The Ss Cometh Part 2 Bossman Schmidt

"The SS Cometh Part 2 - Bossman Schmidt"

IC Date: May 1940
OOC Date: Feb. 18, 2008
Where: Arras, France

What: Doktor Schmidt roars into town, assumes his new position as medical commissioner over Arras and charms the locals, in his way.

The Grid-----> > > > > THE GREATEST GENERATION < < <

Coordinates : 16 4

A fine example of a French town, despite the signs of modern warfare with several buildings completely ruined by German bombs. One area of this block is almost completely wiped out, other areas are completely untouched and makes a stark contrast to the ruins.

It is currently night time.

Sub-Rooms :
1. Air Raid Shelter

Doktor Schmidt

Front Lines <FL> Arras Hospital <AH>
Cafe Mason <CM> West <W>
East <E> South <S>
North <N>

Christiane arrives from the Arras Hospital.

Nose pointed up, an indignant frown on his face, Marcel marches off down the street, quickly putting some distance between himself and Henrik. Even his stride is full of indignation and pride and clumsy stumbling over street fixtures.

A german staff car roars down the street, moving at high speeds. It passes near Marcel and Henrik, the driver both less than competent and clearly not particularly concerned about pedestrians. The mystery soon becomes clear as the driver is revealed to be Doktor Schmidt, who steps out of the Volkswagen followed by two SS soldiers. Doktor Schmidt glares at Marcel and Henrik, as if blaming them for almost being hit by his car.

Doktor Schmidt looks like a cartoon Nazi with his black trenchcoat, peeked cap, and SS armband. Also his appearance, with the rigid back, gaunt, almost skeletal face, and sinister frown looks textbook villain material.

Henrik stands in place, half shadowed by the street lights that the bombings had knocked out. A long handled shovel is held in his right hand as the foreigner idly watches the staff car, and those who emerge from it. Expression flat, he simply watches as Schmidt emerges, glaring.

Christiane slips out of the hospital, an aura of mild indignation adding a briskness to her manner. She emerges just in time to see the car come careening to a stop. She leans against the door, watching it and Doktor Schmidt, her gray eyes narrowed.

Marcel is profoundly engrossed in his own exasperation, and the sudden sound and displaced air speeding by him is all the bureaucrat needs to jump off to the side of the street and trip on a large gap in the cobblestones caused by the bombings of the past week. Down he goes, onto his face in the middle of the street, felt hat rolling off to be crushed under the Volkswagen's tires.

"Watch where you're going, you bloody fool!" Doktor Schmidt shouts this at Marcel, his French formal enough to have been learnt in school. He ignores Henrik, because clearly a civilian wouldn't be glaring at him, and strides towards Christiane, the features of his angular face cold and stiff. He offers her a perumptory nod, although there is little respect or real politeness to it, calling out, "Guten tag, fraulein. I am Doktor Jacob Schmidt. You may have heard of me." Unfortunately, the good Doktor's reputation, however extensive it may be, is considerably exceeded by his vanity.

Henrik keeps a cold blue eye upon Herr doktor as Schmidt marches up to Christiane. His worn-out boots carry him toward where Marcel has fallen, reaching down with strong, calloused fingers to take hold of the beaurocrat's upper arm to help the twitchy fellow to his feet again, should Marcel permit. Quietly, he rumbles, "What acts like a sheep, the wolf will eat."

Christiane looks in Marcel's direction with concern when he falls, wincing the destruction of his hat. But she has little time to worry about him right now. "Bonjour, Doctor." Her tone is polite, if rather clipped, French. She shows no sign that she has heard of his reputation. "You are with the SS." Its more of an observation than a question. "The German soldiers said their doctors would be coming."

"Was it the black trenchcoat? The screaming crimson armband with the Swastika? The peaked cap with the crossed lightning bolts? The two armed SS Waffen men with me? What gave me away?" With a considerably effort, Doktor Schmidt forces something like a smile back onto his face. Perhaps it's too soon to show his true colours after all. He takes a deep breath, before continuing once again in a coldly formal tone, "I have been appointed as the medical commissioner for this area, and I am here to inspect your medical facility. Are you a doctor, Fraulein? I will need to see the man in charge of the hospital. But first, you will lead me and my men to your medical records."

