, even that of his own life, was justifiable if it stopped the murderous Nazi hordes.
Before he launched the attack, he gave a short speech to the men of the 51st NKVD, as was his custom:
““Comrades, this war will be long and hard. You are all Communists and the Motherland expects the best of you. I will be in the first wave of the attack. Should I fall, you have your orders and are to carry on without me. All of you have guarded our sacred Soviet borders for a number of years.
Well, today we face the ultimate illegal immigrant––the Aryan ““superman”” with his lust for conquest and destruction and genocide. Let us show him that we socialists are merciful people. Let us see that he gets exactly the amount of good Russian land he needs. Let us, in our generosity, give him the six feet of our country’’s sacred soil that he will need to rest in for eternity!!!””
The ““Urrahs”” shouted by his men still echoed across the fields as the Nazi machine-guns opened up on the waves of Soviet soldiers.
Inside Panzer 201, Prit was firing the main gun as fast as Einsamer could shove a shell into the breech. A torrent of fire swept over the first ranks of Soviet infantry, annihilating them, utterly smashing their formation and driving them into the ground by the score. But new ranks appeared to take the place of the fallen and push the assault line closer to the village.
““Where the hell do they get all these guys?”” Sam wondered into his throat mike as he saw the fresh waves of Russians.
Prit continued to fire, but the 37mm main gun was useless against infantry. He switched to the co-axial machine-gun, which greedily gulped clip after clip of ammo.
And the Russians were still coming on in a torrent. They reminded Johnny of a great brown wave lapping against a beach. All across the line the German Landsers opened up with their machine-guns and rifles. The effect was devastating and more Russians fell, but their advance
pushed inexorably closer.
Suddenly the tank shuddered and a rivet popped and skittered inside the turret. Luckily it didn’t injure anyone, but Johnny knew that sound to mean that they had been targeted by a Russian anti-tank rifle whose shell had failed to penetrate. He pulled the tank back, so that its exposed side sheltered next to the wall of a house made of hewn logs. Einsamer opened fire with the hull machine-gun into the dark masses.
Prit suddenly chuckled into the crew intercom. “Say, Einsamer, do you realize that your life has just been saved by the skin of your toes?”
Despite the imminent prospect of death this brought laughter from Sam and Johnny.
“Yes Einsamer”, Sam joined in, “if I were you I’d stay away from beach parties–you definitely don’t want to get a tan.”
“Oh lighten up on him”, Johnny aid into the microphone, “He’s not the first and won't be the last soldier saved by his feet!”
“Did you say “lighten up”? Prit joked.
Einsamer angrily yelled back into the microphone, “Those fools were going to shoot me because my skin was too dark–what kind of German patriots are they, anyway?”
“Uh, Einsamer, I think that’s why they’re called Nazis”, Sam replied.
Prit’s machine gun fell silent, out of ammo. He resumed the nearly futile exercise of firing shells from the main gun at the oncoming Russians.
Commissar Fridolinev’s NKVD men had infiltrated close enough to the village and began to form up for the charge. He could see that most of the defenders were concentrating on the frontal assault, where his men surged forward, despite astonishing losses. His anti-tank rifle squads lagged behind under the weight of their rifles and ammunition, but Fridolinev had only seen one tank so far and felt that his men could handle it, one way or the other. He raised his pistol, stood up and blew his whistle. The men leaped forward, one of them carrying a huge red banner and waving it as he leaped into the first German trench.
Einsamer cursed softly as his machine-gun ran dry. Freeing himself from his earphones, he clambered out of the tank. There were boxes of ammo a few dozen meters away, stashed safely in front of the command post. Without hesitating, he dashed towards them. A mortar round blew him off of his feet, but he forced himself up and reached the boxes. To his mortification, the boxes were still sealed, so he had to run back to the tank, grab a hammer and run back to the boxes again.
Fridolinev’s NKVD assault troops cleared the Nazi trench in a flurry of bayonets and grenade explosions. The Nazis fought to the death, but so too did the Russians and there were more of them. Once free of the trench, Fridolinev’s troops burst into the village.
At the same time, the fist ripples of the Russian assault waves reached the forward German trench in front of the village.
Sam and his crew watched helplessly as, one by one, the forward German positions were smothered by the brown waves.
Einsamer nearly had the box open, when out of the corner of his eye he saw a movement, he rose hammer in hand and just in time to see a Russian soldier running towards him holding one of those ancient Russian rifles with a two foot long bayonet affixed to its muzzle.
For an instant Einsamer stood paralyzed at the sight of cold steel, then the Russian lunged at his belly. Einsamer sidestepped the bayonet and smashed his hammer into the Russian’s helmet. The Russian fell to his knees and Einsamer finished him with another blow to the head. Bullets began to fall around him, so he grabbed the box of ammunition, hefted it to his shoulder and trotted back to the tank.
