The darkest night by a new member


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#1 Death Korps

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Posted 20 November 2006 - 09:31 PM

Hi people. I just read a few things about Zombie-mods and someone wrote that one could (and should) write any zombie-related stories into the board. Well... here I am! I'm eighteen, german and male. I want to say, before you (hopefully) read my story, that I am NOT a nazi-like person. I wish to describe the situation and mentality of why and how the people of back then worked, thought and lived. But this does NOT mean that I'm okay with what happened or their ideology!

Anyways... the story:

The darkest night by Maximilian Groß

It was the darkest night. No one had told it would happen like that. No one could have forseen something like this. Not even the Fuhrer. Or could he? Benno wasn't sure what to think anymore.

Behind lay a burning city, almost every building was set afire. It was not only the allied bombing runs that made it burn to hell. Or AS hell, to be more precise.

He was ripped apart inside. On the one hand the Fuhrer had brought work and political stability to his country and family. On the other hand such shit happened. He still, somewhat, believed in what the Rundschau (a cinema-based propaganda show and in most cases the only information civilians had access to) showed. Somehow the facts of advancing russians in the east and soon-to-be-approaching Tommies (americans and british) from the french coast could always be coated in lies.

Lies that Benno could not see as what they truly were.

He tried to remember what his father had told him from his last visit in the cinema. "The Iwans (russians) are being stalled and soon we will attack again" He had said with a certain pride in his voice.

No more.

The Fuhrer had to be right, he just had to be. It was what Benno had been told since Kinder-garten. How could their leader be wrong? His father had always said things like "Who pays your books? Who pays you food? I do. But I couldn't do so without HIM."

Benno's faith was trembling dangerously. For a reason he didn't know he remembered what had happened to Jens, his best friend: One day Jens had asked why the Fuhrer was so good and great. Benno knew he hadn't meant it bad.

However, the SS-man that had paid his family a visit the next day had a different oppinion. Jens' family went to a vacation in a special camp. At least that was what he had been told. Somewhere very deep in his mind a little flicker of doubt shone up like a small candle in a big library.

On one hand there was loyalty to his family and his country. And on the other hand there was the shock about what was happening and its difference to what he was constantly being told. Together with many others from his Hitler-youth's group he ran away.


Michael sat within his trench. Soon the kraut-bitches would pay dearly. The day he had come home had changed everything. He had been a pacifist for his entire life until the bombed out crater. His house was a huge hole of blackened ash, dusk and rubble. He had collapsed right in front of his destroyed past. His engaged girlfriend had been in the building that day.

His ring had still stuck to the ashen hand of her ripped corpse. Soon... very soon...
He would them pay.

Noises came. It sounded like a horde of feet rushing forward. He smiled at the thought of his enemies inexperience. He would soon get his revenge. Then the first greyish uniforms came into sight and his brows shot up in confusion, disgust and surprise. Kids. Freakin' teens with rifles and knives ran towards the british lines in what looked like a laughable and feeble attempt of a faked copy of an attack. His smile was gone.

"Donnt shuut! We sarrenda" Someone yelled from the moving group of greyish uniforms. The distinct shape of german helmets came, together with a few unexpected sights, to view.  Women and old men, some even with children in their arms, ran in the middle of a roughly held circle. A few older teens seemed disclipined enough to hold a formation while the younger ones simply ran.

Most of the kids seemed armed but only a few held their weapons ready and those who did seemed to be aiming at something else.  The group came closer and Michael refused to shoot. It was pittable.

"Is this the great Wehrmacht? Is that what almost killed the entire world?" Someone beside him murmured in a thick irish accent. The group either didn't care about their enemies or was oblivious ot them. Not a single round was fired.

The first people came to the trench's rimm but they didn't stop their running. British soldiers who had stood up to halt them and take their weapons simply stared at their stupid running.

His knife was ready. He'd make them pay.

