Nosb
July 28th, 2004, 03:09 AM
Hitlersburg (Baku), Reichskommissariat Kaukasus July 31, 2004
SS Standartenfuehrer (Colonel) Erwin Krieg’s polished boots clicked together on the Führerplatz as the National Anthem, Deutschland Über Alles, blared out is first, signature tone. He stood at a stuff attention in front of Reichskommissariat Fuhrer Residency, his army raised in the National Socialist salute. He’s black SS Uniform was immaculate, his boots were always polished to a mirror finish, his Death’s Head SS cap always at a slight angle on his well combed strawberry blond hair. He was almost a perfect Aryan, he’s small stature of 5 foot 7 inches keep him from that ideal. Despite that he’s career was destined to end at the top, he had already archived Standartenfuehrer at the remarkable age of 26.
Several Panzer XIIs advanced in a smooth line down the Führerplatz, the metal behemoths were the latest in German technology, but would probably never see combat. He would learn later how wrong he was. Following the Panzers was line after line goose-stepping Schutzstaffel. There polished boats hitting the ground in rhythmic tone. His right leg throbbed with pain, a wound from an ambush of natives. He wasn’t supposed to stand for more then a couple hours, but he had ignored the doctor. A true SS man didn’t let wounds keep to him. After the Schutzstaffel followed the Waffen-Hitler Jugend, young man of ages 18-22 who served in this elite branch of the Hitler Youth before being sent up to join the SS. Following the fresh faces of the Hitler Jugend the Wehrmacht followed. These grey clad man and boys were conscripts or had not been up to the standards of the SS, either physically, mentally, racially, politically, or any other of a dozen minor reasons. Following them was the Beruf-Polizei (Occupation Police), Germans who had moved to the Kaukasus and had taken jobs as police. There shapeless brown uniforms advancing in disorganized lines. They were the most sadistic of all; they did things that made the SS cringe. After them, the paraded drew to a close with the motorcades of the regional governors and bureaucrats in there finery.
The band’s last patriotic tone came to in end. The 58th anniversary parade of Sieg am Europäischen Tag, Victory in Europe Day, July 31, had ended. Erwin let his hand drop. Similar parades had occurred every year since then, in every corner of the German Empire; from the scatted German settlement along the lower Urals to Elsass-Lothringen. Similar holidays took place in Italy, Bulgaria, Slovakia, Hungry, Finland, and Romania, but none were more enthusiastic about it then the Germans, the ending of the war for them was the finishing block in the 3rd Reich’s mighty empire.
Erwin turned to his assembled parade companies. “At Ease!” he shouted in his shrill voice, “Dismissed!” The men’s tight order broke apart and they shuffled off to there barks in a some what faster speed then usually. On Europäischen Tag they served fresh meat, bread, soup and beer and as much as you wanted. Usually the poor gruel they served you would have made a Georgian grimace. He walked down the long Führerplatz with the tall neo-classical, commonly called Stilvonhitler, Hitler’s Style, building looming up from all sides. Many of them were 20 or more stores, far surpassing the tiny building inhabited by natives that made up the rest of Hitlersburg. All the buildings in the wide German Quarter of Hitlersburg were like that, tall, block like and cold.
He ate his full in the mess hall, drink some good German beer, and headed to his personal quarters on the 14th Floor. He sit in his own chair and looked out of Hitlersburg. It was a dirty city, appearing to be following apart. Over the wall separating the German Quarter from the native sections the low, brown buildings of the native Azeris the building appeared to be following in on themselves. Many had, but strict German laws would not allow them to rebuild for 10 years without special permission, the penalty for disobeying that law was death, as it was for every crime involving a native. Entire city blocks had become uninhabited this way. He’s own home in Danzig didn’t was a bustling city, a massive railway hub where the goods of the east left for Stockholm, Helsinki, Hamburg, London, Lisbon, Washington and New York. It was an exclusively German town though and people from places like this were used to keep everything looking new and shiny…
He fell a sleep, helped by the beer he’d had, thinking about Danzig and missing it sorely. Its harbors and docks, its houses and shops, and its French style cafes and Japanese style tea houses (a fad since the war.) He slept away for almost 4 whole hours. Then the blearing intercom in every room in the barracks blared, “All units assemble! All units assemble!”
