Ratlines and Relics [OOC / OPEN]

[The Grand Duchy Of Nova Capile]

I think an informant of that sort would work; he'd serve a useful plot purpose, though I would need to feed you information by TG in order to make the dynamic function. That said, while I know you're a good writer, you should still carefully consider the special rule about German characters. That rule does not mean that we can't have characters who were or even are Nazis, but it does mean that those characters need to be shown as the criminals that they were. I am not interested in perpetuating any myths about the "clean Wehrmacht," much less the "clean SS." Since it sounds like you are contemplating a character who is clearly a war criminal acting out of self-preservation, I'm less concerned about this issue, but it still bears repeating.

Naturally, and I don't blame you for reiterating.

I will endeavor to show that this man is a wretched human being to the best of my ability. And be certain that I neither believe in nor will perpetuate any such myths.

That said, if you're willing to accommodate such a character, I would be glad.

[Reverend Norv]

I think an informant of that sort would work; he'd serve a useful plot purpose, though I would need to feed you information by TG in order to make the dynamic function. That said, while I know you're a good writer, you should still carefully consider the special rule about German characters. That rule does not mean that we can't have characters who were or even are Nazis, but it does mean that those characters need to be shown as the criminals that they were. I am not interested in perpetuating any myths about the "clean Wehrmacht," much less the "clean SS." Since it sounds like you are contemplating a character who is clearly a war criminal acting out of self-preservation, I'm less concerned about this issue, but it still bears repeating.

Naturally, and I don't blame you for reiterating.

I will endeavor to show that this man is a wretched human being to the best of my ability. And be certain that I neither believe in nor will perpetuate any such myths.

That said, if you're willing to accommodate such a character, I would be glad.

Then we are on the same page. Go for it, and I look forward to seeing what you come up with.

[Sao Nova Europa]

Completed my application.

[Reverend Norv]

Name: Barry Fallon.

Age: 35.

Gender: Male.

Appearance: Keep in mind, that he is clean-shaven excluding the moustache.

Employment: Captain, US Army; assigned to Criminal Investigation Division of the Office of the Provost Marshal General.

---

Personality: Barry would best be described as an inquisitive type of person. He has little fear of interacting with people, and all the love in the world for finding things out. He has worked himself up to respond well to violent stressors. On the other hand, he is prone to his fair share of moral misdeeds. I think his biography, in a first-person account, can do better at shedding some light into the character.

Fears: "I got a six-year-old back in LA, waiting on his daddy to come home. The war might be over, but until I am on a boat heading back to the US, I won't sleep too easily. Dumb GIs are doing dumb things, like driving around drunk as hell and hurting people. Since V-E, I have had to cover four different death investigations for GIs. None of them died from Nazi holdouts; drunk GIs did them in. That might be my real fear; surviving all of the crap that got thrown on me from Day One at Normandy, only to be turned into hamburger on the grille of some Jeep."

Hobbies: "If I am not in the field, my favorite thing to do is to put on some swing music, light up a Lucky Strike, and read a magazine or book. Seems a bit modest for a guy like myself, but I am in no way a stranger to the officers' mess. Having a drink among friends is one thing I do enjoy. Playing cards, telling stories; I do like companionship as much as personal solitude."

Skills: "I'm an investigator, or a 'dick,' as some people have called me. Ever since I was a kid, deducing what people did and why was something that just came naturally for me. Observation has taught me a helluva lot more in life than just running in with my head down and making an assumption. It takes brainpower to solve a crime, to put the pieces together and come out with the 'Five Dubyas:' who, what, when, where, and why. A lot of cops like to touch the crime scene, and you know what that does? It perverts what you're looking at. If you kick shell casings across the floor, then you no longer know exactly where your shooter was standing. I don't touch corpses or evidence until I know that I have a good idea of what the scene looked like before we showed up. It makes life easier on the lab rats, too. I have some limited forensic capability, usually in the way of lifting prints or determining ballistics."

"My next best talent is, you guessed it, a way with fists and firearms. I was twenty when I fired my first gun, and I kept messing with them long after that, enough to feel exceedingly comfortable when I've got my eyes behind the sights. Be it a handgun, shotgun, or long gun, I can figure it out and use it well. The Army widened my skill with different guns, especially the 30-cal. My three years of war gave me plenty of experience shooting everything from a Tommy Gun to a Ma Deuce, usually in places where the infantry had already advanced and bypassed the Krauts. The LAPD taught me how to fight hand-to-hand, but mostly by way of on-the-job experience and painful trial-and-error. I'm a big Irish target, but even I have had my ass handed to me. It taught me some important lessons. I can smack like a tree branch and choke people out like an anaconda, but I can do that stuff decisively when I fight consciously."

"My other skills? Unlike a lot of the kids bouncing around Europe in Jeeps with no license, I can actually drive like a normal person. On top of that, I can get a Jeep out of harm's way, thanks to having been in five different car chases back in LA. I am fluent in Spanish and German. I picked up the latter through a combination of self-education, instruction from British linguists, and indulgence in German-language literature. It allows me to talk directly to the German cops who are under my command, to actually earn some of their respect with my own words."

Weaknesses: "I love gambling, which is probably the most self-destructive vice. Specifically, I love to bet on anything and everything. Back in LA, I'd bet on dog-racing and even cock-fights. On the ship over to North Africa, I lost twenty bucks just trying to guess which of the two squadrons flying overhead would pass over my ship first. Working the Red Ball, some of the other MP officers and I ran a prize pool to see who could run the most trucks through their checkpoint in a day. That was fun - but I have lost a lot of money in the time that I have been here."

"I may be a married man, but I must confess that I am not faithful. Not anymore, not since last year. Living in LA, with the vice and the booze and the tits in your face - I actually found it easy to stay faithful for almost ten years. Of all of the temptations I have ignored, I never expected wartorn Europe to awaken this immoral part of my being. As for my philandery in practice, I keep it as consensual as one can keep it when they are practically manipulating women into sex. I say the right things, make the right moves, and before long, I have etched yet another black mark into my marriage. Does my wife know that I have a mistress in Berlin? That's my dark secret."

---

Birthplace: Los Angeles, California.

Nationality: American Citizen.

Ethnicity: Second-generation Irish-American.

Sexuality: Heterosexual.

Religion: Roman Catholic.

---

Education:

• Bachelor of Arts in Criminal Justice, UCLA.
• Graduate of LAPD Training Academy.
• Graduate of the Class of 1935, FBI National Academy.
• Completed Army Basic Training, Officer Candidate School, and MP School at Camp Gordon, Georgia.

Biography: "My story starts back in 1910. I'm the son of Ira and Wendy Fallon, both of whom came over here on the boat from Ireland a mere two years before I was born. We lived in a two-bedroom apartment in Santa Monica. My mom raised me in that place. Dad was always out; that's the life of a policeman. Maybe he's the reason I became a cop. On the whole, I love the both of them. They weren't drunks or mooches, but real genuine people who worked their asses off. Me as a kid, I had it good, and that's all I will say about my childhood."

"At eighteen, it was time to make a go of the city on my own. I chose college at the University of California in Los Angeles. Leaving the city to start anew never made sense to me. I wasn't even sure what I wanted a degree in, but I liked my classes and did reasonably well. Paid for most of it on my own, by working as a crewman and laborer for DeMille Pictures. It was nothing glamorous; no starlet ever winked at me, the foremen were assholes, and they would often throw me in as an extra."

"The Depression changed everything. I lost my job and almost dropped out of UCLA, but it was Dad who intervened. 'LAPD's always hiring,' he said to me. He's a Captain, now. Back then, even as a Lieutenant over Traffic, my old man held sway. It wasn't hard to get a billet at the Academy. Sure, I took some time out of school for my training, but it paid off. I immersed myself in the course material far more than I ever did in college. I learned how to search a crime scene, how to interrogate people, and much more. I took it all in stride, and came out as a Patrolman. Mom still has a picture of he and I at the graduation."

"I did two years on the Wilshire beat as a Patrolman, along with my academy buddy Ricky Salazar as my partner for much of that time. Heh, those were the fun days before I got promoted. Ignorance is bliss, because when you're out chasing some thief through Downtown or running into a blaze at Griffith Park to rescue some poor sap, you don't have to think about the more negative things going on at your place of work. Saw a lot of bribes, some even handed right in front of me. I remember seeing my Captain take a bribe from some attorney to let a guy out of our lockup. Both of them were smiling. When someone tried to bribe me, like someone selling something stupid like counterfeit cigarettes, they never had a smile. Those people, mostly black and Mexican and Chinese who had to do a little extra to get by, they were scared of me. For that first year, I pushed the hard line. I called people 'negro' and did more talking with my truncheon than with my mouth. It wasn't that a singular event changed everything for me; I just got tired of treating people like shit for being a different color, and wanted to look at them differently. I was raised Irish Catholic, and whether or not I really cling to that crap much, we are all equal in God's eyes. Gotta remember that, even when you're wearing a badge. So, why treat every minority like a goon right off the bat? I never stood on a pedestal before the rest of the boys and said it, though. I'm not dumb; I kept my head down and minded my own racism, not whatever other officers did."

"I made Detective around '34, after they'd given me a commendation at the Griffith Park fire for carrying two guys to safety. First desk was Arson. We investigate fires and determine whether or not they are intentional. There are three types of intentional fires in my mind, and all are motivated by opportunity and greed. The first, and most common, are the insurance fires. Anyone, from the mobster on down to the local gas station owner, can take an insurance policy out on a joint, and then burn it all down for a tasty payout. The second, are crimes of passion, which are rare. You know, that's where someone kills their spouse or someone and wants to burn the evidence. Third, is an intentional act of sabotage. Rival mobsters, or rival businesses, might try to destroy something that the other owns. Again, rare like someone trying to burn up a family. Everything else, is a goddamn tragedy. I have done a lot of death investigations from fires, and it wasn't until I got to France that I found something far worse than a candle taking out a whole family."

