DXTR
So....My Tank Corps in Prussia...
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Commissar D, the Evil
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Tom Houlihan
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Well... I don't think that will get me any favours.. I will probably recieve a bullet in the back of my head whatever approach I choose.... if David C. decides a heroic path for me, in line with soviet hybris... the commisar will eventually see me encroaching on his popularity and suddenly I am summoned by SMERSH...Tom Houlihan wrote:Oh, sure... Suck up to the guy writing the story!
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Luftman129
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You know what,it's been awhile since I commented on a Forum Heroes tale. But this one is looking pretty good. I volunteered the last time around as Kapitän Joachim von Ribbentrop of the destroyer Hamburg. But I just realized I didn't give any brief biography. I'm officially changing my character's name to Joachim Ribbentrop since 2 might be especially confusing if the Commissar is going to include real-life persons. And now for the brief biography:
Joachim Ribbentrop was born on May 29th,1922 in Rostock. He was born to nobility in the von Ribbentrop line. He lived a fairly good life in his early days until the German ambassador to the U.K.,his third cousin once removed,Joachim von Ribbentrop persuaded their aunt Gertrud to adopt him when the former was only 3 years old. When he got older,his many friends jokingly called him "The Wine Master" since he didn't know that his aunt had adopted the latter. He visited Aunt Gertrud on the eve of Hitler's appointment as chancellor on the 30th of January letting her know that he has revoked the knighthood that was supposed to pass on to him via his father,Günther. After Hitler came to power,he joined the Marine-HJ since it would benefit his advancement in school studies. And finally, he was commissioned as a Leutnant zur See a year before the invasion of Poland.
Thanks,
Chris
Joachim Ribbentrop was born on May 29th,1922 in Rostock. He was born to nobility in the von Ribbentrop line. He lived a fairly good life in his early days until the German ambassador to the U.K.,his third cousin once removed,Joachim von Ribbentrop persuaded their aunt Gertrud to adopt him when the former was only 3 years old. When he got older,his many friends jokingly called him "The Wine Master" since he didn't know that his aunt had adopted the latter. He visited Aunt Gertrud on the eve of Hitler's appointment as chancellor on the 30th of January letting her know that he has revoked the knighthood that was supposed to pass on to him via his father,Günther. After Hitler came to power,he joined the Marine-HJ since it would benefit his advancement in school studies. And finally, he was commissioned as a Leutnant zur See a year before the invasion of Poland.
Thanks,
Chris
Curse you, Commisar. I've just spent over an hour reading your story, and my work report remains unwritten and my mouse hand has gone all stiff and achey.
On the plus side, I've been carried along in a great story, set in a time of the war that captured my imagination some time ago. Who knows how I would have coped....or perhaps you do?
What about Volkssturmmann Otto Schramm, how would he have dealt with it? Born in 1900, he lived all his life in Bad Frostburg. His bad eyesight meant that he had to stay in his father's bakers shop, rather than do military service in WW1, and he took over the shop when his father died in 1937. He married Ulla in 1925, and they had four children. Armin was killed in Normandy with the HJ division; his elder brother Otto is still recovering from the wounds he got in Italy in a hospital near Hannover. Brigitte is a Flakhelferin in the city, and Bernhard should be at school, but spends most of his time with this mother, these days.
Otto hasn't seen Ulla or the shop for the past three days, since they took him to the front with the Volkssturm, gave him an armband and a Panzerfaust and stuck him in trench next to a tank. His overcoat is too thin, his bottle-bottom spectacles keep freezing up and his belly aches. Above all, he's scared. Very scared....
On the plus side, I've been carried along in a great story, set in a time of the war that captured my imagination some time ago. Who knows how I would have coped....or perhaps you do?
What about Volkssturmmann Otto Schramm, how would he have dealt with it? Born in 1900, he lived all his life in Bad Frostburg. His bad eyesight meant that he had to stay in his father's bakers shop, rather than do military service in WW1, and he took over the shop when his father died in 1937. He married Ulla in 1925, and they had four children. Armin was killed in Normandy with the HJ division; his elder brother Otto is still recovering from the wounds he got in Italy in a hospital near Hannover. Brigitte is a Flakhelferin in the city, and Bernhard should be at school, but spends most of his time with this mother, these days.
Otto hasn't seen Ulla or the shop for the past three days, since they took him to the front with the Volkssturm, gave him an armband and a Panzerfaust and stuck him in trench next to a tank. His overcoat is too thin, his bottle-bottom spectacles keep freezing up and his belly aches. Above all, he's scared. Very scared....