A Russian followed him and aimed squarely at the center of his back, but Sam, who was leaning out of the cupola, brought the man down with a shot from his pistol. Then the two of them scooped out as many clips of machine-gun ammunition as possible, dropping them into the turret hatch as bullets pinged off of the tank’s metal skin. But things got hotter and an enterprising NKVD trooper opened up on the vehicle with a light machine-gun, so Einsamer and Sam flung themselves inside and buttoned up.
Things happened swiftly then. The German line didn’t give way, it was simply submerged and dissolved in a welter of blood and butchery. Johnny did his best to move the machine back slowly to provide cover for the surviving landsers and for as long as possible. But the Russians wanted the village badly and when two more anti-tank rifle rounds hit the tank, there was nothing for it except to withdraw.
The German infantry either melted into the woods or ran down the road behind the tank.
Commissar Fridolinev’s men celebrated the victory by collapsing wearily in the streets of the village while he hung the Red banner on the SS command post. He lit a cigarette and puffed on it as he surveyed the ruins of his command and contemplated all of the death he was responsible for.
Some soldiers brought a group of prisoners towards him. One of them, found cowering under his desk, was Standartenfuhrer Deutchslandwach. Fridolinev was too exhausted to really care at that point, so he simply waved the soldiers off. It surprised him a few minutes later when he heard the shots.
The Standartenfuhrer had his execution for the day, although it didn’t go quite the way he expected it to.
Several miles down the road, Sam had a brief conversation with the still somewhat dejected Einsamer.
“I don’t understand what happened today,” Einsamer said. “If you guys hadn’t been there they would have shot me because of my color.”
“Yes”, Sam agreed. “What do you intend to do now?”
Einsamer bit his lip. “I don’t know. All of my life I’ve believed in them.”
“Well”, Sam grinned, “you can continue to believe in them and see where that takes you. Or...”
Einsamer looked at him.
“Or”, Sam laughed, “You can hang with us and be a HERO!!!”
Best Regards,
~D
As fate would have it, it fell to Commissar Fridolinev to clear the village of the Nazi invader. These were hard times for the Red Army. Thanks to the iniquity of the Udense-Stalin, millions of brave soldiers had been lost. The Nazi army was within 40 kilometers of Moscow and already signs of panic had been noted among the civilian populace of that great city.
STAVKA could field only the scrapings of decimated units to fight the invaders across a 2,000 kilometer front in a desperate attempt to hold the jack-booted flood from lapping into the foothills of the Urals.
So it came about that Commissar Fridolinev and a regimental sized group of infantry were tasked with the mission of ejecting the Nazis from this small town. While STAVKA regarded the town itself as insignificant and the Nazi forces in possession of it as inconsequential, it had also decided that the town’s sheer proximity to Moscow required its recapture.
Largely, Commissar Fridolinov’’s men were either convalescents just released from hospitals or convicts salvaged from penal camps. His one reliable element was the 51st NKVD Border Police Battalion. It was with great reluctance and personal regret that Fridolinev, who knew his troops were unequal to the task, drew up his assault plan. It was essentially a simple plan. The great mass of convicts and convalescents would launch a frontal attack, while he and the 51st NKVD would assault the Nazi flank, aiming for what intelligence had determined was the SS command post.
Like most Commissars at this stage of the war, Fridolinev was torn between his essential humanity, which told him that the casualties in his force making the frontal attack would be devastating, and his sense of duty, which told him that any sacrifice, even that of his own life, was justifiable if it stopped the murderous Nazi hordes.
Before he launched the attack, he gave a short speech to the men of the 51st NKVD, as was his custom:
““Comrades, this war will be long and hard. You are all Communists and the Motherland expects the best of you. I will be in the first wave of the attack. Should I fall, you have your orders and are to carry on without me. All of you have guarded our sacred Soviet borders for a number of years.
Well, today we face the ultimate illegal immigrant––the Aryan ““superman”” with his lust for conquest and destruction and genocide. Let us show him that we socialists are merciful people. Let us see that he gets exactly the amount of good Russian land he needs. Let us, in our generosity, give him the six feet of our country’’s sacred soil that he will need to rest in for eternity!!!””
The ““Urrahs”” shouted by his men still echoed across the fields as the Nazi machine-guns opened up on the waves of Soviet soldiers.
Inside Panzer 201, Prit was firing the main gun as fast as Einsamer could shove a shell into the breech. A torrent of fire swept over the first ranks of Soviet infantry, annihilating them, utterly smashing their formation and driving them into the ground by the score. But new ranks appeared to take the place of the fallen and push the assault line closer to the village.
““Where the hell do they get all these guys?”” Sam wondered into his throat mike as he saw the fresh waves of Russians.