"Upon becoming a detective, I saw a different world than what I had seen wearing a uniform. On some investigations, especially ones involving something with a big insurance payout, there would be guys from the Vice desk pulling up or calling me to tell me to fuck off. I wish I could say I always bit back, but that's not true. Vice was the Mayor's secret police; if Shaw wanted something, they got it for him. If you spit on Shaw's shoes, you could count on Vice paying you a visit."

"1935, I was sent off to Washington DC, to take part in the first class of the FBI National Academy. For a municipal cop, this is the top school you can attend while serving. We had officers from all over; New York, Miami, San Fran. We even had foreigners in the class. The FBI instructors diligently taught us new investigative techniques, like lifting fingerprints and learning to tell whether a document is authentic or forged. My particular area of interest was crime scene pathology. Reading the scene, knowing what things might be where, and the area where the crime scene is; meditating on those things really benefited me for when they moved me to Homicide."

"From '35 to my departure in '41, I worked the Homicide desk for the LAPD. No case that I did got any notes, until Homicide. The backlash against Chief Davis and Mayor Shaw was heightening, so the unit decided to buckle down, solve some cases, and put ourselves on the right side of the city. My first 'successful' big one was the takedown of mob gunman Alberto Sirocco, six months into my tenure. War vet who'd stacked corpses up on the East Coast, on behalf of the Italians. We ran afoul of him investigating the murder of a Greek man shot in broad daylight on Venice Beach. Turned out the Greek was in the criminal game, far in enough for someone to decide that putting them in the black book was a smart idea. We traced the .45 ACP casings to a local gun store, which then led us to Sirocco's hotel room. He was staked out for a few days, until we got some uniforms and arranged for a sting. We rushed him outside of the Cecil Hotel, and that precipitated into a gunfire that cost us three men, and our perp. First man I ever killed in the line of duty; first man I'd killed period. I was just moving as my mind was telling me to: I moved for cover when the first shots rung out, got to a squad car, snatched an M12 out, and racked two rounds into this sucker, making his torso into hamburger. I was petrified, even when my Sergeant and the Lieutenant were telling me I'd be fine. I'd seen death, never caused it. A lot of my Catholic sensibility, my trust in the Ten Commandments as the Law of God, was shattered."

"My soul would have been shattered, if it weren't for Claudette. I must've skipped a bit, but I do consider myself happily married. We met through mutual friends during my first year at UCLA; she's a typist and screenwriter for RKO, as if that actually pays any bills. Can't tell you how I woo'ed her. That woman is a mustang, independent and beautiful. Intimidating in her own right. Most importantly though, and a lot of people don't get this, but she lets me talk. If I have to get something out of my head before it eats me alive, Claudette is there listening to me. We hold each other, and the world feels a little less savage. We married in '38, had a son named Brent the following year. I love being a father, a provider. More than being a cop."

"My last big case took up most of '39 and '40. A killer was in town, abducting people and burying them alive in the Hills. All three of the victims were employees of a little pulp magazine publisher. What we found out is that they refused to publish a horror story by an anonymous author. Ironically, it was about a murderous gravedigger who - you just guessed it - buries people alive. He left passages from his short story at each crime scene.With the help of some criminal psychologists, we put together a profile on the suspected killer; white male, mid-thirties, egotistical, imaginative, experienced at hard labor especially when digging is concerned. Given that the writer was anonymous, we had to search the address from which the original story. This was a public address; a public library in Hollywood. A dead end, by all accounts - but then I decided to do something unorthodox. Taking the original story that was mailed to the company, I changed names around and had the company publish it as an original story by freelancer author 'Barry Lyndon.' We even had them publish the address of a bank-owned house for the purpose of "constructive criticism for the author.' The house was staked out inside with three detectives, two of which never left the house for six days. Myself and three other detectives often posed as bystanders or workers, taking note of any recurring vehicles parked near the house. There were several notable spots to park with a good view of the house's front window. It wasn't long until we noticed that a baby poop-green coupe kept parking one house down in the same spot. A guy fitting the suspected appearance of the killer in our profile, would periodically each day exit this car and walk around the block back in front of the house, loiter in his car for five minutes and drive off. Like clockwork. He went in for the kill at midnight, after six nights, jimmied a window open and climbed inside the house to find four gun barrels trained at him. We searched his property; found evidence in the form of shovels and items reported to belong to the deceased."

"Now, rather than talk about my glory days in the LAPD until you ear falls off, let's jump into the present. A cousin of mine died ay Hickam Field during the Jap attack, and the next day, I saw tons of people filling up the recruiting stations. I figured that I'd be drafted anyways; Roosevelt had been calling up men the year before. Claudette didn't seem to think so, but it didn't matter once I had signed my papers for the Army. She never said that she was mad, but I could see it in her eyes when I shipped off to Camp Gordon. Leaving her with a two-year-old while I went to war; I don't know if it's the fairest thing. But I know now that I would have hated myself for staying on the Home Front, for not going overseas."

"They initially put me in as an enlisted MP, but right after Basic, I was sent to OCS, which I graduated and was promoted to Second Lieutenant. First stop was England, where I did a combination of training and police work. There were some other cops in the contingent, but not nearly enough. Most of the rank-and-file enlisted were draftees, responsible for policing other draftees. When we weren't pulling traffic duty or keeping the GIs from getting too rowdy, I was running my boys through what it meant to be a cop. By the time Normandy rolled around, everyone took their job seriously. We escorted the convoys, both real and fake. When the GIs and the locals crossed paths, it was us who settled the disputes. There were problems, sure, but it wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Just the vehicles were bigger and everyone packed heat. Normandy was where the game changed."

"My platoon was posted with the 116th RCT at Dog Green, on Omaha Beach. There were DDs and other vehicles that were to come ashore. The armor was supposed to support the infantry in breaking out from the beach through the German lines. The landing was as chaotic as you might have heard; artillery and machine guns pounding the beach, men running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Platoons and companies lucky enough to reach the shore quickly found themselves scattered about and leaderless. Half of my platoon died in the first thirty minutes of being on the shore; one-half of the remaining half tried in vain to engage the Germans in the bunkers, while the rest stuck with me and attempted to give some semblance of traffic control for the tanks and vehicles that did make it onto the shore. The wet sand was like glue; just holding Jeeps down and allowing for engines to get swamped. My goal that day was to keep the wheels rolling towards the German lines, and often that took me personally reconnoitering routes through the bodies and obstacles for the tanks to go through. Goddamn nerve-wracking, to not be able to make a difference with your own gun when a hundred yards away, some Kraut is shoving a meat grinder directly into you. Took a bullet, some shrapnel, but I closed my leaky holes and kept fighting. A colonel gave me a rifle platoon at random towards the end of the battle, and we successfully took out two German mortar positions. I killed three men personally during that engagement."

"After Normandy, came the Red Ball. Our boys were pushing into France, and for them to tunnel deeper and deeper into occupied territory, it would take supply lines. Lemme tell you, it was the blacks that drove those trucks, and the blacks saved a bunch of lives. I ran security for the trucks when things first started rolling. The main RCTs were bypassing German forces, and those forces in turn would harass the supply lines. We fought off ambushes and assaults on the patrols and checkpoints we had established, and while it was in no way a pleasant fight in hot-ass France, things got easier over time. Learning German allowed me to call for surrenders. As time went on, more Germans surrendered to us. We took their names, their units, and marched them down the road opposite of the passing trucks. Even when Red Ball was dead in name by the time of Bastogne, I was running security for the supplies going to the 101st."

"Bastogne was the last time I would see a pitched battle. After that, I dealt with isolated pockets of resistance in France, and later Germany. The CID - Criminal Investigation Division - picked me up on account of my pre-war police record. This task had me on the move throughout the different zones that we liberated, as I was charged with identifying Nazi officers changed with alleged war crimes. I nabbed low-level guys; highest rank was an SS Major that some paratroopers had found in a barn, pretending to be an old woman. I saw Dachau during this time, and I am not ashamed to say that I wept at the things I saw."

"Presently, I am under the command of Colonel Howley, assisting what remnants of the police we can muster. I want to go home, and I am tired of doing wrong. There is temptation in this place, temptation that I have acted upon. While my wife waits for me to come home, I willingly sleep with another woman - Greta. The two of us have different motivations; she seeks me out because I can give her increased rations, and I need the hold of a woman, especially right now. It's slimy, and I know just how slimy it is."

"In the meantime, I've got another investigation coming my way."

Just getting my foot in the door. Well done, my friend!

Accepted, of course. Updating the dramatis personae now.

Interested in joining as German character, a former Berlin police investigator. App is still under construction, and as such not finished yet. BTW, I recently RPed as a detective character and my character here will be somewhat similar to the one in that RP, so if you wish to assess my posting/general ideas here is a link: Link

Name: Heinrich Schneider

Age: 36

Gender: Male

Appearance:

([url=https://i.postimg.cc/TY0hB7Lx/51pm-Bpxsm-TL-AC-UL1001.jpg]Image)[/url]

Employment: Former Berlin Police

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Personality:

A lover of mysteries and mind games who becomes obsessed with his cases. Heinrich is a man who has very little life outside of his line of work; he is first and foremost an investigator. When he is assigned a case, he thinks constantly about it and obsesses over it; he can remain up for two or three days because he is too obsessed with finding clues and making connections. While brilliant in finding clues on a crime scene and making connections, he is severely lacking in social skills; he hates social interactions, has almost no friends (only acquaintances), can be sarcastic and rude, and thinks too highly of himself, to the point of narcissism.