All armies can be divided into two parts:
1. Infantry;
2. Support arms.
1. Infantry;
2. Support arms.
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Commissar D, the Evil
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Joachim Ribbentrop
Volkssturmmann Otto Schramm
EXCELLENT!!!!! Two GREAT additions to the story!!!
And by the way, DXTR, you're right, the moment your career eclipses mine, I'll have to take...erh...protective measures. But, that wouldn't keep you from winning a "Hero of the Soviet Union" medal! Besides, I need Russian charcaters for the story line.
Remember folks--sorry 5RANGLIAN--but this is a long-term tale, not to be closed out in a few pages. (The Commissar rubs his hands together!) There will be plenty of action for all, I promise........
Very Best,
~D, the EviL
Volkssturmmann Otto Schramm
EXCELLENT!!!!! Two GREAT additions to the story!!!
And by the way, DXTR, you're right, the moment your career eclipses mine, I'll have to take...erh...protective measures. But, that wouldn't keep you from winning a "Hero of the Soviet Union" medal! Besides, I need Russian charcaters for the story line.
Remember folks--sorry 5RANGLIAN--but this is a long-term tale, not to be closed out in a few pages. (The Commissar rubs his hands together!) There will be plenty of action for all, I promise........
Very Best,
~D, the EviL
Death is lighter than a Feather, Duty is heavier than a Mountain....
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phylo_roadking
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Commissar D, the Evil
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The range was about 1,700 meters, way beyond that of any mere rifle. Still, W.F. reckoned that he had identified his primary target—only Commissar D would be bold enough to ride a red-streaked T-34 into battle. Under his breath, W.F. cursed the crew of the Jagdpanther he knew was hidden nearby in a house and that of any other heavy gun in the area.
The Commissar’s tank stood stationary on a ridge and eventually withdrew to a hull-down position which infuriated him even more. As a sniper, lost chances and wasted targets were the bane of his existence.
But as soon as the red-stained tank withdrew, dozens of other T-34s poked forward through the trees. Hansen and Arajs, for want of anything better to do, counted each one as it showed itself and pointed a cannon snout at Bad Frostberg, then drew back, ever so slightly out of range of any anti-tank gun. It was clear to anyone with eyes, that the Russians had arrived in vast numbers.
“I wonder what they’re waiting for?” Arajs said out loud. Hansen shook his head, lit another cigarette and pretended to relax.
About 10:00 a.m., a company of Volksturm appeared to relieve them, led, as it happened, by an elderly, kind-faced gentlemen, one Herr Otto Schramm who peered at the soldiers huddled in their holes with utter fascination and through somewhat disconcerting heavy-framed, thick-lensed glasses. Under ordinary circumstances, his thin civilian overcoat, swastika armband, be-spectacled face and miss-matched portions of German uniforms might have made him the instantaneous and constant brunt of landser humor. But, as things were, the professional soldiers were simply appreciative of unexpected help and the equally unexpected opportunity to rest a little behind "secure" lines.
The skies cleared, ominously, around noon and the snow ceased to fall, leaving behind its curtain only a grey sky streaked with the insubstantial flutter of the remnants of clouds.
Even as the Volksturm were taking up their positions, the Gestapo, in accordance to standing orders, were presenting their latest “find” to Colonel Rosselsprung.
“Leutnant zur See Joachim Ribbentrop ?” It was all the Colonel could do to keep himself from bursting out into hysterical laughter. “And what the Hell is a naval officer doing here?”
“I’m on leave from the Destroyer Hamburg”, the Leutnant answered, looking at his feet. “My…well…girlfriend lives here.”
Rosselsprung studied him for a moment. “Say, you aren’t by any chance related to Von Ribbentrop, are you?”
Feeling the shame at having been discovered in his illicit “love nest”, the Leutnant simply nodded.
“Oh Great God!” Rosselsprung cursed. “As if we needed a celebrity in this fight!”
Herr Strictler and the other Gestapo man were already shifting nervously on their feet, so Rossselsprung hastily dismissed them.
Once they left, the Colonel said, quite gratuitously, “I don’t suspect that there is any chance of your destroyer getting up some stream to help us, is there?”
Leutnant Ribbentrop looked at him guiltily, indeed turning red-faced at the situation he found himself in.
“Then fine!” Rosselsprung shouted furiously. “Being in the Kreigsmarine, you’re used to heavy guns, so get your arse as quickly as possible out of my sight and go around every filthy corner of this town and find us something to fight with—you have the weight of my full authority as Festung Commander to collect any artillery piece, except for a panzer, that might help us out of this mess!”