Prit continued to fire, but the 37mm main gun was useless against infantry. He switched to the co-axial machine-gun, which greedily gulped clip after clip of ammo.
And the Russians were still coming on in a torrent. They reminded Johnny of a great brown wave lapping against a beach. All across the line the German Landsers opened up with their machine-guns and rifles. The effect was devastating and more Russians fell, but their advance
pushed inexorably closer.
Suddenly the tank shuddered and a rivet popped and skittered inside the turret. Luckily it didn’t injure anyone, but Johnny knew that sound to mean that they had been targeted by a Russian anti-tank rifle whose shell had failed to penetrate. He pulled the tank back, so that its exposed side sheltered next to the wall of a house made of hewn logs. Einsamer opened fire with the hull machine-gun into the dark masses.
Prit suddenly chuckled into the crew intercom. “Say, Einsamer, do you realize that your life has just been saved by the skin of your toes?”
Despite the imminent prospect of death this brought laughter from Sam and Johnny.
“Yes Einsamer”, Sam joined in, “if I were you I’d stay away from beach parties–you definitely don’t want to get a tan.”
“Oh lighten up on him”, Johnny aid into the microphone, “He’s not the first and won't be the last soldier saved by his feet!”
“Did you say “lighten up”? Prit joked.
Einsamer angrily yelled back into the microphone, “Those fools were going to shoot me because my skin was too dark–what kind of German patriots are they, anyway?”
“Uh, Einsamer, I think that’s why they’re called Nazis”, Sam replied.
Prit’s machine gun fell silent, out of ammo. He resumed the nearly futile exercise of firing shells from the main gun at the oncoming Russians.
Commissar Fridolinev’s NKVD men had infiltrated close enough to the village and began to form up for the charge. He could see that most of the defenders were concentrating on the frontal assault, where his men surged forward, despite astonishing losses. His anti-tank rifle squads lagged behind under the weight of their rifles and ammunition, but Fridolinev had only seen one tank so far and felt that his men could handle it, one way or the other. He raised his pistol, stood up and blew his whistle. The men leaped forward, one of them carrying a huge red banner and waving it as he leaped into the first German trench.
Einsamer cursed softly as his machine-gun ran dry. Freeing himself from his earphones, he clambered out of the tank. There were boxes of ammo a few dozen meters away, stashed safely in front of the command post. Without hesitating, he dashed towards them. A mortar round blew him off of his feet, but he forced himself up and reached the boxes. To his mortification, the boxes were still sealed, so he had to run back to the tank, grab a hammer and run back to the boxes again.
Fridolinev’s NKVD assault troops cleared the Nazi trench in a flurry of bayonets and grenade explosions. The Nazis fought to the death, but so too did the Russians and there were more of them. Once free of the trench, Fridolinev’s troops burst into the village.
At the same time, the fist ripples of the Russian assault waves reached the forward German trench in front of the village.
Sam and his crew watched helplessly as, one by one, the forward German positions were smothered by the brown waves.
Einsamer nearly had the box open, when out of the corner of his eye he saw a movement, he rose hammer in hand and just in time to see a Russian soldier running towards him holding one of those ancient Russian rifles with a two foot long bayonet affixed to its muzzle.
For an instant Einsamer stood paralyzed at the sight of cold steel, then the Russian lunged at his belly. Einsamer sidestepped the bayonet and smashed his hammer into the Russian’s helmet. The Russian fell to his knees and Einsamer finished him with another blow to the head. Bullets began to fall around him, so he grabbed the box of ammunition, hefted it to his shoulder and trotted back to the tank.
A Russian followed him and aimed squarely at the center of his back, but Sam, who was leaning out of the cupola, brought the man down with a shot from his pistol. Then the two of them scooped out as many clips of machine-gun ammunition as possible, dropping them into the turret hatch as bullets pinged off of the tank’s metal skin. But things got hotter and an enterprising NKVD trooper opened up on the vehicle with a light machine-gun, so Einsamer and Sam flung themselves inside and buttoned up.
Things happened swiftly then. The German line didn’t give way, it was simply submerged and dissolved in a welter of blood and butchery. Johnny did his best to move the machine back slowly to provide cover for the surviving landsers and for as long as possible. But the Russians wanted the village badly and when two more anti-tank rifle rounds hit the tank, there was nothing for it except to withdraw.
The German infantry either melted into the woods or ran down the road behind the tank.
Commissar Fridolinev’s men celebrated the victory by collapsing wearily in the streets of the village while he hung the Red banner on the SS command post. He lit a cigarette and puffed on it as he surveyed the ruins of his command and contemplated all of the death he was responsible for.
