Deutchland, Wach!

[SKILORD]

I dunno about the quality here.

-

“The city of Leipzig seemed on the verge of surrender, apart from a few disastrous tank battles and ambushes performed by Timothy Rommel and his small one tank crew the British were facing an overwhelming victory, handing the Germans, who were never so united or strong as in Berlin, a crippling defeat.
“Then the news of Bismarck’s survival reached the city. The British had tried to quarantine it, fearing the psychological effects of such news but even they knew that they couldn’t keep it quiet forever, Johan von Bismarck lived. Timothy Rommel, the desperado of the Reich, turned from villain to hero in a night, and dozens flocked to join him in his private theater of war.”
- The German Uprising and its Principle Effects by Sir Edmund Barnes

Timothy Rommel stared out into the small crowd of volunteers who remained, he had spent all night poring over the scratched up lists of accomplishments and qualifications he had had the recruits write up, and dividing them into squads, each led by the more competent men, with whom he had had breakfast that morning and acquainted himself with, trading stories from the old Army. He had given each of these men the battered supplies to make Molotov Cocktails, the few guns in his possession and maps to the British Armories to pass out to their Squads.

He himself had taken both men who had claimed experience with tanks and a handful of raw volunteers to form the Reich’s first Mechanized Company, with the commandeered tank from Berlin and a half operational tank formed from the broken and salvaged pieces of British tanks that Derik and Karl had managed to mold together in ways that had rarely been conceived, save in nightmares, by the tanks original designers. The main turret was gone, and what was left was a tank base with a light armor dome where it had once been, a salvaged left track, and a pair of machine guns mounted on the dome. Much of the space that had once stored ammunition had been cleared out, and the tank had somehow, in a way that not even Derik and Karl could explain, been extended three feet and hollowed except for the motor to become an APC. It looked like hell, as many scars came from battle as came from the sloppy surgery of a pair of men who were well acquainted with tanks, but little acquainted with their construction.

Rommel finished listing the Squads, strangers bound together under men he knew little of. He looked into the frightened eyes of those who hid with him, preparing themselves solemnly and fearfully to battle an Empire.

He grinned at them, it seemed irreverent to their fear, ignoring it and putting it aside to make room for his own determination and optimism.

“I remember an American poem I read once,” he laughed, to speak of poetry while he stood before them, “It was by Hetfield, a few of you know who I’m talking about.

“I can remember it clearly, I was in the desert with the British Army, leading my Division through routine training exercises. I had been there a thousand times, and the entire thing was a cakewalk for me, I had seen it all already, I had been in that desert a thousand times on the same exercises, leading on occasion, as I was that time, and often following the lead of Generals whose eyes were as bored as my own with the desert. I took the poetry book with me to keep myself occupied in some fashion. The poem went a little like this, ‘Liberty or death, what we so proudly hail, once you provoke her, rattling of her tail, never begins it, never, but once engaged... never surrenders, showing the fangs of rage.’”

Rommel grinned even wider as a few of the men uttered the famous poem with him, “The next day I saw something in that desert that I had never seen before, something I had never permitted myself to see before. I heard the screams I had never permitted myself to hear before, the terror of a Fatherland endangered. I felt like a traitor, I had turned my back and shut my eyes for too long and that very day Karl, Derik, I and a handful of others, long since dead, left. I promised myself that I would become those fangs of rage. But I lacked faith in Germany, I never imagined that this power, this…” he stared out, awed for a moment, “revolution was still in Germany. I was the fangs of rage on my own, mistrusting the nation I had vowed to serve after that day. Even when the evidence was there, in the streets of Leipzig and Berlin, even then I lacked faith. I took a contract to end the revolution and I was promised all of these lives would be saved. I stood there to deliver on the contract when I finally was given the faith, it was given to me by a man who never lacked faith in Germany, a man who I am proud to serve. You know the man, a man who believes in you as much as you apparently believe in him, the man whose life brought you here. Let’s take this for the Kaiser, Berlin is hardly a Reich, and every Kaiser deserves a Reich. As Mr. Hetfield would say, Liberty or Death.”