One of the greyish figures ran closely past him and Michael threw himself up. With one swift motion he pressed the man against a collapsed pillar and his knife against his throat. To Michael's surprise there was nothing but blank fear and angst in his sickeningly widened eyes.

For a moment Michael staggered and the somewhat experienced Landser fend from his grip. The man ran, almost fell to the ground after slipping in a puddle of water and kept yelling: "Lauft! Lauft"

Another british man tried to stop him but he just gripped the englishman's shoulders, shook him like a madman and yelled: "Lauf Mann! Lauf"

Then the Landser ran. Michael was confused but when he heard the russling sound of a tank's tracks he ducked. He saw an "SdKfz", a half-track vehicle with a topmounted machinegun and a huge payload of soldiers inside, driving onwards. His heart went cold from anger when its backmounted hatch opened after it received a hit to one of the tracks.

Had it only been a distraction? Were there real soldiers inside? Or were there maybe even some of the feared Waffen-SS inside? The Fuhrer's loyal elite? People came out of the hatch while flames from behind illuminated it in a cloud- and moonless night. Like shadows, barely visible but loudly hearable, two figures came out of it. One was obviously female while the other wore a grey uniform.

No matter how many he would make the germans pay.

The male shouted something but he couldn't understand what, then something simply black yanked him back into the vehicle. It seemed like as if the man would simply fall or slip into the vehicle from Michaels angle. He wasn't right.

Then something came out of the car: Blackened fog in the shape of thin straws and even thinner joints protruded from the inside. It seemed to grip on the hatch-frame's outer ends and then something thrust itself forward. In a motion to quick to see for the eye a bigger but somewhat elegant something was literally shot out of the car.

Michael didn't see it but he saw the woman drop to the ground. Instead of that he felt something rush through his head like a bullet. But somehow his head remained, physically seen, intact. He was thrust back and soemthing emptied him.

Everything simply vanished: Memories, feelings, wishes, desires, urges and needs. Everything left and something else took ist place. Something that was always there but could not take over because of the other things. But now it could.

Like a couple of chunks of ice in a glass that held the water from taking its righteous place it felt. But eventually the chunks melt and the entire glass was full of water. Oh yes. He didn't notice the man with the man with irish accent until said man slapped him.

Michael awoke. Again, but somehow for the first time as well. A contrast, a para-doxon. He'd make them pay.

Suddenly there was only hatred. Hatred upon his beloved ones deaths, hatred upon the whole world, hatred upon his life and upon himself. And the irishman started to frown. A smile came across Michaels lips when his hands wrapped around the man's throat and pressed. It only took one push to the adam's apple and the amn would die.

Everything seemed so clear for Michael: Hatred. It was the problem, the solution and the whole thing in one. And he could make people pay with his hatred. The irishman choked an gurgled while his throat was shut. Michael looked up and saw two greyish soldiers, one still just a kid, staring at him. He stared back and saw something... different.

Slowly he drew his pistol and aimed it at the irishman's head. He'd make him pay. He'd make ALL of them pay. The man raised his cramping arm in a futile gesture but Michael fired and looked up. The two men still looked at him and something made assured him: They wouldn't have to pay. Something made them okay, standable and acceptable.

No they would even help him with making all the others pay.

Michael stepped forward and the two men, his new brothers in arms, followed. The older one had been an overseer in a nearby concentration camp while the other one tried to hide among the normal troops. But it didn't matter.

Hatred mattered. And they hated as well. Hate and pay. For the first time Michael felt nothing but happiness. If happiness can be discribed as hatred.


Benno ran further. He took a small sideroad instead of staying with the main group when he heard the noises. He turned around and saw soemthing he had seen before. Well... he hadn't seen it before in one important detail:

Most of the british and all of the slower or weaker runners, as well as one of the cowards who had hidden in the vehicle while pretending to be cripples, shot at those who stood at the front and middle of the running crowd.