Fears:

His greatest fear is being unable to solve a case. He thinks too highly of himself to accept failure. He also witnesses nightmares from time to time; about his brother, Sebastian, a police officer who took had joined one of the Order Police Battalions and was killed in the war, and about his time in Soviet-besieged Berlin.

Hobbies:

When he isn't solving cases, he loves to play mind games/puzzle games, to read crime fiction novels and to play his violin.

Skills:

Has a long record of success in solving murder cases. He is very good at finding clues on a murder scene, especially odd ones that are usually ignored, and making connections between the various clues, the events and the suspects to find the murderer. Most of his work as an investigator involves 'sweeping' the crime scene for evidence/clues and then trying to connect the dots to solve the case. While he is generally lacking in social skills, he is very good at realizing when people lie from their facial and bodily expressions, and he can use this to his advantage.

Weaknesses:

He is obsessive with his cases, a near-narcissist who also offends people with his rudeness and sarcasm, and while he isn't an alcoholic, he is pretty damn close to being one as he can drink a whole battle in a single night. His drinking means that he isn't always at his best, especially very early in the morning, and he sometimes has headaches. The lack of social connections and friends can also be considered a weakness of his.

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Birthplace:

Nationality: German

Ethnicity: German

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Religion: Catholic (publicly), Agnostic (privately)

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Education (if any):

12 months course at the Kriminalfachschule (Criminal investigation college) in Berlin-Charlottenburg
9 months course at the Führerschule der Sicherheitspolizei in Berlin-Charlottenburg

Biography:

Born in 1909 in Berlin to a middle class family, his father was a police detective in the Berlin police department while his mother was a housewife. He was the third, and the youngest, child of the family. A studious but rather shy individual, he excelled at mathematics and history but came lacking in social interactions and making friendship with his fellow pupils. In 1927, he join the Berlin police department (Ordnungspolizei) as a policeman; his eldest brother, Sebastian, was an investigator at the department and this certainly aided his career.

As Kriminalassistentanwärter (detective trainee), he began his training as an intern for 12 months, followed by a 12 months course at the Kriminalfachschule (Criminal investigation college) in Berlin-Charlottenburg. At college, Heinrich showed an exceptional talent at courses and was at the top of his classes, although he sill had trouble making friends. After the college, he served for 12 months as probationary detective (Kriminalassistent aus Probe).

In 1930, he became an Apl. Kriminalassistent (supernumerary detective), until a billet became free and he was appointed to a permanent position as Kriminalassistent in 1931. As investigator, he was mainly assigned to murder and disappearances cases. He made a name for himself thanks to solving many of those cases, a lot of them in a rather speedy manner. At the same time, though, his eccentricities and mannerisms put off many in his department. As the chief of the department stated once, "if this mother***** wasn't such a brilliant detective, I would have demoted him from the department!" In 1934, he passed a civil service examination that would allow him to serve as an Executive Criminal Investigator (Kriminalkommissaranwärter). This was followed by a 12 months internship, a 9 months course at the Führerschule der Sicherheitspolizei in Berlin-Charlottenburg, and a six months probationary appointment as Kriminalkommissar auf Probe before finally becoming a Kriminalkommissaranwärter (in 1937).

In 1936, the police forces of the German states were absorbed by the Nazi central government, falling under the Interior Ministry. Heinrich didn't have an interest in politics and he was rather apathetic to the regime itself, but he was willing to show outward respect to maintain his position. His complacency towards the regime and apathy towards politics meant that he wasn't affected by this transition. When the war came in 1939, Heinrich and Sebastian followed different paths. Sebastian joined a battalion-sized police formation that aided in the invasion of Poland and then served as an occupying police officer in the region. Heinrich, on the other hand, preferred to remain in Berlin and focus on what he was best at doing; investigating criminal cases.

In war-time Berlin, he spent much of his time investigating cases such as a serial raping and murderer, the disappearance of a WWI veteran (whose body he found, and then he was able to uncover his murderer), and other criminal cases. His reputation for efficiency meant that he was allowed to remain in the Berlin police department rather than serve in some of the occupied countries or in a combat unit. His brother, Sebastian, as a member of the Police Battalions, was responsible for the transportation of Jews in concentration camps and for atrocities against civilians. In 1943, Sebastian was killed in a partisan attack. This affected greatly Heinrich, who began experiencing frequent nightmares.

As the war turned more desperate for the Germans, Heinrich focused on his cases, ignoring the disasters unfolding around him. Perhaps this was his way of trying to avoid the unpleasant reality. As the Soviets approached Berlin, police forces were to supplement the defense of the city. Heinrich did his best to try and avoid active combat duty, instead focusing on other military wartime duties such as sentry duty, supplies, etch. He was forced though to fight and experience first-hand the horrors of war as the German forces were becoming depleting and policemen were pushed into combat action. Heinrich was one of the lucky ones, suffering a minor leg injury and staying alive until the surrender of May.

His stellar record as an investigative officer meant that the occupation forces became interested in him and gave him an offer to aid them in criminal investigations in occupied Berlin. Heinrich accepted, being more interested in solving his cases than worrying about serving the 'occupiers'.

I'm going to accept this character as long as you make a few changes - if only because he's a good representative of people who cooperated with the machinery of atrocity without ever really believing in it, but whose culpability is not necessarily the less for all of that. I'd like to see something added to the bio to reflect the fact that the Berlin ordnungpolizei were not simply solving murders and locking up bad guys all war long; they were an SS branch, part of the machinery of state terror in the Third Reich. This would, in fact, be an interesting angle to take with Heinrich by way of character development: if he really only cared about solving his cases, then it wouldn't matter to him whether he hunted down a murderer or whether he hunted down socialists or homosexuals or Jews. Once I see a slightly less rosy picture of the role of the Berlin OrPo, Heinrich will gladly be accepted.

[Sao Nova Europa]

I added a paragraph in my app to reflect that:

In war-time Berlin, he spent much of his time investigating cases such as a serial rapist and murderer, the disappearance of a WWI veteran (whose body he found, and then he was able to uncover his murderer), and other criminal cases. He also, however, undertook other, far less noble, cases. As the Berlin police was an SS branch, this meant that Heinrich also had to enforce the political agenda of the Nazi regime. More than once his investigations were not to uncover a murderer, but rather to discover and hunt down Jews, socialists and homosexuals whose only crime were being scapegoated by the Nazi regime. Heinrich didn't particularly care about the morality of such cases nor did he endorse the hunting down of those minorities; for him, it were the cases and the mind puzzles that they represented that mattered, not the morality of the cases. As long as he satisfied his need for intellectual stimulation, he was perfectly willing to hunt them down.

[Reverend Norv]

I added a paragraph in my app to reflect that:

In war-time Berlin, he spent much of his time investigating cases such as a serial rapist and murderer, the disappearance of a WWI veteran (whose body he found, and then he was able to uncover his murderer), and other criminal cases. He also, however, undertook other, far less noble, cases. As the Berlin police was an SS branch, this meant that Heinrich also had to enforce the political agenda of the Nazi regime. More than once his investigations were not to uncover a murderer, but rather to discover and hunt down Jews, socialists and homosexuals whose only crime were being scapegoated by the Nazi regime. Heinrich didn't particularly care about the morality of such cases nor did he endorse the hunting down of those minorities; for him, it were the cases and the mind puzzles that they represented that mattered, not the morality of the cases. As long as he satisfied his need for intellectual stimulation, he was perfectly willing to hunt them down.

That works for me. I'll add Heinrich to the Dramatis Personae.

[Danubian Peoples]

Hey, this RP looks interesting, but I'm not sure if it's within my skill level, so to speak. I get my WW2 smarts, if you could it that, largely from people on the internet doing it as a hobby, and I've only started writing RPs here on NS relatively recently. I don't feel like I measure up to the impressively high bar these character apps have set so far. Not sure if I should try to participate anyways and ask if X thing checks out with every new post, or if I should just sit this one out.

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

So, because I take a long time writing characters, I started writing this when no-one had claimed a German character yet. Now, I see there is one already accepted, and another in the making, while we don't have any Brits yet. So, I'm just going to post this character, but if you want a Brit in there, Norv, then I am happy to change my character to fit that. After all, German characters should probably be a minority next to the officers supplied by other nations. As you know, I'm always willing to cooperate for a good story.

My idea was that Franz could supply local know-how, some information from places more traditional police would not get them, while also keeping an eye on the German officer supplied by the Western Allies. East Berlin has purged all former NSDAP and other Nazi officials by now, after all, while the Allies are keeping them on for longer.

Name: Franz Beckenbauer

Age: 52

Gender: Male

Appearance:

Employment:
1909-1911: Butcher’s Apprentice at Beckenbauer’s Metzger
1911-1914: Butcher at Beckenbauer’s und Sohn Metzger
1914-1918: Sailor of the High Seas Fleet (Finished as Obermatrose in 1918)
1918-1919: Free butcher for the Kiel mutiny, later Spartacists
1920-1925: Butcher at Beckenbauer’s und Sohn Metzger
1925-1945: Captain of a river barge on the River Spree
1942-1945: Black marketeer
1945-Now: Volkspolizist (People’s Policeman)

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Personality: Franz is a man who cares, and who would rather that he not. The years have dulled his enthusiasm, his vigor, his elan, but they have done nothing to lessen his caring nature, and his trust in good people. He likes to pretend he is an eternal grouch, to the point that most people who know him fall for his façade. On some days, he falls for it himself, but at the end of the day, whenever he has to make decisions, he still chooses to do what’s best for others. Every day, he looks at his river barge and wonders whether he should just take it and go north, or south, or anywhere but there. Start a new life in Vienna, away from the rubble. Or have an ice cream parlor on the Baltic coast. But still, he remains attached to Berlin, because if he doesn’t stay there to take care of the people, who will?

