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Onkel Neal · 02-13-09, 07:14 PM

Standing Their Ground

Feb. Friday the 13th, 1945 16:00

By now the village population has been devasted. Only a ragged brave few survived. Determined to strike back at the evil, Penelope and Mookie locked arms, their defiant gaze full upon the senior German military man. His wild claims had alarmed them, but whether he was a werewolf, or a man, he remained a German, and that was good enough for the people of Vanvikan at this point. Their lives were at stake with this vote, and they knew it.

Kapt. Jimbuna and the survivors of U-13 stood in readiness. The shocking lack of Wehrmacht troops had pressed them into service as a firing squad. A duty they would normally disdain, they now relished. Much like the villagers, the U-bootmenn were ready to lash out wildly, anything to buy them some time.

Wachoffizier Weiß Pinguin escorted Hauptmann Hitman to the school grounds. Hitman was very calm, almost pre-eternally so. As Pinguin began to bind him to the post, Hitman surged away, wrenching the Wachoffizier’s arms and sending him crashing to the ground.

“No!” shouted Penelope.

Kapt. Jimbuna, Oberon, and Mookie leaped on Hitman, struggling to keep him down. Penelope seized the Hitman’s right arm forcefully and Nisgeis lent his weight to the pile. At last, they dragged the condemned man to the post and lashed him tight. Hitman’s muscles bulged through his thin cotton short, veins as thick as cords.

“Mein gott,” exclaimed a breathless Oberon. “He’s an animal.”

The U-bootmenn straggled back to their station and quickly righted their rifles.

“This is pathetic! I am your master. Release me!” snarled Hitman. “You will feel the curse, your blood will stain the soil. I will greet you in Hell alongside my Father!”

“Fire, verdammt! Fire and fire again!” The rifles ripped the evening sky. Spittle flew from Hitman’s twisted lips as the bullets slammed home. For a moment that none would forget his eyes glowed an evil, appalling amber, then Oberon leveled the ancient pistol that had once belonged to NealT and fired a single, silver bullet into the breast of the beast.

All was still.

NIGHT begins

.

02-13-09, 07:14 PM	#723
Onkel Neal Born to Run Silent Join Date: Jan 1997 Location: Cougar Trap, Texas Posts: 21,293 Downloads: 534 Uploads: 224	Standing Their Ground Feb. Friday the 13th, 1945 16:00 By now the village population has been devasted. Only a ragged brave few survived. Determined to strike back at the evil, Penelope and Mookie locked arms, their defiant gaze full upon the senior German military man. His wild claims had alarmed them, but whether he was a werewolf, or a man, he remained a German, and that was good enough for the people of Vanvikan at this point. Their lives were at stake with this vote, and they knew it. Kapt. Jimbuna and the survivors of U-13 stood in readiness. The shocking lack of Wehrmacht troops had pressed them into service as a firing squad. A duty they would normally disdain, they now relished. Much like the villagers, the U-bootmenn were ready to lash out wildly, anything to buy them some time. Wachoffizier Weiß Pinguin escorted Hauptmann Hitman to the school grounds. Hitman was very calm, almost pre-eternally so. As Pinguin began to bind him to the post, Hitman surged away, wrenching the Wachoffizier’s arms and sending him crashing to the ground. “No!” shouted Penelope. Kapt. Jimbuna, Oberon, and Mookie leaped on Hitman, struggling to keep him down. Penelope seized the Hitman’s right arm forcefully and Nisgeis lent his weight to the pile. At last, they dragged the condemned man to the post and lashed him tight. Hitman’s muscles bulged through his thin cotton short, veins as thick as cords. “Mein gott,” exclaimed a breathless Oberon. “He’s an animal.” The U-bootmenn straggled back to their station and quickly righted their rifles. “This is pathetic! I am your master. Release me!” snarled Hitman. “You will feel the curse, your blood will stain the soil. I will greet you in Hell alongside my Father!” “Fire, verdammt! Fire and fire again!” The rifles ripped the evening sky. Spittle flew from Hitman’s twisted lips as the bullets slammed home. For a moment that none would forget his eyes glowed an evil, appalling amber, then Oberon leveled the ancient pistol that had once belonged to NealT and fired a single, silver bullet into the breast of the beast. All was still. NIGHT begins .