The room was quiet, solemn, but the fear of a few moments ago had dissipated and in the quiet eyes of Germany there was a strength that could hardly be equaled by tanks.

-

The German banner flew freely outside of the headquarters, what had been an excavation site a lifetime ago, where Johan von Bismarck had met his destiny and where she stalked him even now. The Kaiser stood in the battle armor of his ancestors, in front of the grave of the greatest of them, the last who dared call himself Kaiser. The armor was steel, the full regalia of a knight, with the German Eagle painted in fading yellow across the breastplate. It was an anachronism, much like the nation that it represented.

The past haunts us all, promises never fulfilled, hopes never achieved, troubles never vanquished, guilt clings to us as we submit to vices throughout our troubled lives. But the past held more than guilt for Britain, a thousand mild trespasses had built a fury in the heart of her ghosts, and lent those specters substance. The heart of the past kneeled before the grave of Otto von Bismarck, the revenge of a nation fermented itself in his heart, growing ripe with age and planning.

The battered uniform of a former police officer intruded itself into the gravesite, breaking the spell of the past, bringing it into the cold and heartless present.

“Sir, we’ve found something.”

Johan stood, opening his eyes, “You could, perhaps, have chosen a better time Jacob.”

“Sir, we intended to wait for you sir, but you’ve been in here for hours.”

Johan checked his watch, shaking his head, “It’s all as well then.”

The Kaiser stepped out of the tomb, not waiting for VonHoltz to follow him.

“Sir, we’ve found something in the armory.”

“The Armory? I’ve been there, nothing but relics. I can’t lead men into battle with swords and pikes.”

“Sir, you can’t lead the unarmed either. This war isn’t about weapons, it’s about tactics and…”

“Thank you kindly, Jacob. I had forgotten how to run the war.”

VonHoltz glared at the Kaiser, “Mein herr, the catapults. We imagine that they could be quite useful.”

Johan shot his eyes over his shoulder, “We aren’t here to imagine anymore. Imagination gave way to planning, and that’s given way to action. We are well past imagining.”

“Sir,” VonHoltz gritted his teeth, “We started moving the catapults out an hour ago, there’s ammunition for them in storage as well.”

“And the tanks, how will the British Armor measure up to this?”

“We’ve found a few ignitable projectiles, they must have been experimental then.”

“And well so, do you know what happened in the siege of München?”

“No, sir,” Vonholtz admitted.

“The Germans made a drive to recoup what they had lost to the British, they besieged München and started to fire, out of desperation, those very ignitables, only to end up burning down their own artillery, their own camp and loosing an entire army to their own ammunition, leave the ignitables behind, I don’t care how well you think they would measure up to tanks.”

“Yes, sir.”

Johan shook his head, “Do you realize that we’re grave robbing?”

Jacob shook his head, “I prefer to think of them as gifts from the past.”

“Gifts? When did the past ever give them to us? We’re stealing from the dead.”

“Stealing from the dead? Do you know where your banner came from?”

“It was sown by a grateful refugee.”

“The design.”

“The seal of the German Kaiser.”

“When did he give it to you.”

“It’s my birthright,” Johan was still walking ahead of the former policeman, keeping his eyes forward and pointed away from VonHoltz.

“And the catapults? How are they different?”

Johan grinned, he turned to show it to VonHoltz, that they could both bask in that rarity that was his humor.

“Ahh, the smile of my Kaiser, I can die happy now.”

Johan’s smile didn’t fade, “Excellent, If only there were more of you.”

-

The velvet cape floated down the stairs, billowing behind its owner.

“Prince Richard, it’s a pleasure to have you here my liege.”

The prince looked down his nose at the groveling MI6 man, “Get off of it Edward.”

Edward Rhodes grinned, standing up, “All is according to plan in London, I presume?”