The grouchy exterior is something built up over years and years of having to pretend. “I stopped caring after 1919” he sometimes claims when his friends at the pub ask him for his philosophy. It was almost true: 1919 was the year he had to start pretending not to care. After the failure of the Spartacists uprising, Franz gave up hope of seeing a more egalitarian society in his lifetime. After the success of the Bolshevik revolution there was some hope, but after the Miracle of the Vistula and especially after Stalin’s rise to power, that hope was snuffed out too. However, while his political hopes were dashed, his personal care for the wellbeing of people never really did cease. Even when it was dangerous to do so, he kept smuggling crates of food into Berlin, and on rare occasions, he risked his life getting people out. Of course, he would always pretend to do it for the money, because he did not want a reputation for charity.

Fears: A Stalinist future, war between the Americans and the Russians, return of the Nazis under a different guise

Hobbies: Sailing, drinking at the pub with his buddies, fishing, long walks through nature, berry-picking, playing the violin

Skills: Animal butchery, river sailing, smuggling (people and produce), black marketeering, poker, sausage-making

Weaknesses: Apart from his semi-advanced age, he suffers from an old wound. Perforated lung in ’19, which almost killed him. Franz cannot maintain physical exertion for long. However, luckily, due to his connections in the black market, he does not have to fear being underfed. The destruction of Berlin is also weighing heavily on him, and the more the situation progresses, the more he fails to distinguish between Nazi, Soviet, or Western Allies. His resentment have overflowed once or twice under the influence of alcohol, but as the destruction and the mismanagement for the sake of politics become more and more pronounced, Franz has more and more trouble keeping himself in check. His façade of carelessness has to break someday, and that day might be closer than he realizes.

---

Birthplace: Berlin, German Empire

Nationality: German

Ethnicity: Caucasian, Half-Jew (according to the Nuremberg Laws)

Sexuality: Demiromantic, heterosexual

Religion: Agnostic Deist

---

Education (if any):
Butcher’s apprenticeship
Sailor’s training at the German Naval Academy
Minimal police training (a few hours of oral presentation on the basics of policing)

Biography:
Franz Beckenbauer was born on the 2nd of December 1984 to Josef Beckenbauer and Rebecca Beckenbauer-Reinhart. The couple was young, Josef being only 17 and Rebecca only 15. The two had to be quickly married when Rebecca appeared to be pregnant, but luckily, after marriage, the couple was tenderly taken up by both families. At first, Rebecca’s Jewish family was more reserved, but when Franz was born, they could no longer deny the gift from God. Luckily for the couple, Josef’s father (also named Franz) was a local butcher, and his shop provided more than enough income for the couple.

Being the son of his mother, Franz was no stranger to the antisemitism of pre-war Germany growing up. Living in a big city made him all the more aware of the inequalities of their society. One of the boys he grew up with, Pascal, had an interest in reading, and he really turned the group from general horseplay to some more productive ends. From painting lewd slurs on the sides of bridges, they turned to writing general anarchist propaganda on billboards. General, because outside Pascal, none of the others actually knew what they were doing, at least philosophically. Pascal thought that German imperialism and capitalism were a threat to the working class. Franz just thought it was funny what euphemistic puns you could rhyme with ‘Krupp’.

So, when the war came, no-one but Pascal was hesitant about signing up for the fatherland. Most of Franz’ friends went with the infantry, but Franz had romantic notions about the sea, so he signed up with the Kriegsmarine. It was a stroke of luck that kept Franz from the same path as Pascal, because being in the war really changed his attitude towards German imperialism. Luck, too, because in 1917 Pascal was shot for spreading defeatist propaganda. Hearing of his old friend’s death made Franz only doubt his feelings towards Germany more. By 1918, he was completely done with the navy, the war, the Kaiser… Jutland had been bad enough, but sitting in port while the nation starved, for a war that could not be won… When the socialist agitators began repeating words he had heard Pascal say, Franz was happy to be convinced.

The Kiel Mutiny unlocked something in Franz. A sense of adventurism, but also political idealism that he had never really felt before. With just their buddies and the help of the Labour Unions, they managed to defeat the whole of the German Empire. Or, that’s how they saw it. They sang socialist songs, proclaimed the fall of all monarchs everywhere… It was a high that could have carried him all the way to Moscow. When the revolution spread, Franz was entirely engrossed, and was happy to throw in his lot. Sure, he had never held a rifle before, but that was something he could learn. So, as part of a syndicalist militia, he toured the country with a few friends he had met in the Navy. Everywhere they went, there was either no revolution, or the revolution had succeeded. It took weeks before they could participate in their first engagement. Even then, it took hours before Franz dared stick his head above a barricade and take a shot. He missed, and the Landwehr bastard he was trying to hit got him between the ribs. It was the first and the last shot Franz would fire.

When he recuperated, the revolution had been crushed. Liebknecht and Luxembourg were dead. The Weimar Republic had established itself with the help of the far-right Landwehr. In Russia, the authoritarian Bolsheviks were defeating the Left SR. The US was buying up half the earth. Everything was going to shit. Socialism, at least in the way Franz had imagined it, was dead. Defeated, he returned to his parental home, where he took up work again with his dad. His family was happy to see him again, but working in the butcher shop day in, day out just made Franz more miserable. When he managed to collect enough money, he bought a small river barge and began sailing up and down the Spree, shipping goods along the river. The work was hard, but with all the different people traveling about, it was not monotonous. Besides, Franz enjoyed the outdoors.

In the 30s, Franz had his first brush with the more criminal sides of Germany. With the collapse of the US stock market, German bonds had lost all their value. The economy collapsed, partially due to purposeful mismanagement at the very top of society. Now, the goods trade along the Spree had to continue, and Franz was just as happy to be paid in produce, especially as the Reichsmark was dropping in value. And with the market collapsing as it did, Franz started to see the point behind smuggling goods as well. Stolen goods being fenced, for example. Franz’ job was simple. He just had to row his boat and not ask too many questions.

For Franz personally, very little changed when the Nazis took over. Sure, he had to go clean again, but that was for a lack of interest in the black market after the economic recovery (largely due to Weimar policies). His family on his mother’s side had to wear special badges, but that was about it. Until the Night of Broken Glass, or Crystal Night. The butcher’s shop of his dad’s was not a Jewish business by any stretch of the imagination, although it did cater to some Jewish customers. The roving mob of SA goons did not care too much about that, and the shop was burned to the ground. Lacking funds to restart, Franz now had to support his parents financially, which meant he had to get back into the black market. It was around 1935 when he started shipping people as well. No questions asked either. The job was to get them away from Berlin, and what happened after he did not know.

The war was incredibly tough for Franz and his family. His family on his mother’s side, including his mother, disappeared into the concentration camp system, never to be heard from again. His dad fell into a depression, only made worse when his brother Hans, his wife and their daughter died in a British air raid. Franz’ sister’s son died in Italy when the Americans landed there, and their other son was either killed or captured by the Soviets. Like every family in Germany, Franz’ family was affected, until he had almost no-one left. Still, there were the survivors to care for, and with every death, Franz cared less and less for his own life, and took greater and greater risks. When rationing was introduced in 1942, he shipped large amount of produce from the countryside, sometimes right under the eyes of the police, and he helped more people escape the city by night. When his own home was destroyed, along with most of his belongings, by an American bomb, he started living out of his barge.

The long-awaited liberation by the Red Army was less victorious than Franz would have imagined. His sister became one of the victims of the Soviet advance, luckily being allowed to keep her life, although she would later wish she had died. The city had turned to rubble, and the food transports were uncertain. Crime was rampant, both from citizens and soldiers alike. In these circumstances, Franz retained his black market venture, but he knew there were other ways for himself to make a difference. First of all, he had his father and sister to take care of, so he joined what would later be called the Volkspolizei mostly for the increase in ration cards. However, being a part of the Black Market division gave him special insight into the measures taken to curtail his own actions, and he managed to avoid them. He used his office to crack down on some of the seedier elements of the market, the human traffickers and the substance abusers, but did his best to keep the food trade going. This, in return for favors in criminal circles, which sometimes yielded valuable information. The Soviets probably knew at least some of what he was up to, but his policing was more effective that way, so they were happy to keep him chugging along. At least he was a socialist.

It was a surprise when the Komendantskaya Sluzhba came knocking. Normally they went to the proper channels, but now the came to him directly. They needed someone who knew the city, spoke perfect German, with a known hatred for the NSDAP and contacts in Berlin’s underworld. What the job was they wouldn’t say, only that it would be top secret, and in his best interests if he cooperated. The lone, silent NKVD officer with them helped set the scene. Franz didn’t really have a choice, but in Soviet tradition, he agreed to what he had been ordered to do. He was taken into a car and driven to Major Abrahams office, where the greatest adventure of his life would commence.

[Reverend Norv]

Hey, this RP looks interesting, but I'm not sure if it's within my skill level, so to speak. I get my WW2 smarts, if you could it that, largely from people on the internet doing it as a hobby, and I've only started writing RPs here on NS relatively recently. I don't feel like I measure up to the impressively high bar these character apps have set so far. Not sure if I should try to participate anyways and ask if X thing checks out with every new post, or if I should just sit this one out.

Well, it is of course entirely up to you. It is true that you are not as experienced as some of the other writers here, but that should not necessarily be a barrier to your participation. When it comes to research, I will refer you to the rules in the OP:

• This RP is set in Berlin, in November 1945, in what you should assume to be very much the real world. While I’ll accept some poetic license in deviating from historical accuracy – and you should know that I will play up certain occult elements as the story continues – I do expect you to know the rules before you break them. So you may well need to do some research of your own. But I can also guarantee you that if you have any historical questions, I will find the answers for you. Just post your question to the OOC, and I will answer it.