The group was decimated by ist former members. Civilian women suddenly took weapons from shot soldiers and fired at those who still ran. Tommies shot other Tommies, Germans shot their fellow civilian protectees. For someone who hadn't seen it before it'd look like a normal war-crime but not for Benno.

No, something had made them different. Something had made them turn. Hatred.


View PostDeath Korps, on 20th November 2006, 10:29pm, said:

Hi people. I just read a few things about Zombie-mods and someone wrote that one could (and should) write any zombie-related stories into the board. Well... here I am! I'm eighteen, german and male. I want to say, before you (hopefully) read my story, that I am NOT a nazi-like person. I wish to describe the situation and mentality of why and how the people of back then worked, thought and lived. But this does NOT mean that I'm okay with what happened or their ideology!

Anyways... the story:

The darkest night by Maximilian Groß

It was the darkest night. No one had told it would happen like that. No one could have forseen something like this. Not even the Fuhrer. Or could he? Benno wasn't sure what to think anymore.

Behind lay a burning city, almost every building was set afire. It was not only the allied bombing runs that made it burn to hell. Or AS hell, to be more precise.

He was ripped apart inside. On the one hand the Fuhrer had brought work and political stability to his country and family. On the other hand such shit happened. He still, somewhat, believed in what the Rundschau (a cinema-based propaganda show and in most cases the only information civilians had access to) showed. Somehow the facts of advancing russians in the east and soon-to-be-approaching Tommies (americans and british) from the french coast could always be coated in lies.

Lies that Benno could not see as what they truly were.

He tried to remember what his father had told him from his last visit in the cinema. "The Iwans (russians) are being stalled and soon we will attack again" He had said with a certain pride in his voice.

No more.

The Fuhrer had to be right, he just had to be. It was what Benno had been told since Kinder-garten. How could their leader be wrong? His father had always said things like "Who pays your books? Who pays you food? I do. But I couldn't do so without HIM."

Benno's faith was trembling dangerously. For a reason he didn't know he remembered what had happened to Jens, his best friend: One day Jens had asked why the Fuhrer was so good and great. Benno knew he hadn't meant it bad.

However, the SS-man that had paid his family a visit the next day had a different oppinion. Jens' family went to a vacation in a special camp. At least that was what he had been told. Somewhere very deep in his mind a little flicker of doubt shone up like a small candle in a big library.

On one hand there was loyalty to his family and his country. And on the other hand there was the shock about what was happening and its difference to what he was constantly being told. Together with many others from his Hitler-youth's group he ran away.


Michael sat within his trench. Soon the kraut-bitches would pay dearly. The day he had come home had changed everything. He had been a pacifist for his entire life until the bombed out crater. His house was a huge hole of blackened ash, dusk and rubble. He had collapsed right in front of his destroyed past. His engaged girlfriend had been in the building that day.

His ring had still stuck to the ashen hand of her ripped corpse. Soon... very soon...
He would them pay.

Noises came. It sounded like a horde of feet rushing forward. He smiled at the thought of his enemies inexperience. He would soon get his revenge. Then the first greyish uniforms came into sight and his brows shot up in confusion, disgust and surprise. Kids. Freakin' teens with rifles and knives ran towards the british lines in what looked like a laughable and feeble attempt of a faked copy of an attack. His smile was gone.

"Donnt shuut! We sarrenda" Someone yelled from the moving group of greyish uniforms. The distinct shape of german helmets came, together with a few unexpected sights, to view.  Women and old men, some even with children in their arms, ran in the middle of a roughly held circle. A few older teens seemed disclipined enough to hold a formation while the younger ones simply ran.

Most of the kids seemed armed but only a few held their weapons ready and those who did seemed to be aiming at something else.  The group came closer and Michael refused to shoot. It was pittable.

"Is this the great Wehrmacht? Is that what almost killed the entire world?" Someone beside him murmured in a thick irish accent. The group either didn't care about their enemies or was oblivious ot them. Not a single round was fired.