“Yes, Edward, of course, I never fail to achieve my goals. I leave failure, apparently, to you.”

“All will come to pass in our favor, My Prince.”

“All will come to pass in our favor,” Richard took a mocking tone, “have you heard the news from Leipzig?”

“There’s nothing happening in Leipzig.”

“There’s a German Army in Leipzig. A f***ing army. Here we have rabble, unorganized resistance. In Leipzig their divided under officers and organized, there’s something big happening there and you still aren’t sending reinforcements.”

“Sir, Berlin is getting out of hand, if I had more forces then maybe I could help Leipzig, but they’re bleeding us away out there.”

Richard glared at him, “There’s nothing to be done about that as long as mother is on the throne, she has decided not to reinforce you, she has no intention of wasting more British blood on this rabble, and I don’t blame her.”

“Sir, I warn you not to underestimate this, as you said, in Leipzig they have an army, in Berlin they aren’t as organized, but there are more of them. We’re falling apart here, and I need more forces.”

Richard stepped fully off of the private jet, “We’ll talk about that later. As I said, as long as Mother is on the throne.”

Edward laughed, walking with the prince to the headquarters.

[Metaliturtle]

Well, gotta say mad props on any use of Metallica in a story, I'll have to admit that I always kind of mumbled that part though...

[Micha]

“And well so, do you know what happened in the siege of Munich?”

“No, sir,” Vonholtz admitted.

Sorry, didn´t read too thoroughly yet, just flew it over. If that is said by Germans ("von Holtz"?) they´d probably use the real name of the city, München, not Munich (as the latter is an insult to the German language )

[SKILORD]

Sorry Micha.

-

Honestly, turtle, I really wasn't to clear on those specific lyrics myself, I had originally intended to use something from Metal Millitia, but upon inspecting the lyrics I found them wholly unsuitable.

[Metaliturtle]

Yeah, you'll have that...

[unscratchedfoot]

Originally posted by Micha

Sorry, didn´t read too thoroughly yet, just flew it over. If that is said by Germans ("von Holtz"?) they´d probably use the real name of the city, München, not Munich (as the latter is an insult to the German language )

Micha, you make misunderstanding. "Munich" might sound bad to German people but in the international community it is the name of that city, so better to accept it. If you say, "I am from Munchy." no one understand you and think you are on glue or just bought snacks from convenience store. Its the same in japanese language they make western names sound like half-dried glue paste for the sniffing. Example is conbeeny for convenience store, eeraki for Iraq, niyu yooku for new york, bankuba for vancouver etc...

So when I speak japanese i use their goopy pronounciation too, not correct western names, because it is way to be understood. No one here understand "Iraq", especially their name for 'Gulf War' which is "One Gun Sensoo".

[Micha]

Hm, I see your point. But the characters in this story are going to revive the German language, so they probably use the real names just to piss off the English?

[Metaliturtle]

Meh, I prefer that SKILORD not use German spellings etc. first of all I don't understand the story at all (90% of the German language sounds like swears to me) all I get is a big crazy battle, if it was a cartoon I would've muted it and played a Weird Al cd a long time ago. (The cartoons usually match, try it, it's funny!)

[Micha]

If it was a movie, I´d like it most if each spoke in their mother tongue with subtitles. Since that´s not an option here, maybe a translation should follow after the German parts? I´d hate to see those parts go, for they´re what I enjoy most

[SKILORD]

Originally posted by Metaliturtle
if it was a cartoon I would've muted it and played a Weird Al cd a long time ago.

Geee.... thanks.

[SKILORD]

Anyways, I'll be gone for a week starting tomorrow, I'm not happy about the whole matter of my absence, and for those of you who read this, trust me I'd rather just stay here, however destiny demands and rarely consults. I'll try to have a chapter up.

[unscratchedfoot]

Originally posted by Metaliturtle
if it was a cartoon I would've muted it and played a Weird Al cd a long time ago. (The cartoons usually match, try it, it's funny!)