An extremely subdued Leutnant zur See departed speedily, despite the glory of his name. Rosselsprung lit another of the mayor's cigars, having decided that, for the moment, "We who are about to die", should have, at least, a little fun at the expense of the greater powers of the Reich who had stuck him and the thousands of civilians and troops in this impossible position. After all, even asuming the Soviets didn't have the first chance, Berlin could only hang or shoot him once.
The Commissar’s tank stood stationary on a ridge and eventually withdrew to a hull-down position which infuriated him even more. As a sniper, lost chances and wasted targets were the bane of his existence.
But as soon as the red-stained tank withdrew, dozens of other T-34s poked forward through the trees. Hansen and Arajs, for want of anything better to do, counted each one as it showed itself and pointed a cannon snout at Bad Frostberg, then drew back, ever so slightly out of range of any anti-tank gun. It was clear to anyone with eyes, that the Russians had arrived in vast numbers.
“I wonder what they’re waiting for?” Arajs said out loud. Hansen shook his head, lit another cigarette and pretended to relax.
About 10:00 a.m., a company of Volksturm appeared to relieve them, led, as it happened, by an elderly, kind-faced gentlemen, one Herr Otto Schramm who peered at the soldiers huddled in their holes with utter fascination and through somewhat disconcerting heavy-framed, thick-lensed glasses. Under ordinary circumstances, his thin civilian overcoat, swastika armband, be-spectacled face and miss-matched portions of German uniforms might have made him the instantaneous and constant brunt of landser humor. But, as things were, the professional soldiers were simply appreciative of unexpected help and the equally unexpected opportunity to rest a little behind "secure" lines.
The skies cleared, ominously, around noon and the snow ceased to fall, leaving behind its curtain only a grey sky streaked with the insubstantial flutter of the remnants of clouds.
Even as the Volksturm were taking up their positions, the Gestapo, in accordance to standing orders, were presenting their latest “find” to Colonel Rosselsprung.
“Leutnant zur See Joachim Ribbentrop ?” It was all the Colonel could do to keep himself from bursting out into hysterical laughter. “And what the Hell is a naval officer doing here?”
“I’m on leave from the Destroyer Hamburg”, the Leutnant answered, looking at his feet. “My…well…girlfriend lives here.”
Rosselsprung studied him for a moment. “Say, you aren’t by any chance related to Von Ribbentrop, are you?”
Feeling the shame at having been discovered in his illicit “love nest”, the Leutnant simply nodded.
“Oh Great God!” Rosselsprung cursed. “As if we needed a celebrity in this fight!”
Herr Strictler and the other Gestapo man were already shifting nervously on their feet, so Rossselsprung hastily dismissed them.
Once they left, the Colonel said, quite gratuitously, “I don’t suspect that there is any chance of your destroyer getting up some stream to help us, is there?”
Leutnant Ribbentrop looked at him guiltily, indeed turning red-faced at the situation he found himself in.
“Then fine!” Rosselsprung shouted furiously. “Being in the Kreigsmarine, you’re used to heavy guns, so get your arse as quickly as possible out of my sight and go around every filthy corner of this town and find us something to fight with—you have the weight of my full authority as Festung Commander to collect any artillery piece, except for a panzer, that might help us out of this mess!”
An extremely subdued Leutnant zur See departed speedily, despite the glory of his name. Rosselsprung lit another of the mayor's cigars, having decided that, for the moment, "We who are about to die", should have, at least, a little fun at the expense of the greater powers of the Reich who had stuck him and the thousands of civilians and troops in this impossible position. After all, even asuming the Soviets didn't have the first chance, Berlin could only hang or shoot him once.
Death is lighter than a Feather, Duty is heavier than a Mountain....
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Rosselsprung
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Commissar D, the Evil
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Truly, my fellow Forum Heroes, You don’t know anyone until you’ve seen their courage and faith questioned and their fundamental humanity tested, do you?
There isn’t, in my humble opinion, so much a difference between a hammer and a nail, as you have been lead to believe, except for sheer resilience and I sincerely hope that the next installment will prove this point.
So, search in your hearts and in your beliefs and decide for yourselves what true courage is…!
Very Best,
~D, the EviL
There isn’t, in my humble opinion, so much a difference between a hammer and a nail, as you have been lead to believe, except for sheer resilience and I sincerely hope that the next installment will prove this point.
So, search in your hearts and in your beliefs and decide for yourselves what true courage is…!
Very Best,
~D, the EviL
Death is lighter than a Feather, Duty is heavier than a Mountain....
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Luftman129
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I only hope it's good from here on out. -
Commissar D, the Evil
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SUCCESS ON THE TOSS OF A COIN!!!