The first people came to the trench's rimm but they didn't stop their running. British soldiers who had stood up to halt them and take their weapons simply stared at their stupid running.

His knife was ready. He'd make them pay.

One of the greyish figures ran closely past him and Michael threw himself up. With one swift motion he pressed the man against a collapsed pillar and his knife against his throat. To Michael's surprise there was nothing but blank fear and angst in his sickeningly widened eyes.

For a moment Michael staggered and the somewhat experienced Landser fend from his grip. The man ran, almost fell to the ground after slipping in a puddle of water and kept yelling: "Lauft! Lauft"

Another british man tried to stop him but he just gripped the englishman's shoulders, shook him like a madman and yelled: "Lauf Mann! Lauf"

Then the Landser ran. Michael was confused but when he heard the russling sound of a tank's tracks he ducked. He saw an "SdKfz", a half-track vehicle with a topmounted machinegun and a huge payload of soldiers inside, driving onwards. His heart went cold from anger when its backmounted hatch opened after it received a hit to one of the tracks.

Had it only been a distraction? Were there real soldiers inside? Or were there maybe even some of the feared Waffen-SS inside? The Fuhrer's loyal elite? People came out of the hatch while flames from behind illuminated it in a cloud- and moonless night. Like shadows, barely visible but loudly hearable, two figures came out of it. One was obviously female while the other wore a grey uniform.

No matter how many he would make the germans pay.

The male shouted something but he couldn't understand what, then something simply black yanked him back into the vehicle. It seemed like as if the man would simply fall or slip into the vehicle from Michaels angle. He wasn't right.

Then something came out of the car: Blackened fog in the shape of thin straws and even thinner joints protruded from the inside. It seemed to grip on the hatch-frame's outer ends and then something thrust itself forward. In a motion to quick to see for the eye a bigger but somewhat elegant something was literally shot out of the car.

Michael didn't see it but he saw the woman drop to the ground. Instead of that he felt something rush through his head like a bullet. But somehow his head remained, physically seen, intact. He was thrust back and soemthing emptied him.

Everything simply vanished: Memories, feelings, wishes, desires, urges and needs. Everything left and something else took ist place. Something that was always there but could not take over because of the other things. But now it could.

Like a couple of chunks of ice in a glass that held the water from taking its righteous place it felt. But eventually the chunks melt and the entire glass was full of water. Oh yes. He didn't notice the man with the man with irish accent until said man slapped him.

Michael awoke. Again, but somehow for the first time as well. A contrast, a para-doxon. He'd make them pay.

Suddenly there was only hatred. Hatred upon his beloved ones deaths, hatred upon the whole world, hatred upon his life and upon himself. And the irishman started to frown. A smile came across Michaels lips when his hands wrapped around the man's throat and pressed. It only took one push to the adam's apple and the amn would die.

Everything seemed so clear for Michael: Hatred. It was the problem, the solution and the whole thing in one. And he could make people pay with his hatred. The irishman choked an gurgled while his throat was shut. Michael looked up and saw two greyish soldiers, one still just a kid, staring at him. He stared back and saw something... different.

Slowly he drew his pistol and aimed it at the irishman's head. He'd make him pay. He'd make ALL of them pay. The man raised his cramping arm in a futile gesture but Michael fired and looked up. The two men still looked at him and something made assured him: They wouldn't have to pay. Something made them okay, standable and acceptable.

No they would even help him with making all the others pay.

Michael stepped forward and the two men, his new brothers in arms, followed. The older one had been an overseer in a nearby concentration camp while the other one tried to hide among the normal troops. But it didn't matter.

Hatred mattered. And they hated as well. Hate and pay. For the first time Michael felt nothing but happiness. If happiness can be discribed as hatred.


Benno ran further. He took a small sideroad instead of staying with the main group when he heard the noises. He turned around and saw soemthing he had seen before. Well... he hadn't seen it before in one important detail:

Most of the british and all of the slower or weaker runners, as well as one of the cowards who had hidden in the vehicle while pretending to be cripples, shot at those who stood at the front and middle of the running crowd.