Some soldiers brought a group of prisoners towards him. One of them, found cowering under his desk, was Standartenfuhrer Deutchslandwach. Fridolinev was too exhausted to really care at that point, so he simply waved the soldiers off. It surprised him a few minutes later when he heard the shots.
The Standartenfuhrer had his execution for the day, although it didn’t go quite the way he expected it to.
Several miles down the road, Sam had a brief conversation with the still somewhat dejected Einsamer.
“I don’t understand what happened today,” Einsamer said. “If you guys hadn’t been there they would have shot me because of my color.”
“Yes”, Sam agreed. “What do you intend to do now?”
Einsamer bit his lip. “I don’t know. All of my life I’ve believed in them.”
“Well”, Sam grinned, “you can continue to believe in them and see where that takes you. Or...”
Einsamer looked at him.
“Or”, Sam laughed, “You can hang with us and be a HERO!!!”
Best Regards,
~D
Death is lighter than a Feather, Duty is heavier than a Mountain....
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Commissar D, the Evil
- Moderator
- Posts: 4823
- Joined: Sun Sep 29, 2002 7:22 pm
- Location: New Jersey
Hi Tim, thanks much for the compliment. I'm fairly blown out right now, can't say what's next although you may recall that the Udense-Stalin is under arrest in Moscow. As for Standartenfuhrer, well, who knows? D.W. may be right that he is insignificant. Of course there are always the two Medical Care Orderlies. 
If you have any ideas--in fact if anyone has any ideas--I'd love to hear them.
Very Best Regards, David
If you have any ideas--in fact if anyone has any ideas--I'd love to hear them.
Very Best Regards, David
Death is lighter than a Feather, Duty is heavier than a Mountain....
In a field depot somewhere in Saarbrucken area a somewhat overweight but otherwise very happy former StuG gunner regaled his recruits with a tale of his derring do.
"But Feldwebel, where is this legendary crew that you served with?" one keen picture of the Saar's youth asked.
"Like myself they are still out there, still fighting the Evil Commisar." The robust feldwebel replied.
"Will you go back?" another keen youth asked.
"If they call, I will come" he replied.
The lecture room went silent and the Feldwebel continued on the real subject at hand. The correct use and deployment of the Australian device known as the 'stubby holder'.
"But Feldwebel, where is this legendary crew that you served with?" one keen picture of the Saar's youth asked.
"Like myself they are still out there, still fighting the Evil Commisar." The robust feldwebel replied.
"Will you go back?" another keen youth asked.
"If they call, I will come" he replied.
The lecture room went silent and the Feldwebel continued on the real subject at hand. The correct use and deployment of the Australian device known as the 'stubby holder'.
Hi Adrian!! Glad to see you around again!. I'm sure you'll soon join the Forum heroes fighting against the Evil Commissar and his old friend the tired and cinic Fridolinev!!!. 
What we do in Life echoes in Eternity.
No quisieron querer a otra Bandera,
no pudieron andar otro camino,
no supieron morir de otra manera.
No quisieron querer a otra Bandera,
no pudieron andar otro camino,
no supieron morir de otra manera.
Adrian,
Hey I like the idea, didnt the Aussies borrow the stubby holder idea from us when the elite ninja chefs from Sydney padelled over the ditch to steal the much loved (on both sides of the Tasman) Pavalova recipe?
David, incorporate the stories maybe the Forum Heroes could be captured and be feed horse meat....by...., um, an American lend lease official, and his Aussie sidekick, (just a thought).
As I said we are batoning down the Hatches this weekend, Bad weather is a coming, and apart from the final of the Super 12, (Auckland Blues and Canterbury Crusaders) and some modelling of my Sdkfz 251/21 there is not alot to do. So get that thinking cap on Commissar.
The final will prove to be one of the best Rugby games you'll ever see, starts NZ time 1930 HR's, see what you think.
(Hell did I say Crusaders, I didnt mean it Guys, promise, Im not political or overly religious)
Regards to all
Tim
Hey I like the idea, didnt the Aussies borrow the stubby holder idea from us when the elite ninja chefs from Sydney padelled over the ditch to steal the much loved (on both sides of the Tasman) Pavalova recipe?
David, incorporate the stories maybe the Forum Heroes could be captured and be feed horse meat....by...., um, an American lend lease official, and his Aussie sidekick, (just a thought).
As I said we are batoning down the Hatches this weekend, Bad weather is a coming, and apart from the final of the Super 12, (Auckland Blues and Canterbury Crusaders) and some modelling of my Sdkfz 251/21 there is not alot to do. So get that thinking cap on Commissar.
The final will prove to be one of the best Rugby games you'll ever see, starts NZ time 1930 HR's, see what you think.
(Hell did I say Crusaders, I didnt mean it Guys, promise, Im not political or overly religious)
Regards to all
Tim