I prefer to mute skilord and have hardcore opera music accompany it so that I have to guess what they are screaming about.

[SKILORD]

I need to get back to this, but I'm having trouble as I'm in the process of going off to college.

I'll find time for you guys someday....

[Metaliturtle]

Ahh yes, college, a commitment of 20 hours a week where you get free room and board in the process

Seriously, 20 hours a week tops unless you're in Chemistry or Math or some other crazy science like that.

[SKILORD]

well.... my science is something like basic geology (wtf was my advisor thinking?)

Anyways, I didn't see you around much ur freshman year, did I... no. Besides, I have to put the fun into fun-damentalist and get myself into a better college than UNC-Greensboro.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Wow!! sorry for being away from this for so long SKI, I just read your last 4 chapters and there has certainly been some major developments

My only thought on this at this time is have you got your ending in sight ?

The reason I ask this is from my own experience I know that stories can just seem to go on and on in my own mind and it is easy to lose track of an original plan etc.

This has truly been an epic piece and I really hope to see you bring it all together in some spectacular way

Keep up the good work Bro

[SKILORD]

I'm working on it, the university just got my internet working so it should be a bit easier to get done now.

Yeah, I've got an ending in sight, I'm starting to get bored with the same old militarry events in each new chapeter and we're going to see something big next chapter, which should be pretty long.

Good luck to me!



Soli Gloria Deo

[SKILORD]

Let's see what happens next...

[SKILORD]

N.B.: The writing is substandard. The plot twist might potentially seem forced to grab attention back, but if you look to the start of the story I've been planning this all along so... yeah. Sorry about the writing quality.

-

The popping of gunfire filtered into the cement walls of the headquarters, Edward poured wine into the glass.

“How are things in London, my liege.”

“They progress, my mother grows weaker each day, the poisons eat her away, but she still puts on a string face in public, there are few who know her condition.”

“Excellent,” Rhodes smiled, “I assume that your coronation will be soon?”

Richard tilted his glass back, fully drinking from the wineglass, “Ever so soon. There is no pleasure like watching a plan blossom so perfectly.”

“Of course not,” Edward smiled, “But we can never be sure, can we?”

Richard put the glass down, “Sure of what?”

Edward smiled, “The best laid schemes o’ mice and men gang aft agley, Robert Burns wrote that once and I’m confident that he was right.”

“In what way?”

“There is never only one plotter, Richard. You poor child, I brought you under my wing, I taught you everything, this plan was as much mine as it is yours why should I settle for second when your glorious coup is committed?”

“The people will never follow you, Edward,” Richard laughed, “you know that as well as I.”

“True,” Edward smiled cruelly, “But the people will follow the army, and for the most part that seems to be under my control at present.”

Richard, a child who had betrayed his mother for the sake of a power he would never hold, stared bleakly for a moment before his eyes rolled back into his head, his glass shattering on the cold concrete of the floor.

-

Johan von Bismarck stood next to the catapult, watching it tilt downward.

“Quite impressive, isn’t it, mein Kaiser?”

Johan looked balefully at von Holtz, “Not at all. We’ll simply hope that it surprises them.”

The rocks took to the sky with terrifying force, hurling themselves quickly towards the British refueling station, where tanks sat in ordered rows, filling with diesel.

The rocks hit hard, throwing disarray into the air with asphalt, splashing panic against the sides of the tanks.

The enemy was nowhere to be seen, the slabs of concrete salvaged from destroyed buildings kept raining down as tankers tried futilely to hide, there was no haven.

Fire flashed up from one tank, spreading slowly and ominously as the fuel seeped across the ground.

The Germans fired until there wasn’t any concrete left and, blind to their successes, turned away.

-

The soldiers at the refueling station peered anxiously around as the rocks stopped falling from the cruel gray sky. Fire extinguishers lashed out against the flames, cutting them back. Two tanks lay shattered, twenty men dead and twice that many wounded, burns coating their bodies.