The group was decimated by ist former members. Civilian women suddenly took weapons from shot soldiers and fired at those who still ran. Tommies shot other Tommies, Germans shot their fellow civilian protectees. For someone who hadn't seen it before it'd look like a normal war-crime but not for Benno.

No, something had made them different. Something had made them turn. Hatred.


#2 Crazy Gringo

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Posted 21 November 2006 - 05:38 PM

Welcome to the boards Death Korps!
Nice piece of fanfic there. It is sorely needed here in the Silent Storm part of the forum.
You doubleposted it in case you didn't notice.  :D
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#3 Death Korps

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Posted 22 November 2006 - 12:23 PM

whow Sorry I didn't notice that, sorry. However its nice to have a review so soon. The next chapter will come soon!

#4 FullAuto

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Posted 23 November 2006 - 11:40 AM

Aye, we desperately need more fanfic here.  Good man.   :D

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#5 Death Korps

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Posted 25 November 2006 - 10:36 AM

Hey folks, my story is back. Gunfights and murder is yet to come.

Chapter 2: Black and white?[b]

The us-marines slowly advanced further into the city's outskirts. It wouldn't be long until they reached the first houses. Most of them seemed empty and deserted but the marines were told on what to do. War had taught them and war was a sadistic teacher. He chose random people of his "class" and asked them questions no one could answer. And everytime one didn't know the answer one had to pay for the lesson.

And the price was life.

They had seen the most disturbing things: Frenzied hitler-boys blowing themselves with grenades in a group of soldiers, for example. However they surely weren't prepaired for what came.

The entire city seemed to be set afire within an instant. It was a fluent change of a quiet afternoon to a flaming inferno. It had begun when the marines and two shearman tanks had been in the middle of the city. Buildings started to burn and it began to snow.

The snow, normally small white crystals, molt in the air and changed into rain. However the flames didn't seem fazed in any way. The marines took a circular position around their shermans and kept advancing.

The entire city was, if one didn't count the flames' harsh noises, soundless and quiet. Nothing moved and nothing made a noise. The marines came across a large alley and looked at what lay in front of them:
Bodies. They lay in most disturbing positions and only a few of them were armed. Tables, desks and other furniture lay devastated on the ground in poorly makeshift barricades. The rain slowly washed the blood away and it seemed to flow as a small river on the opposite of where the marines stood.

No one spoke. A sight like this was different from what they had seen before. The Germans always hid in buildings, craters or behind the rubble of collapsed buildings but they never stood in the central and widely open space of a village. It spoke against all kinds of military logic. It was a contrast.

And something else made the whole sight stand out from everything. Children and women lay in the formations middle. Some still clutched their mothers or children and not a few of them looked like as if they had been murdered on purpose.

Most of the american troopers shook their heads while several others simply vomitted. Some of them had heard from massrapings that the sowjet army did often but it simply didn't explain the whole thing.

The fallen Landser's lay around the civilians like a ring around a finger. Most of the marines began to question their motives: Were they responsible for that? Had a different american unit been there already? And why did most of the civilians look like as if they had been executed?

They slowly moved into the dead field with their tanks infront of them. It became clear that these soldiers had died while fending of something. But what would attack them in a such strange matter? And why didn't they surrender?

More and more fallen soldiers came into view and, strangely, there were a few american ones among. The marines stopped and looked around when one of raised his left hand. They all knelt down when one of them spotted the source of the noise.

A few metallic klicks came and their sargeant yelled: "Down" when something began to move. A few saw an Mg42 pointed at them but none could believe from where: Under a small pile of corpses something moved and its muzzle stuck out.

Two marines sneaked behind the pile and slowly lifted a corpse from its top. The muzzle was no longer there and they spotted a small grip. One of the two opened what could be a latch and a ladder came into view. They motioned for their sargeant who came in first.