That's all I ask of anyone, including you: make a good-faith effort to Wikipedia things if you are unsure, and then ask any remaining questions here only if you cannot find the answers on your own.

In general, if you decide to join us, I'd encourage you to take these high-quality apps as a challenge, not a deterrent: a challenge to do more research, think more deeply about your character's psychology, and build your skills as a writer. If you approach it in that light, you will have a sympathetic audience in me.

[The Grand Duchy Of Nova Capile]

Name: Diedrich Rudolf Grawitz

Age: 43

Gender: Male

Appearance: Image

"Don't let the picture fool you. I don't look like that anymore.
According to my former employers, I should be the perfect man. Taller than average, light hair, blue eyes, Nordic genes, I could give you my skull measurements if you cared. But time is no beautician. My hair is a little greyer— grayer? however you Englishmen want to spell it— and my skin a little waxier. I doubt even Frau Göring would enjoy my company now. Not that I care for her opinions."

Employment: "I was previously employed by the Schutzstaffel. Obviously they no longer require my services. To be exact, I served, for the past year at least, in the Hauptamt Persönlicher Stab Reichsführer-SS— Himmler's staff. I was little more than an adjutant, but I was involved in several projects established by this office. This would make me a person of interest to you, I believe."

---

Personality: "Well, that's a difficult question, isn't it?

"I am a product of my time. Just as you were brought up to love your silly stars and bars, or croon 'God Save the King,' so was I filled with piss and vinegar for the Kaiser. And that's why I joined the SS, if you must know. But whether I believed in all of their mythos isn't particularly relevant, as it's safe to say that I currently don't, or else I'd be in Argentina right now.

"I would use all sorts of words to describe myself. Cunning, friendly, punctual— we Germans will always pride ourselves on our Pünktlichkeit, if nothing else— but I doubt you would be so generous to me. I will say this: I am a selfish man. All men are, really, only I am willing to admit it. I work for whoever offers me the best. And for him I will work tirelessly. All other facets of my personality can be subordinated to my self-interest. Grant me immunity, and I will cause no problems."

Fears: "You know what my greatest fear is at moment? Your perception of justice. It should tell you a lot that I'm willing to risk the ire of the SS in order to avoid one of your war tribunals."

Hobbies: "Is this really so important? I enjoy the company of Italian opera, German poetry, French wine, and pretty women. I have been wanting for all those for quite a few months now. In my spare time I play cards and, once upon a time, wrote poesy and wondered at the stars. I am no longer so sensitive."

Skills: "I was quite good at pushing paper, or else befriending the highly placed— more likely a mixture of the two. But all that really matters to you is what I know."

Weaknesses: "My weakness is that I was and so will always be, in your eyes, a Nazi. I am afforded no sympathy, no second chances, no mercy— not that I ask for any. Other than that— well, I do not have to tell you that I am a regretful man. I was not heartless. And the weight of the last few years lies heavy upon me. My lesser defects you will learn soon enough."

---

Birthplace: Detmold, North Rhine-Westphalia, Germany

Nationality: German

Ethnicity: German

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Religion: None

---

Education (if any): Detmold Gymnasium

Biography: "I was born in Detmold in 1902. My father, Ernst Grawitz, was a bank manager of enviable wealth. He was a detached man, preferring to let his servants raise his six children. We got along well, when we saw each other. I was a good and popular student, and thus went to the Gymnasium, highest of the three types of secondary schools in Germany. My father wished for me to go to University, and I wished to join the army. But the war— the first war, that is— ended just as I came of age. I was desperate for action. I joined the Freikorps of Franz Ritter von Epp.

"There was much action in those days. I participated in the quashing of Leviné's little Red state in Bavaria, but I had no taste for combat. Most of me wanted to return to the peace and prosperity of my family hearth at the sound of the machine gun— but I am not quite so craven, or at least I was not then. I endured the post-war turmoil, and came out of it with new ideas about how the world worked and how it should work. The NSDAP appealed to me. I joined it.

"But within a few weeks I grew dissatisfied. The Party was nascent, and I had no desire to waste my youth on it. I returned to Detmold, was granted a position at my father's bank, and became a well-polished gentleman. I married Anna Rainer, a lovely girl whose family happened to be wealthy, and we raised three children: Diedrich, named after me; Isolde, named after my favorite of Wagner's operas; and Adolf, whose namesake you may be able to guess. He is probably very unhappy with me right now.

"It looked as if I would lead a normal life... but in 1933, Hitler became chancellor. There was a frenzy to join the Party, to have a member number in the three digits. I was fortunate enough to possess the later, and on a patriotic whim I sought a more active role in the Party. The life of a bank manager is not very interesting, you know. There was want of skilled administrators then, and so I became an organizer for my region of Germany. It was not long before, being a man of impressive connections and— perhaps more importantly— Aryan appearance, I was recommended to serve in the SS.

“I was attracted to the elite status, I won’t deny that. I worked in a mainly organizational role— I told you already I am no enforcer. You won’t find any mention of blood in my record, save paper murders. Paper murders; accounts of lives taken which passed over my desk. Yes, I was witness, and perhaps perpetrator, of many of those. I moved across many departments. Many men wanted me as their secretary. Anna did not always want to move with me, especially since a new move meant a new mistress, or several. She took the children back to Detmold in 1941. I haven’t seen her since.

“The war was a great boon for the SS. We grew exponentially. I came to work in the chief office, as adjutant to the man in charge of delegating replacements for the Waffen-SS. War is rather exciting when you read about it from several thousand kilometers away, I’ll admit. I met Himmler in 1943, and he took a liking to me. I was transferred to his personal staff shortly afterward. I was privy to most every project which flowed from Himmler’s imagination. I would rather not go into any more detail of my wartime activities.

“When Germany herself was invaded, I was not one of those who believed in a last minute reversal. I prepared to escape. I made arrangements for Anna and the children, too, of course. I told you, I am not heartless. But I did not end up fleeing. I would rather not end up murdered in some South American shanty, or else leaping at every shadow which falls before me. I have come to you. I have information you need. I think little else need be said.”

[Reverend Norv]

Beckenbauer is accepted, and has been added to the Dramatis Personae. Grawitz looks solid so far, considering that a first-person application inherently represents the character's delusions about himself as much as it does the truth.

[Khasinkonia]

Name: “Karoline Eva Ellermann. Karoline is my mother; call me Eva.”

Age: 14

Gender: F

Appearance:

Eva is tall and thin for a girl of her age, standing at 173cm, or 5’8”. Her hair is reddish brown, and she has greenish-hazel eyes. Her fingernails are all chewed short, except for those of her ring fingers, which she’s chewed to be as sharp and jagged as possible. In general, she wears her old blood and gunpowder-stained BDM uniform, but with the patches torn out or otherwise covered.

Employment: Former member of the Band of German Maidens. Informant for CPT Barry Fallon

---

Personality: Eva is a very serious, stolid person. She usually does what she is told without really protesting, but is by no means stupid. She’s observant, bordering on nosy. Behind her usual glare and crossed arms is a stew of questions and conflictions. As far as loyalties go, she is most dedicated to her family. Without question, she steps into each new empty role left. At 14, she has been a sister, father, and mother to her siblings. From this dutiful diligence, resentment has created pure vices. She has deep-seated anger issues, and only two ways to vent rage: Sobbing and punching.

Fears: “I guess I should’ve known the future I was promised wasn’t going to happen when the bombs started falling over us. Now when I wonder, who am I to know? What do I really know after all? That clean husband fresh out of the Hitler Youth? Doesn’t exist. Lebensraum is a lie. And where is my father in all of this? He said he was going back to seminary in Bavaria, but I haven’t gotten a single letter from him this year. My mother either died in the Volkssturm or is out in a Soviet camp. Where does that leave me? In charge? Without a family? Every direction I’ve been given doesn’t exist anymore. If I had to say I fear anything, it’s finding out how things could possibly get worse. What does the future hold?”

Hobbies: “It’s funny you think I have time for fun now. When I was little I enjoyed art and would make these little paper toys with Tesa tape. I haven’t done that since the start of the war. For fun, I used to get up early in the morning and wander around to clear the sleepy haze out of my head before going back to cook breakfast. My favourite song to hum was this one little Japanese ditty called something like “Rabauer Kotta.” I don’t remember where I heard it from, but it was catchy and upbeat. Really good for a morning walk. But I have a hard time remembering how the tune goes now that I can’t go out on a happy morning walk.”

Skills: “I was one of the handful of regular members of the BDM who got the self defence training with guns thanks to my mother, so I can handle myself with a handgun if you give me one...not that you probably would. I know how to sew, how to cut paper, how to housemake—all of those skills around the home I can do because I was taught how to do it. Camping and harvesting are skills I had to learn last year while your troops were still far enough away that we had crops to harvest. I know how to fix a car—at least, a German-made one. Never seen the inside of a Jeep. These are all things we just had to learn as we had to do more and more. That’s why I know how an anti-aircraft weapon works. That’s why I know about the mail system. I do have one skill that isn’t because of the war. In school, they taught me English, but as I’m not speaking it to you now, you can be assured that I’m not good at it. I voluntarily took a year of French, but then our teacher got drafted to help with the occupation. I do really know one foreign language though. My grandparents were Baltic Germans. My grandmother knew Estonian because she—don’t tell anyone, please—had a drop of Estonian blood, and needed it to speak with family. She didn’t teach it to my siblings, but I wanted to learn it. If I didn’t have so many other things, maybe I would have been a learned girl.”