As the British realized that there were no more rocks coming and as they realized the terrible destruction that had been visited to them, the more profound realized that it might have been far worse.

The British picked up pieces and cleared the refueling station as the Germans retreated.

-

The Steward’s phone shuddered in his pocket, startling him. It could only be one thing, only one call. The call he had been waiting for with so much loathing for so long.

He picked up his phone and looked into it, the text read clearly:

“Tempus Fugit.”

That’s what he had been waiting for, what they had decided when they had planned this out. The steward pulled the vial out of his pocket.

He looked to the waiter who held the queen’s entrée in his hand and motioned to him. It was not uncommon for the steward to deliver that dish himself if there was a matter of some urgency that the queen needed to know of.

He slipped the faint powder over the food, it spread silently, tasteless and scentless. A perfect poison that the queen had been dining on for months in much smaller doses.

But none of those had been as ambitious as this dosage.

The steward carried the plate carefully lowering it in front of the queen.

“Your son sends his love,” the steward whispered into her ear.

“He’s such a dear boy,” she beamed back to him.

He smiled back at her and left for his room.

-

The steward shuddered back in his room, snubbing out the last cigarette in his pack nervously. He opened up another pack, shoving the cigarette into his mouth and lighting it nervously.

He smiled at the package, Monarchs, the prince had given them to him before he had left for Germany.

He inhaled deeply, eliciting a cough. He coughed again.

The steward fell to the floor in a coughing fit, the cigarette going out on the floor as the corpse began to spasm.

-

The anchor looked solemnly at the camera, “My fellow Britons such tragedy as now befalls our nation has never been seen in spotted and cruel history of man. What cruel force could look to deprive a nation of all of her leaders in the midst of her greatest tragedy? Prince Richard lies dead by German bullets as he inspected the front lines and the Queen lays dead in her bedchambers from an illness that ravaged her in secret for months. Truly this is a day that will live on in….”

-

“The orders have just arrived,” The general sat at the table with his lieutenants, “We are to leave Leipzig to its own devices, General Rhodes feels, and I concur, that our presence would best be used in England where we can keep the people aware that the government is still around. We leave tomorrow morning so have all of your forces prepare tonight.”

The lieutenants nodded in assent.

“General Rhodes is a fine man,” one ventured.

The General nodded, “He has a fine head on his shoulders.”

[SKILORD]

Just my little way of saying :lookatme: :lookatme:

[Paddy]

cheeky



more please

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Great developments, most unexpected

Keep it rolling

[unscratchedfoot]

Let me guess. The next line of the story will be...

"Well not anymore."


Anyways, gloom and despair falls upon all the characters in Skipie's characteristic way. I was thinking for the tankers they should have used incendiaries like stuff burning you know like molotovs and what not can cook the crew out of tank better than any barbeque can.

Chrisius, its good to see you showing up here more regularly now. Good luck with your story.

[SKILORD]

A little short, but that's all. And no, scratch, I would never kill off a character like that.

-

The last of the tanks was fading into the sunset as Johan von Bismarck searched through desk drawers in the abandoned headquarters.

“I don’t trust it, mein Kaiser,” von Holtz frowned, “They could be faking those broadcasts to get us to come out.”

“I’m not leading my men in a victory parade, James. We’re repositioning so that when they do come back we’ll be more prepared.”

“They could have rigged this entire building with bombs, sir.”

“And if they did then congratulations because I am dead and the revolution is over.”

“I wouldn’t say over, sir, there’s still Rommel.”

“Exactly, James, what’s the worst that could happen then?”

“Sir…”

Johan pulled a radio out of a desk drawer, smiling and showing it to Jacob, “I want you to get some people together to broadcast messages from us on every frequency, find as many of these as you can and any amplifiers you can scrounge up.”

“Will this reach Leipzig, sir?” Jacob held the handheld radio out for inspection.

“With an amplifier it will.”