He climbed down and felt something grip his heart. When he saw a small door he got from the stairs and opened it. But instead of stepping through he held a small mirror halfways into the open door. He saw a metallic flash, certainly from a muzzle and moved the mirror a little further.

He saw a helmet which was clearly of german design. He slowly got up the ladder again and whispered to one of soldiers to come down with him. All the other soldiers kept waiting around the hatch and everone looked at him curiously.

They climbed down the stairs and came to the door once again. The sargeant got to the door which was still slightly shut. His soldier wanted to open the door but the sargeant shook his head. A small string, nearly invisible to the unpractised eye, stuck from the door's frame to somewhere inside the room. A stickgrenade-boobytrap. Whoever was in there knew what he was doing.

"Hallo? Hier ist die US-Armee" The soldier spoke in german and through the door. No answer came.

"Wir sind hier um zu reden! Wenn sie versprechen nicht zu schießen kommen sie heil wieder nach Hause"

The sargeant rolled his eyes while lighting a cigarette. Promising them they'd come home without anymore dying normally worked.

"Das haben die auch gesagt! Verschwindet" Finally a reply came.

"Wer hat das gesagt? Wer war vor uns hier?"

"..."

"Wir wollen hier niemanden umbringen, der Scheiß-krieg ist sowieso aus"

"Haut ab ihr Amis! Ihr bringt Sie nur hierher! Das ist mein Bunker"

The sargeant didn't understand a single word but he knew it didn't go well since his soldier scoffed slightly. Then he quickly raised his arm what meant "Silence." Whispers seemed to come from the other side of the door.

"Hört mal: Mein chef wird ungeduldig und er wird hier einfach nen Flammenwerfer reinschießen lassen wenn ihr jetzt nicht rauskommt"

A different voice came from inside: "What's the heaven's color?" Both the sargeant and the soldier muttered "Blau" but they didn't even notice nor remember it. Their bodies had done something without their will.

"Wait a moment" A few hushed words were spoken but both americans couldn't understand what it was. Then something made noises of movement and a few clicks came. After that the door opened just a little more.

"Let the dolmetcher come in"

And so they entered.


Two men slowly entered the room. One of them held a tommygun and had a medic's badge on his shoulders and helmet. The other had a carbine in his grasp but both didn't seem to be intended to use their firearms. The other one had a calm face and a cigarette lit.

Both had a look of utter shock on their faces when they saw the strewn bodies and blood on the ground and on the walls. Most of the dead seemed to be shot while others showed signs of splinter- and shrapnellwounds.

"Jesus in heaven! Was ist hier passiert???" The medic asked. Infront of them lay a wide open room which ended in a small corridor. The beginning of the corridor was covered with sandbags and upon it lay, oh surprise an Mg42. It was directed at them.

The corpses stunk terribly and all of it made a horrible expression upon anyone in the room. The sargeant moved further until he saw the helmet's face. Darkly blue eyes narrowed and stared at him full of hate and obvious rejection.

Then a hand quickly landed on his shoulder and pressed him down. A hushed and female voice came: "Nicht! Die werden uns doch alle umbringen"

"Nein werden sie nicht Jens hat gesagt-"

"Mir doch egal was Jens sagt"

The medic cleared his throat rather loudly what silenced both of them. He slowly moved forward after dropping his weapon on the ground. When he came to the barricade he raised his hands and slowly stepped over the sandbags.

A youngster in a uniform, certainly too shortgrown for his age, stood in a grey uniform and with a pistol in his hand infront of a girl. She seemed to about eighteen years old and had both arms wrapped around his waist.

His eyes met hers and she shrunk a little while hiding behind the slightly smaller youngster. Both of them seemed to detest the two americans who walked into a small room at the corridors side. Dim light barely illuminated a few corners and it all looked rather spooky.

A Landser sat at and leant against a wall with an Mp40 resting on his lap. His body swayed back and forth rythmically.