Weaknesses: From a modern psychological perspective, Eva suffers from a severe case of parentification and therefore lacks a number of formative childhood experiences, instead replaced with the hallmark loss of place in the family unit. This displacement within the family combined with all of the external stressors surrounding the war manifest in, among other things, an inability to properly ask for help, and intense anger issues. When away from her siblings and without parents, this makes her a slave to anything that can be conceptually described as a job or duty. Her Nazi education has done nothing but exacerbate this combination of issues, as the hatred instilled in school combined with the anger issues make her at best a difficult case for proper Denazification. Emotionally, the many enemies of the Nazis served as a very real substitute for a punching bag during the war, but without any outlet for this stew of anger and hate, the investigators who’ve employed her unique perspective on things may find her quite volatile.

---

Birthplace: Berlin

Nationality: German

Ethnicity: “My father’s family came from Estonia after the First World War meant the Estonians nationalised German estates. I do have some Estonian blood, but it’s far back enough that the government didn’t really need to know about it. My mother’s family has lived in Berlin for generations on one side, but on the other, we have a lot of relatives in Württemberg.”

Sexuality: “It really doesn’t matter who I’m attracted to, if that’s what you’re asking. What matters is their traits. And what kind of a question is that, anyway? Only men can be homosexuals.”

Religion: Lutheran

---

Education: “I was in secondary school until the fall of Berlin.”

Biography: “I was born back in 1931 in the middle of a worldwide economic depression. Actually, the day I was born, Credit Anstalt collapsed. May 11. We didn’t really celebrate my birthday a lot—maybe that was part of the reason why. Never mind the fact that money was better used as firewood than currency. My mom used to tell me how my first Christmas, my relatives got together and took turns shovelling Reichsmarks into the fire while my uncle plucked a goose he’d caught by camping out in Volkspark Friedrichshain. My grandparents used to tell me that, even though they’d grown up in Reval in the Russian Empire, those winters felt colder than any other. Now, that was before the Nazis came into power. I have about two memories—both very hazy—of the time before the National Socialist party. Other than that, I grew up in Nazi Germany. The Third Reich is the only one I’ve ever known.

I don’t really know much about my family’s broader affiliations, as I was young and nobody felt it appropriate to tell me. Here’s what I do know: My maternal grandfather is from Swabia. He worked as an engineer and worked with DELAG during the First World War. He really loved that job, but the Hindenburg disaster ruined it all for him. After that, he sort of retired, but would work as a consultant with the military sometimes. He liked that too. I haven’t seen him in a few years though. On my mother’s side, the only member who stayed in Berlin was my grandaunt, who maintained the family home after my great grandparents passed because my grandfather didn’t want it. She disappeared when I was pretty young. My mom didn’t want to tell me, but my dad said she was accused of Jewish conspiracy.

On the other side, I have my Baltic German blood. My dad’s parents moved to Berlin after their farm was nationalised. My grandfather on that side, funnily enough, also went into mechanics, but he worked more with automobiles. He disappeared too. My grandmother said he went to go work with tanks, but we never got any letters, so I wonder if that’s actually what happened now that it’s been half a decade or so. My grandmother lived with us, and she liked to tell me about how things were growing up. She taught me Estonian because I kept asking her to, since she always claimed to know it so she could talk to the Estonians who were hired to help on the farm. I thought I could have it as a skill, since surely we were going to start Germanizing the Baltics at some point too, right? Evidently not, but that’s what I thought at the time. I suppose at some point the connection to the past was charming too. It’s an interesting language, actually. It’s not like German and English where I can envision English as a Frenchified bastardisation of a Germanic tongue. I almost feel like I’m a genuine alien speaking it—like a different person. It’s weird.

I guess I should focus on my immediate family now. I have—or maybe now it’s “had;” I don’t really know at this point—three siblings. Two younger brothers and a younger sister. Konrad is two and half years younger than me. Hedwig is pretty close to four years younger, and then Heinrich is seven years younger than me, therabout. I hope they’re all alive, but I haven’t seen them since we were separated during the Fall of Berlin. I’ve always looked out for them, but I can’t look out for them if I don’t know where they are. I’m sorry; I’m not being chronological at all with this. So where was I? Ah yes, childhood.

Growing up I never had too many friends. Most of the ones I did have were older than me. As the war went on though, more of them started to get drafted or get sent East to help settle it. As they got busy, I got busy, and I suppose it never occurred to me to make new friends. I mean, I know the names of a lot of the BDM folks I used to work with, but when my father headed out in 1940, I think, I started to have to do a lot more around my house as my mother got more involved in BDM leadership. First it was making sure my siblings got home safe from school. Then came laundry. Then came cooking. I was helping my brothers and sister get dressed in the morning, making sure we had soap for baths at night, and reading everyone their bedtime stories. I’m not even that good at cooking. But when mother isn’t home, either I cook or we don’t eat.

It’s all a blur, honestly. I woke up, got dressed, made breakfast, got my siblings ready, and escorted everyone to school. I’d almost always be late, so I’d be punished for it. Everyone else must’ve been better at keeping everything on a better schedule, I suppose. After school, I’d always go to BDM meetings, but first I’d have to sprint to make sure all my siblings who were too young to go to the Hitler Youth or BDM could get home safe. Then I’d get to my meeting, usually drenched in sweat, and my group leader would scold me for being late. Nobody ever believed my mother wasn’t home. They’d tell me how helpful I was and that it was nice I was making sure my siblings got home safe, but what’s the praise worth if it’s not really addressed? I was still in trouble for being late, after all. And then I’d stay long enough after to tell my mom if anything was wrong at home before heading home to start on dinner while my mom stayed around the office. I never really saw her doing anything more than a bit of paperwork, but I’m sure she was busy.

I guess at some point the BDM needed to start taking up more duties with more of the Hitler Youth needed for the war effort. I don’t really remember when it was, but at some point it happened that I’d tuck everyone into bed after dinner and baths and then wake up when it was still dark to help with the anti-air and the spotlights. It’s all a haze. I don’t know if it was a year or two years or longer, but for that whole stretch of time it just blended into a single day. The only thing that can really describe it is like the old war song “Wo alle straßen enden.” I’ll walk you through my schedule now.

I would wake up at 24:00 on the dot. On a good night, that would be four hours of sleep.

...

You’re supposed to get seven hours of sleep each night.

...

Sometimes, that’s all I’d get in a week.

…
...
...

I’d try to hum the fog out of my brain as I walked through the dark streets to my post. For six hours, I’d help with the anti-air. I’d always drop things and trip and get yelled at but I had to keep working. Who else was there to help?

...

I’d hurry home as soon as my time with the anti-air was over. I’d wake up my siblings and make them breakfast as they got ready. And I’d change into fresh clothes while preparing breakfast because I’d always sleep in my old clothes to make sure I wouldn’t go to school with gunpowder all over me. I think my hair still smells like gunpowder. I could wash my face but I could never wash my hair in the mornings. Sometimes I’d have black hair because the powder stained it. Everything I ate in the morning just tasted like gunpowder. I’d spit out soot sometimes while hurrying home.

wheeze Whenever I think about it, I just cough by instinct now.

After bringing everyone to school, I had to go too. Every day I was late. I had so many reprimands build up that I made a deal that they’d just beat me in the back of the head each time I was late in the morning since I didn’t have time to spare. For the first class of the day, I’d walk in last and my teacher would just smack me in the back of the head with his ruler. At least the pain kept me up. But when the headache from that faded, I’d usually be after lunch. A lot of days I either wouldn’t have time or would forget to make myself lunch, so I’d try to study. I only tried to take a nap once. That time, I woke up to the headmaster tapping his foot impatiently.

My science class was after physical education, and I’d inevitably fall asleep. It got to the point where Mrs. Petersen would just bop me on the head with her ruler to wake me up. I just barely scraped by in school. Considering I never studied, the fact that I never failed a class is a source of pride for me, but I haven’t had anything that could be considered good marks in years.

You know, I liked a boy once. His name was Rupert. I asked him if he’d like to spend time with me for...a date...and he said I was stupid, lazy, and wouldn’t find a husband. I wanted to punch him and tell him but I was so tired I just let it go.

After school, well you know. I’d make sure my younger siblings were home safe and then hurried to BDM. I was late there. Sometimes they’d let it slide, but every now and again my group leader would ask if I was trying to be a failure or something. As hard as I tried, I did everything and was good at nothing. My mom didn’t really offer me much more console than thanking me for being a help around the house, which I suppose is something. But that’s really all the thanks I got for trying to do it all.

You know the rest. I go home, make dinner, get everyone ready for bed, make sure studying is done, and so on and so forth until I finally sleep and then have to wake up before I’d even properly fallen asleep. I’d get to hear the beat of my heart with my own ears like a clock of death. And then the end of the cycle came. Volkssturm. I had to fight in the streets of the city I grew up in because I knew how to work a gun. I definitely shot at least one or two people, but I don’t know if they actually died from it. All I know is that once I only had two bullets left on me, I ran and hid in the rubble. I passed out, I guess because I hadn’t properly slept in an eternity. But I woke up in a soldier’s tent to hands on me.

I had my skirt flipped up on me and he was undoing my shirt. All I could do was scream. But I didn’t scream in German. Something came over me, and the words that came out were Estonian. A tall blond man practically kicked through the tent, and kicked the Russian and started scolding him. All I understood of it was he pointed at me and said I was Estonian. But his surprise was long enough for me to wriggle out from under him and dash away. Of course, a half-undressed teen in a BDM uniform is bound to catch attention. I kept running though, and didn’t stop until I tripped and blacked out. I woke up with a broken nose with my hands tied together. I got a few meals and at one point I was asked a few questions and told I was concussed, but I don’t really remember anything clearly. All I did was sleep and eat.