-

Leipzig was rebuilding, men were pushing the shattered remnants of the town out, finding food and fires, the business of death attended to and settled as the British rode determinedly into the sunrise that morning.

That sunrise had bathed Leipzig in a clean orange, glowing past the broken glass on her streets and brushing aside the dusty and war torn air to embrace her as a lost daughter. It was a day to rebuild and Major Rommel watched his men pick up the shattered pieces of the town and try to make sense of them.

“Sir, the radio’s talking to me,” Karl opened the door to his commander’s impromptu office, what might have been the last room left intact in Leipzig.

“I recommend that you kick it, Karl.”

“Sir, it’s talking in German.”

-

Edward Rhodes stood in London already, he had left the night before on a recon plane, “My fellow Britons, now is our darkest hour.

“What other nation is so ill fated as to loose her queen and prince in the same hellish night? The very thought, the sickening thought, that such a plan might have been put into place and performed sickens me. The Queen’s steward is suspected, but as he committed himself to poison there is little questioning to be done there. Let me make it clear that it is my position that this was no coincidence, but that the murder of our line was planned and performed by a single group and their sympathizers, yes my friends, no group could wish less for our nation than the Germans and by their hand, and by the hand of the traitors who sympathize with them our Queen is dead. The darkest hour always heralds a sunrise, and let me make it clear that this sunrise will torch the wretched filth from our society and herald the victorious ascent of Britain over Germany, once and forever.

“It will be necessary during this time to disband Parliament. The debates of wizened men have their place, but such a place is not when the threat is so immediate and vital, in such times it is necessary for an individual to direct the chords of a nation into a symphony of war. The generals and the Prime Minister have elected that I am such a person and it is my humble honor to accept their offer. My fellow Britons I would not take this offer lightly but only take it because I see no other alternative at present. Trust that I do not consider my power a common thing, but that I respect it and use it only to administer my responsibilities as your present Lord Protector.

“It will be necessary at this time to purge the closer threat before we can stand united against the German treachery, and therefore the armies have returned to Britain to help us strike down the German sympathizers, men like the Queen’s steward, who would otherwise stab us in the back as we diffuse the misguided rebellion led by the treacherous Bismarck. At these times certain liberties must, and I emphasize that they must be, suspended. Habeas corpus will not be recognized, bills of attainder will be issued and certain privacies will be exposed to our careful and benign eyes, have no fear as soon as the struggle is lifted they will be restored. I would not suspend these things, but I fear that there is little alternative, and that alternative is so sickening to me that I shudder to relate it here, because that alternative is total defeat by the British army by the German menace.

“Yes, without these measures Germany will be confident to place her spies throughout Britain and to sabotage and to steal our stockpiles, such a thing cannot be allowed, nor should it. I will not stand for such things happening in the Britannia that we all know and love.

“Friends, Britons, Countrymen, I beg you to forgive your humble servant in these hours of great distress,” the cameras seemed to move backwards in awe, heads bobbed agreeably throughout the massive audience that swarmed in front of Windsor. A chant began slowly, unsure of itself, few public figures had won such blatant praise from Britons in their history. The chant rose, the heads bobbed more securely, up and down, down and up, with the pulsating rhythm of the crowd, shaking the stones of Windsor.

Atop it all the Lord Protector looked down, a friendly smile on his lips. A friendly smile that the television cameras brought to millions of households throughout Britain.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Great !!! Amazing twist these last two chapters well done

[SKILORD]

Thanks man.

[SKILORD]

The two men hurried into the alley, boots stomping past them.

One held his knees, bent over as his breaths filled his aching lungs.

The boots strode ominously on, ceaselessly on, there was not a soldier in the line not devoted to the task at hand, the protection of the British people.

“They aren’t going away Jack.”

A cigarette lit up ominously, gray smoke filtering into the sore lungs.

The last boots shuddered past them.

“They didn’t see us,” Jack replied, forcing more smoke into his lungs.