"Wer sind sie? Welcher Einheit gehören Sie an?" The medic asked.

"Not important. Stay in this bunker. Maybe they haven't noticed you yet. BENNO" The man said and the young man came in with the girl following him everywhere he went. His left hand held hers while the right still held the pistol.

"Mach die Tür zu und pack 'ne Granate an die Luke."

The guy who had signs of both adulthood and childhood in his facial features and body nodded and went to the bunkers entrance. Both americans stood in the room and looked at the appearantly injured man.

"You should stay here. They'll come for you otherwise."

"Who?" The sargeant asked with a slightly happy undertone. At least he could speak a, in his oppinion, normal language.

"I don't know what it is but it makes everyone turn. Tommy's shoot on Tommy's, Civilians suddenly grab guns and so on...Did you notice the american bodies out there? They had been part of some unit but two thirds of them turned and attacked those who had remained normal. We kinda... saved them and they agreed to help us protecting the left civilians and ourselves. Well... you saw the results."

"Turn? What do you mean with turn?"

"As said, I don't know what it is... they just attack everyone who isn't like them."

Benno, as the young man was called, came into the room. "Sag den Ami's sie sollen abhauen. Ich will sehen ob `se den Draht diesmal sehen." He said, oblivious to the fact that the medic could understand what he said.

"Well I suggest you stay here. Take a look through the scope if you don't believe me."

Both the sargeant and the medic looked at the "scope". It somewhat reminded them of what submarines were supposed to have. The sargeant took a look through the scope and saw what went on above them.

A sherman's turret turned to the left and suddenly exploded. A group of marines was hit as well and couldn't duck in time. Soldiers, both members of the Wehrmacht and from a british group, stormed over the us-marines like a swarm of hornets. Some of them were hit but they didn't bother much since most of them simply moved on.

The sargeant stared in horror as his entire unit was cut down by a Tiger-tank and soldiers from both allies and foes. His unit was quickly decimated while the other faction didn't lose many of their troops.

He saw them being hit, saw a shell of the sherman hitting into a small group of enemies, saw most of them keep going with cut and torn off limbs but without pain in their faces. Something seemed to be missing inside them, something was no longer there.

"You'd better explain this to me." The sargeant growled, unaware of that his sadness over seing so many of "his" people die made him angry.

"I told everything I know now let us just lay low. Otherwise they will find us too."

The sargeant didn't know this would be part of something big. He didn't know that the entire city would be obliterated by hundreds of bombers. He didn't know that the city of Hassburg would become a rumor, hushed in frightened and unknowing tones, among the leadership of the allied forces.

He didn't know the whole thing would be kept a secret and he didn't know that most whitnesses would be silenced if they dared to speak up. But something deep inside his heart and mind knew that it all would repeat.

History always repeats since humans don't learn from their mistakes.


Author's note: This is the prolouge of my story. More will come soon!

#6 Death Korps

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Posted 13 January 2007 - 10:04 PM

Due to lack of reviews from people in this forum (no one said anything in about three weeks) I close my story. Sorry for those who enjoyed it, but it feels pointless to keep writing without any response. If someone wants me to continue he/she can tell me and I'll consider it.

#7 brandeburg

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Posted 22 January 2007 - 07:38 PM

View PostDeath Korps, on 13th January 2007, 11:04pm, said:

Due to lack of reviews from people in this forum (no one said anything in about three weeks) I close my story. Sorry for those who enjoyed it, but it feels pointless to keep writing without any response. If someone wants me to continue he/she can tell me and I'll consider it.
hi, you did a good job. Sorry, I am working far away from internet facility !so when I am home, I am reading!
Anyway, the forum seems to be dead ! Do I am a kind of Zombi ? rising from deep grave, the one of old "silent Stormer". Sorry Death korps if the crypt is empty, I won't be back to read you until 2 weeks.
Good luck.
"pillerit Saksan oli parhaita"




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