Apparently I talked in my sleep a few times, and at least once said something that alerted my keeper. I don’t know what it was I said, since nobody deigned to tell me, but I was handed over to the care of Captain Fallon. That’s where I’m in custody now. As far as I understand, I’m here to look at things and see if I recall or recognise anything pertinent to the investigation. Maybe if I behave, I can find out where my family is. But until then, I’m all alone.”

[The Grand Duchy Of Nova Capile]

Grawitz is complete.

[Reverend Norv]

Grawitz is accepted, and has been added to the dramatis personae. Karoline looks good so far - though I am glad you ran this concept by me ahead of time. Still, the idea of a teenage informant, in this time and place, is both quite plausible and quite interesting from a storytelling perspective.

That said, I am now putting a moratorium on applications additional German characters until we have more Allied characters. In particular, we don't have a single Brit yet - so if you are still looking for a character idea, that would be a welcome place to start.

[The Grand Duchy Of Nova Capile]

Your synopsis of Grawitz is brilliant, Norv. Anyway I'm looking forward to this RP! I do not have much experience with horror of the occult variety save for Lovecraft, of whose works I'm quite fond. Is Lovecraftian horror somewhat similar to what you've envisioned, or is there a different subgenre with which I should familiarize myself?

[Reverend Norv]

Your synopsis of Grawitz is brilliant, Norv. Anyway I'm looking forward to this RP! I do not have much experience with horror of the occult variety save for Lovecraft, of whose works I'm quite fond. Is Lovecraftian horror somewhat similar to what you've envisioned, or is there a different subgenre with which I should familiarize myself?

My approach to the occult elements here is more understated. I'm thinking of this as more like the first season of True Detective: there's a real question as to whether any of this stuff is real in an objective sense, or real only because of the way it shapes and warps perceptions of the world, or whether there's even a difference. The occult elements will manifest more as a gnawing sense of unease, of something being profoundly wrong, than as more directly observable phenomena.

At least until the third act, anyway...

[The Grand Duchy Of Nova Capile]

My approach to the occult elements here is more understated. I'm thinking of this as more like the first season of True Detective: there's a real question as to whether any of this stuff is real in an objective sense, or real only because of the way it shapes and warps perceptions of the world, or whether there's even a difference. The occult elements will manifest more as a gnawing sense of unease, of something being profoundly wrong, than as more directly observable phenomena.

At least until the third act, anyway...

Aha, I understand. Looking forward to it.

[Agritum]

An MP, a Provost, a Gendarme and a Kommandatnik enter a bar:


ᛏ̠̰͇̝́ᚺᛖ̸̻͔̩͍̻̙ ̴ᛒ̻̩͍̲̲ᛚ̗ᚨ̱̞͚̜͍̕ᚲ̪͔ᚴ͍̬ ̝͖̯͈͚͕ᛋ̶̥̹̹ͅᚢ̢͖͙ͅᚾ̵ ̙̹̗̥̰̤̮͡ᚱ͇ᛁ̝̬͙̰̩̙̀ͅᛋ̡̜͔̭̫̦̲ᛖ̟͈̰͞ᛋ͙̹͓͍̪̞̯̕ ̺̞̮͇̰͜ᚨ̥̲̟̱̫ᚾ̦̲̼̥͘ᛞ͈̠͓ ̫̳͞ᛏ̴͚̞ᚺ̛̖̫͇̹̰̦͕ᛖ̵ ҉̫̮͔̝͇ᚢ̻̺̙̪͖̜ͅᚾ͈̖͚͟ᛞ̛̖̗͇͈̻ᛖᚱ̤̰ᛗ̫̰͚̟̞̱͕ᛖ̳̳̠͡ᚾ͚̦ ̘̻ᚨ̹̕ᚱ̷͇͓ᛖ͙ ͕͍̥́ᚨ̷̪͙̣̺͖̯̯ᛋ҉̫̞͇̻̪͓ᚺ̹̜̯͉͎̖ᛖ̧̭̠̦̠ᛋ̰̤͜.̠̮̳͔͔̦ ͎͙̫̬͜ᛋ͍̦̩̠̩͢ᛁ̲̮̱͙̠̣̕ͅᛖ͉̰͇͕̟͞ᚷ̷͎͔͙.̲͇͚

[New United States of Columbia]

I was introduced to this by a friend and dear God this looks fascinating! I’d like to propose a British character and see if he could fit in this clandestine world of post war power and occult workings. I hope you’ll like him.

[Lancearc]

Lamont Boucher stands ready for judgement, finished up!

[Costa Fierro]

Name: Alexander Saar

Age: 46

Gender: Male

Appearance: Here.

Employment: MGB, formerly a detective in Tallinn prior to the war

---

Personality: Saar is a closed but pragmatic person who often values his own company and seemingly doesn't do well with teamwork, an irony given his employment. Although a little slow in doing his work, Saar is meticulous in what he does, pays attention to detail, and has an ability to focus in his line of work. His pragmatism comes out in that he is able to compromise between two extremes, and sees the usefulness of certain courses of action in areas in which they may not ordinarily be used. However, because of his closed nature, it's a struggle for people to get to know him, beyond socially required pleasantries.

Saar does have a short temper, and can become easily frustrated when things don't go according to plan. His temper can also be triggered by small things which annoy him, like people eating too loudly.

Fears: Saar hates dogs. He also fears his bosses, primarily because the MGB doesn't take too kindly to stuff ups.

Hobbies: Saar values peace and quiet, he likes hiking, walking, and has taken up photography and birdwatching.

Skills: Saar is an asset to the investigation because of his ability to focus on the task at hand, as well as familiarity with the Soviet policing system. He speaks limited English, but speaks Russian as well as his native Estonian. He has been trained in the use of firearms, although this has been limited to a sidearm.

Weaknesses: Saar is a chain smoker, and can get irritated if he doesn't have a cigarette every so often. He also is terrible at lying, and struggles with most social interactions.

---

Birthplace: Tallinn, Estonia.

Nationality: Soviet

Ethnicity: Estonian

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Religion: Atheism

---

Education (if any): High school level education.

Biography: Alexander Saar was born on March 15, 1910 into a working class family of six in Tallinn, Estonia, then part of the Russian Empire. He did reasonably well in school, having above average literary skills. He was considered to be a loner by his peers, and didn't have many friends throughout his schooling. He would often spend much of his time alone, reading, or walking around various parks, sometimes taking trips outside Tallinn into the countryside.

Saar's father Paavo fought initially with the Imperial Russian Army, and then with the nationalist forces during the Estonian War of Independence, and returned home with much trauma from his experiences. This translated to an untenable home situation, as he didn't know how to handle someone like Alexander, and thus he was pushed out of home at 17.

Saar then joined the police while living in a boarding house, and then began earning enough money to afford his own apartment in Tallinn. He spent seven years as a regular beat officer, before being selected to become a detective. During his early years, he developed a liking for a waitress at a local bar called Kaja, and he would often frequent it to spend some time with her when he was off-duty. Kaja, who was in an abusive relationship with a man 15 years her senior, eventually left her partner for Alexander, which angered said partner, and forced Alexander to shoot him dead during an altercation while he was on-duty.

As a detective, Saar found himself better off than he was as a regular officer, being able to work with a partner and improve his socialisation skills. As he gained experience, he also gained a number of skills, and his attention to detail and focus made him a valued asset among the police. However, he became too dedicated to his work, and neglected his now wife, Kaja, and the couple divorced when he was 29.

When the Soviets invaded in 1939, Saar found himself in an unenviable position being a detective. However, the NKVD valued his skills and his experience as a detective, as well as his familiarity with those living in the Estonian capital, and used him to help find potential enemies of the state and dissidents in Tallinn, and eventually, Estonia as a whole, between 1939 and 1941. When the Germans invaded and surrounded Estonia, Saar was evacuated, and then reassigned to Yekaterinburg before being reassigned to Estonia and the other Baltic states in 1944 to help hunt down Nazi sympathisers and members of the Forest Brothers. His skills meant that he was personally requested by the NKVD commander in Berlin to investigate the killing of Werner Krause.

[Reverend Norv]

Eva is accepted, Khas: and it says something about this setting that that bio is still not the most nightmarish thing a kid could plausibly have experienced over the last six years. Cy, I assume the reference to Fallon is okay? I will add Eva to the Dramatis Personae when I get an affirmative.

Boucher is likewise accepted: an interesting addition, and one whose distinctive personality is well-suited to the story we'll be telling. He has been added to the Dramatis Personae.

I don't necessarily have an issue with Saar, but I do want to clarify something with you, Costa. We've written together before, in a different crime RP; in that context, you had a tendency to use your character to go haring off on his own, creating in essence a side plotline of the investigation that involved only you and the OP. Given that Saar "doesn't do well with teamwork," I am concerned that you may intend to do the same here. I need you to understand that this is not that sort of RP: this is a collaborative writing process where relationships between the characters are as essential to our storytelling as the advancement of the plot is. Are we on the same page?

[Lunas Legion]

Well, this seems extremely interesting. Since we seem to be lacking Russians, I'll have an app up for someone from the NKVD today/tomorrow.

[Reverend Norv]

Well, this seems extremely interesting. Since we seem to be lacking Russians, I'll have an app up for someone from the NKVD today/tomorrow.

Excellent. Glad to have you!

[Lunas Legion]

Name: "My name is Vilen Yakovlevich Olenev."

Age: "Age? 24, not that I believe it. I... I feel much older."

Gender: "Male."

Appearance: "I do not look at myself much, except to shave. I am not tall, but I am big, muscular; steel mill and militsiya and NKVD and army make one strong. I keep my hair cut short, so it does not get in the way, and I shave when I can. I look tired, I suppose. But that is not uncommon. Who isn’t tired?”