Having received explicit orders in writing to seek out what were apparently non-existent artillery within Bad Frostberg’s perimeter, Leutnant Ribbentrop was at wits’ end on how to accomplish his mission. A search South was clearly out of the question. A search North would only bring him under the scrutiny of a multitude of S.S. roadblocks, manned by ill-tempered and low-born men. So, that only left a search to the East or West for that which no one truly believed to exist.
All men are given to frivolity, even when faced with desperate times and the young Leutnant zur See was no different than any other young man in the war. So he decided his course on the flip of a coin. “Heads” East and “Tails” West. The coin-toss told him West and he duly set off, on foot in that direction.
Of course, West was a heading that brought him to Bad Frostberg’s railway station and installations, feeder tracks, turntables and spur tracks. It struck him that a stranded artillery unit might indeed have to cross the tracks to the West, but, beyond that stray thought, nothing substantial crossed his mind.
But the Naval Leutnant had two appreciable advantages in his search. The first was his written orders from Colonel Rosselsprung, which no one would oppose and the second was the immaculate Naval uniform he wore and that few enough folks even recognized.
It seemed to him, at the time, that both the Whermacht and the vaunted S.S. had forgotten the power of a clean uniform and a disciplined attitude in the face of even the gravest danger. Rippentrop, an insubstantial dandy at heart, set great store in the power of his uniform, the natural arrogance he assumed to befit tha uniform, and its accompanying influence on the masses, even if his only real weapon was a single pistol.
At any rate, he casually tramped over the railway ties and the black metal train rails themselves, passing unmolested through the great dark railroad houses and the massive pointed-roofed, corrugated iron railroad storage buildings. He had almost reached the single track leading towards the Train Station and its subsidiary collection of iron-dark installations when he heard an horrendous sound.
It was a sound that he had never before heard, a muffled but entirely cognizable mechanical roar emanting from the grey-soaked skies above. Leutnant Rippentrop instinctively fastened his greatcoat’s collar button, leaving the coat itself draped only over his shoulders and mocking, to a certain extent, his Army and S.S. brethren by his rakish and seemingly uncaring, impeccable style.
While other, better men ran to shelter, he remained, standing alone on a railroad track and his obvious courage woud ultimately win him their unqualified admiration.....
Having received explicit orders in writing to seek out what were apparently non-existent artillery within Bad Frostberg’s perimeter, Leutnant Ribbentrop was at wits’ end on how to accomplish his mission. A search South was clearly out of the question. A search North would only bring him under the scrutiny of a multitude of S.S. roadblocks, manned by ill-tempered and low-born men. So, that only left a search to the East or West for that which no one truly believed to exist.
All men are given to frivolity, even when faced with desperate times and the young Leutnant zur See was no different than any other young man in the war. So he decided his course on the flip of a coin. “Heads” East and “Tails” West. The coin-toss told him West and he duly set off, on foot in that direction.
Of course, West was a heading that brought him to Bad Frostberg’s railway station and installations, feeder tracks, turntables and spur tracks. It struck him that a stranded artillery unit might indeed have to cross the tracks to the West, but, beyond that stray thought, nothing substantial crossed his mind.
But the Naval Leutnant had two appreciable advantages in his search. The first was his written orders from Colonel Rosselsprung, which no one would oppose and the second was the immaculate Naval uniform he wore and that few enough folks even recognized.
It seemed to him, at the time, that both the Whermacht and the vaunted S.S. had forgotten the power of a clean uniform and a disciplined attitude in the face of even the gravest danger. Rippentrop, an insubstantial dandy at heart, set great store in the power of his uniform, the natural arrogance he assumed to befit tha uniform, and its accompanying influence on the masses, even if his only real weapon was a single pistol.
At any rate, he casually tramped over the railway ties and the black metal train rails themselves, passing unmolested through the great dark railroad houses and the massive pointed-roofed, corrugated iron railroad storage buildings. He had almost reached the single track leading towards the Train Station and its subsidiary collection of iron-dark installations when he heard an horrendous sound.
It was a sound that he had never before heard, a muffled but entirely cognizable mechanical roar emanting from the grey-soaked skies above. Leutnant Rippentrop instinctively fastened his greatcoat’s collar button, leaving the coat itself draped only over his shoulders and mocking, to a certain extent, his Army and S.S. brethren by his rakish and seemingly uncaring, impeccable style.
While other, better men ran to shelter, he remained, standing alone on a railroad track and his obvious courage woud ultimately win him their unqualified admiration.....
Death is lighter than a Feather, Duty is heavier than a Mountain....