SS Standartenfuehrer (Colonel) Erwin Krieg’s polished boots clicked together on the Führerplatz as the National Anthem, Deutschland Über Alles, blared out is first, signature tone. He stood at a stuff attention in front of Reichskommissariat Fuhrer Residency, his army raised in the National Socialist salute. He’s black SS Uniform was immaculate, his boots were always polished to a mirror finish, his Death’s Head SS cap always at a slight angle on his well combed strawberry blond hair. He was almost a perfect Aryan, he’s small stature of 5 foot 7 inches keep him from that ideal. Despite that he’s career was destined to end at the top, he had already archived Standartenfuehrer at the remarkable age of 26.
Several Panzer XIIs advanced in a smooth line down the Führerplatz, the metal behemoths were the latest in German technology, but would probably never see combat. He would learn later how wrong he was. Following the Panzers was line after line goose-stepping Schutzstaffel. There polished boats hitting the ground in rhythmic tone. His right leg throbbed with pain, a wound from an ambush of natives. He wasn’t supposed to stand for more then a couple hours, but he had ignored the doctor. A true SS man didn’t let wounds keep to him. After the Schutzstaffel followed the Waffen-Hitler Jugend, young man of ages 18-22 who served in this elite branch of the Hitler Youth before being sent up to join the SS. Following the fresh faces of the Hitler Jugend the Wehrmacht followed. These grey clad man and boys were conscripts or had not been up to the standards of the SS, either physically, mentally, racially, politically, or any other of a dozen minor reasons. Following them was the Beruf-Polizei (Occupation Police), Germans who had moved to the Kaukasus and had taken jobs as police. There shapeless brown uniforms advancing in disorganized lines. They were the most sadistic of all; they did things that made the SS cringe. After them, the paraded drew to a close with the motorcades of the regional governors and bureaucrats in there finery.
The band’s last patriotic tone came to in end. The 58th anniversary parade of Sieg am Europäischen Tag, Victory in Europe Day, July 31, had ended. Erwin let his hand drop. Similar parades had occurred every year since then, in every corner of the German Empire; from the scatted German settlement along the lower Urals to Elsass-Lothringen. Similar holidays took place in Italy, Bulgaria, Slovakia, Hungry, Finland, and Romania, but none were more enthusiastic about it then the Germans, the ending of the war for them was the finishing block in the 3rd Reich’s mighty empire.
Erwin turned to his assembled parade companies. “At Ease!” he shouted in his shrill voice, “Dismissed!” The men’s tight order broke apart and they shuffled off to there barks in a some what faster speed then usually. On Europäischen Tag they served fresh meat, bread, soup and beer and as much as you wanted. Usually the poor gruel they served you would have made a Georgian grimace. He walked down the long Führerplatz with the tall neo-classical, commonly called Stilvonhitler, Hitler’s Style, building looming up from all sides. Many of them were 20 or more stores, far surpassing the tiny building inhabited by natives that made up the rest of Hitlersburg. All the buildings in the wide German Quarter of Hitlersburg were like that, tall, block like and cold.
He ate his full in the mess hall, drink some good German beer, and headed to his personal quarters on the 14th Floor. He sit in his own chair and looked out of Hitlersburg. It was a dirty city, appearing to be following apart. Over the wall separating the German Quarter from the native sections the low, brown buildings of the native Azeris the building appeared to be following in on themselves. Many had, but strict German laws would not allow them to rebuild for 10 years without special permission, the penalty for disobeying that law was death, as it was for every crime involving a native. Entire city blocks had become uninhabited this way. He’s own home in Danzig didn’t was a bustling city, a massive railway hub where the goods of the east left for Stockholm, Helsinki, Hamburg, London, Lisbon, Washington and New York. It was an exclusively German town though and people from places like this were used to keep everything looking new and shiny…
He fell a sleep, helped by the beer he’d had, thinking about Danzig and missing it sorely. Its harbors and docks, its houses and shops, and its French style cafes and Japanese style tea houses (a fad since the war.) He slept away for almost 4 whole hours. Then the blearing intercom in every room in the barracks blared, “All units assemble! All units assemble!”