Employment: “I worked in a steel mill when I was younger, now I work for the NKVD. Differing posts, same organisation, except for brief service with Army. I served with the militsiya... You would call them ‘civilian police’? Joined at 18, 1939. Easy job. Local, in Stalingrad. Paid well. Made a Junior Sergeant in the 10th NKVD Rifle Division, Internal Troops, on the 5th February 1942, promoted to Senior Sergeant when the 10th was reformed as the 181st Rifle Division. Promoted once more to Starshina by the war’s end. Transferred back to NKVD for occupation duties in Berlin.”

---

Personality: “Personality? Hah. Is good joke. War makes machines and monsters of men. I am… I am both. I regret it. A man should not have seen what I have. I follow orders, so I do not have to think and question what I have done, what I have fought for. It is… Easier that way. To do what is expected of me. Maybe someday, I must think on what I have done. I worry what I will see when I do. But it is not today, I hope.”

Fears: “My past, perhaps. What I see at night. Otherwise, I fear nothing, for what is there left to fear when one has seen hell itself?”

Hobbies: “I cook. It is relaxing, a useful skill, and a way to distract yourself in a warzone. One must always eat, even in hell. I play cards, sometimes, to pass time. Smoke, if I am lucky enough to have a cigarette on hand. Rare.”

Skills: “I was with the militsiya, once. Some of those skills remain. I know how to handle a crime scene, I know Soviet law, military law. I have a keen eye for detail, a skill that has saved my life more than once. I can interrogate, although that is more NKVD training than militsiya. I am a passible shot with a rifle, but most importantly, I am tough, a survivor.”

Weaknesses: “Weakness? Hm. Depends what one considers… Weak. My past has made me strong. I do not like to think on it, like a furnace it forged me, but… It is blinding to look at. If things remind me of it too much, in the present, I… I go back there. I do not sleep well. I am tired. But I must go on. The war is not over until we have found those responsible for what the Huns did, every last one.”

---

Birthplace: “Stalingrad. Even if it went by a different name then.”

Nationality: “I am a proud citizen of the USSR.”

Ethnicity: “Is a line to artificially divide the workers. I have none, but my parents were both Russians, so… That makes me Russian by capitalist rules.”

Sexuality: “I… I am not gay, but… I do not know the word. Is there a word? I… Just cannot conceive of having sex. Not… Not after what I have seen.”

Religion: "Like any good Soviet, I am an atheist. I hope I am right, at the end. I do not deserve Heaven for what I have done, and I fear what Hell could have in store for me."

---

Education (if any): “I spent seven years in education. No university. Little else to say.”

Biography: “I was born in what is now Stalingrad, 1921. My father was an industrial worker, a true hero of the proletariat; he fought in the civil war in the city, one spoke to Comrade Stalin himself during its defence! A true Soviet hero. I was proud to be his son, and I wanted to be like him.”

“School was, well, school; we learned to read and write, learned the history of Marxism and the bourgeoisie. I was not smart enough for university or a nine-year school, so I joined my father in the steel mill. Everyone in the Soviet Union should have to spend time working in steel mill or on farm. Builds character, shows life of proletariat, builds physical ability, toughness.”

“Worked in steel mill until I was 18, enlisted with the militsiya in 1939. It was them or the RKKA, and the militsiya let me remain home with my family and not be shipped off to barracks. Easy job. Quiet. Patrol streets. Help NKVD when they were chasing foreign spies or wreckers or monarchists. Not many of those around. Easy work.”

“Then, 1941. The Huns invaded like they were the Volga current, strong and fast. We were not mobilised then; we were given some old rifles to train with for a month or two, then they were taken away, sent to the front. We did not question it, we were not good shots, but we knew how a rifle worked. Not that any of us thought we would need it. 1942 came, and so did the tide of hell.”

“OBKOM and the City Defence Committee mobilised the 10th NKVD Rifle Division on February 1st. The city militsiya was used as officers for the 269th and 270th Rifle Regiments; we knew how to shoot, so we could train the civilians that joined our units. I was in the 269th.”

“We did not do much, for a while. One regiment was sent elsewhere to help with preserving order. We swept the city in late March for suspicious individuals, spies, criminals. We actually found one, which surprised me given how quiet my time with the militsiya was. I do not remember his name, but a factory worker reported his boss to us. His house was searched, some documents were discovered, and we saw no more of him after he was handed to the NKVD for further processing.”

“I do not know what happened to any we handed over to them. I do not care to know. We remained in the city proper while other regiments were sent out, reminders that despite the quiet that there was a war going on and despite the propaganda it was growing closer. One of the other regiments fought Brandenburgers, German commandos, at one point, disguised as our own men. We swept the local area again in July, arresting more spies and people without valid documents to be there. More spies, perhaps, or maybe refugees fleeing? I do not know. I did not care. Orders were not to be questioned.”

“Hell came to our doorstep in August. Have you ever been in an air raid? It’s… Terrifying is not strong enough. The sirens go off. You find shelter, anywhere. Basements. Sewers. Anywhere underground. Then you wait, and you hope. You can’t hear anything but the muffled sound of explosions, the distant roaring of anti-aircraft guns. You wait in darkness. You cannot see anything. No one says anything in the darkness, not that it would be heard. You emerge, and you hope that your building has not been flattened. That continued for weeks. Even as we fought, as we could not hide. They firebombed the city, several times, and it smelt of ash and burned flesh for weeks. I still remember that smell. I vomited when I first smelt it, but now… It does not even make me pause, except at the memory of the burnt skeletons, of the burned city, left behind.”

“My mother died in those bombing raids. I… Was angry. I had never felt anger before, so I did not know how to handle it. But the Germans were nearing the city, so I figured I would have my chance for revenge soon enough. Some regiments fought further north, in the industrial district, where my father worked; he was part of a worker’s militia that also fought in the defence of that part of the city. I did not know it until much later, but he died in the fighting for his steel mill, stubborn to the end.”

“My own regiment, the 269th, was stationed near the Mamayev Kurgan. We first saw combat on… September 13th? Fitting. We had dug in among the ruins of the city, barricades of rubble across streets, machine guns in the ruins of buildings, our few small anti-tank guns behind sandbags. They hit us in the morning as the sun rose, waking us with shellfire. It sounds different to bombs, they come in waves, repeated explosions, while bombs are random, chaotic. The bombers joined in too, of course. The units that trickled into our positions managed to hold the Germans back for three hours before they collided with our lines.”

“We held them. From mid-morning until nightfall, we held the Germans back. I saw men die. My first kill was a German, turned the corner in the maze of buildings and rubble and I pulled the trigger, close enough to see his surprised face. One of my comrades just dropped dead next to me, a bullet through his neck after he’d looked up over the barricade at the wrong time. But they did not pass on that day.”

“And we held. We fucking held. They brought up tanks the next day, more artillery, more aircraft. They broke through our lines, took the Mamayev Kurgan. And what did we do? My superior, junior lieutenant Lyubeznov, took our company and we took our fucking hill back. That was our hill, now. The Germans would take it over our bodies.”

“We fought for two more days, then the fucking Huns snuck in at night. We were ragged by then, tired, hungry. But we fought like cornered rats because this was our fucking hill. We lost the train station, they attacked our rear, but we fought on. I saw men die. I was the only one left of my original squad by the 16th, a new squad formed by remnants and survivors cobbled together. We fought over that hill for the rest of September. The Germans would attack, we would counter-attack, push them back, and they would attack again. That continued for weeks. Months. The 13th Guards Rifle and the 284th Rifle were our comrades on that blasted waste of a hill, reinforcing us, stopping us from buckling not from lack of will, but lack of men. We weren’t even a division by then, we were a battalion attached to the 284th for all practical purposes, we attacked when they did, repelled the Germans when they did. But the Huns never took that hill. You can still find metal and bone on it today, three years later, without a problem, I’ve heard.”

“We’d taken such heavy losses throughout September that we were actually withdrawn in October, across the Volga, with less than 200 survivors. I do not remember how many Germans I killed. I do not care to know. We were kept as a reserve in Operation Uranus, reformed as the 181st Rifle Division. I was promoted to Senior Sergeant in the 181st. But the war after that… It is a haze to me, compared to Stalingrad.”

“We struck back across Europe, the Huns on the run. We did not fight in any major battles as the 181st, and honestly, I am grateful. We were at Kursk, but the Germans barely touched us in their failed counter-offensive, not that we would have broken. We had fought at Stalingrad, and we had bled before we would break before, and we would do so again. It was easy going compared to one month in Stalingrad. We marched back across the Ukraine, across Poland. I was there when we retook Brest, when we took Modlin and its fortress.”

“And then… And then we made it to Germany. We marched across the land they had ravaged, saw what they had done, heard what they had done. They called us barbarians, but… They were just as barbaric on the attack as we were when we entered Prussia. I… I do not speak of the things we did there. I will not. It was revenge for Stalingrad, for what they did to us. I was not there when Berlin fell, we were advancing along the Baltic coast, and then the war was over. The 181st was sent back to Russia, no longer needed on the front, but the NKVD requested me back for the garrison forces in Berlin. I was still in their employ, and so I saw Berlin. A second Stalingrad. As they had done to us, so had we done to them. I did not know what to think. Was it revenge, deserved? But… I knew what I had suffered through, and… I would not wish that on any other human. Not even a Hun. So I got to work. It… It kept me on task. Kept me from thinking over what we had done. Besides, there were men who had willingly turned on the Motherland; justice had to be delivered to them, to the surviving higher-ups, to the other collaborators. The war may have been won, but those responsible will be found.”