“We can still go back.”

Jack smiled, “We never had to come this far.”

The other man shook his head, pulling himself up from his crouch.

“Why’d these bastards have to break curfew anyways?”

“We’re looking at more than that if we go through with this, Chris.”

“I don’t know if its worth it, Jack.”

“Liberty or death, Chris.”

“That’s easier to say without a wife and kids, Jack.”

But Jack had already flipped open the door and gone into the dimly lit room.

-

Rebuilding is harder than building. There are the remnants of buildings all about you, by all reasoning it should be easier as there is less work to be done when you repair. But building brings a sense of victory and conquest, rebuilding forces you to face the scars of former defeat.

There was a somber tone throughout Berlin.

Johan von Bismarck stood in the middle of the shattered glass and concrete, staring into the broken buildings, their souls screaming for repair. Bismarck paused to shake his head solemnly as others scurried around him before turning again to the tasks at hand.

“Sir.”

Bismarck looked up from the bricks that he was gathering from the rubble, Jacob stood there.

“There’s a messenger here to see you.”

“From where?”

“Oxford, apparently.”

-

The man was lying on a hospital bed, staring at the ceiling with an IV stuck into his arm, there weren’t any doctors around. The pillaging of British supplies had found many medical supplies, but no doctors and the handful of doctors who were left in Berlin were swarming through the battered town trying desperately to fulfill their Hippocratic oaths.

“What made you come here?”

The man frowned, “We need an army, sir.”

“Britain has an army.”

“Our government has an army sir, and now we are faced with chains as Protector Rhodes forces bayonets down our throats.”

“It isn’t my fight.”

“I thought you fought for freedom.”

“I fought for German freedom.”

The man stared blankly at the Kaiser.

“I never took you for a racist.”

It was a sad expression that took the face of the Kaiser, his lips curled inwards and his eyes dropped to the floor.

“It isn’t our fight.”

-

Chris and Jack stood at the back of the room as the leader of the BIA, the British Independent Army, stared into a small crowd, a handful of men packed into a small room.

“There comes a time when the fire of liberty must be rekindled, when the blood of patriots and tyrants…”

-

The scars of cannon fire cut into the shadows that the building cast into Berlins streets as Johan walked alone through the streets.

-

“…must be mixed to bring freedom to future generations.”

-

Scars and long since healed wounds ached and burned as the moonlight stared at the man who avoided the potholes of mortar fire left in Berlin.

-

“I don’t promise you that freedom is yours for the taking, what would be the worth of liberty if it were free for the taking? I do not promise you that it is within our reach.”

-

Light beckoned from a bar and Johan slipped inside.

He asked for a beer, and cradled it in his scarred fingers; the front of the bar had no glass except for the shards that were left clinging to the sides.

-

“I can promise you nothing but that it is worth any cost, and that I will live free or die. I know that it is not an easy thing to offer your life in exchange for Liberty, but I do not fight for myself so much as I fight for the future of Britain, for my children and for yours.”

-

The beer was almost suddenly gone, he asked the bartender for another.

And another after that.

-

“You who are here tonight want a glorious crusade. You want a taste of glory, I am not here for that, and if you are then I promise you that you are better served elsewhere. There is no glory here; there is nothing but a hunger.”

-

Beer after beer was forced down the Kaiser’s throat, the bartender gave him a concerned glare before passing him another.

-

“To those of you who are hungry for freedom, so hungry that they would stake their lives on the matter, I offer you a place at my side as we fight this tyrant. I offer struggle, an inglorious war that will bring little but death and hatred. I have a dream that there can be something good out of this. I do not ask you to come if you do not share my dream.”

-

“It’s not my f***ing fight,” Bismarck said again, even as his conscious screamed against him and as every instinct he possessed urged him otherwise.

[Paddy]

party hard mate

[ChrisiusMaximus]

good stuff, excellent look into the inner workings of the character here

[SKILORD]

Thanks for the support guys.