Marcel isn't really in a state to disallow Henrik from helping him up, but once he's got his legs under him and is halfway to his feet he briskly pulls his arm away. Even his "Thank you Monsieur." is snappy, and he declines looking up at the foreigner at all. He is, after all, indignant. Once he spots his hat under the Volkswagen, he stares disconsolately at it, and lifts a hand to carefully comb his hair where it thins dramatically atop his head. He stands there, watching the car and the entrance to the hospital.

Henrik says nothing further to Marcel, once the little beaurocrat gives his clipped words and looks away. Henrik's own blue regard takes in the details of the staff car, and the apparent armaments of Schmidt's SS men. Lastly,, he regards Herr Doktor himself.

"The German accent, actually," Christiane replies dryly. "Though the rest does add up, now that you mention it." She doesn't smile back. But, then, his expression doesn't really invite joviality. "Medical commissioner? Yes. The soldiers said something like this would…inevitable. I did not think you would be here so soon. You will be assuming administration of the hospital, then." Her tone is kept carefully neutral about that. "My name is Christiane Morgenstern." The surname is German, she's obviously not, but she offers no explanation. "I'm a nurse here, but I've been here longer than most of the doctors. Our surgeons are not available at present. You can wait if you like or I can show you about. I fear our records may not be in the best of order. The times have been…difficult lately."

"You will learn my qualities, Miss Morgenstern. Laziness or tardiness is not one of them." Doktor Schmidt stares at Christiane as if the 'did not expect you so soon' was a direct insult upon his person. "Of course, I have no doubt that your superiors have already destroyed everything in the records worthy of my interest. I am also enforcing racial hygiene, so we are looking for untermenschen like jewry or other person of unclean descent or with congenital birth defects. You will go and set your archives in order. You have ten minutes, during which I will enjoy the sights of your lovely town. You may go." Doktor Schmidt shoots an odd look at Christiane before turning around, as if trying to silently communicate something without actually saying it out loud, or doing something as obvious as winking. The Doctor shoots a peremptory look around the square, his face frozen into a sneer of distaste. His cold grey-blue eyes slowly return to Marcel and Henrik.

Marcel has been watching, though now that the Doktor looks his way the balding man's attention hastily shifts back down to his crushed hat under the Volkswagen. He takes a couple of steps, but does not leave the same place, it merely seems that he is exercising his legs, then he bends down to wipe street dust off his knees, all small things that suggest activity. He's not just staring, he's busy, he's got good reasons to be standing there by the side of the street. And then he looks up again, this time fixing his eyes on the Doktor as if only now noticing him there.

Henrik sets the shovelhead to the battered street underfoot with the audible scrape of metal on stone. Leaning a small measure of his weight on the long handle, his even blue stare does not slip of dart aside as the sneering doctor turns an eye upon him. Rather, the big fellow regards the german in turn.

Christiane looks back at Schmidt, her jaw clenching as he goes through all of that. Her eyes widen a notch as he mentions the 'untermenschen.' She swallows. "Lesser men…" she murmurs. More to herself than Schmidt. She can't suppress a brief shudder but she manages to clear her throat to reply. "There…there are few Jews in Arras to begin with, Doctor, and those who did make their homes here have likely fled. Your army…approach has been no secret for some time. I doubt you will find too much of interest in our records." She hesitates before going back inside, catching his gaze, but her eyes narrow at it. Suspicion mostly. "Ten minutes?"

Doktor Schmidt wheels around, shooting Christiane a dark stare. "The Jewish plague has made Europe weak. We are the medicine that will expunge it. Ten minutes, fraulein. Is your hearing impaired? Do please carry on. I am abnormally averse to messiness. You will do well to instruct your other nurses to tidy up the dormitories while they still have time." One of the SS men with Doktor Schmidt moves to follow Christiane, but the Doktor shakes his head, pointing imperiously at the side of the door. Before he turns around, there is a hint of a flicker around his left eye, like the ghost of a wink.%r%rThis said, he turns back to Marcel and Henrik. The former merits only a cursory look, but he finds himself unable to ignore Henrik's continued stare, "What are you staring at, oaf?"

This is Marcel's cue to wander off and avoid the perils of association. He takes a couple of steps, makes a point to look longingly at his hat underneath the car, takes another couple of steps, bends down to rub at his calf, a couple of short steps later he draws out the pocket watch from his vest, looks at it, stares at the hospital with a neutral yet unavoidably dejected expression on his face, and continues at a slow step across the street.

Christiane narrows her eyes at Schmidt. Suspicion mingling with confusion now, along with an almost challenging spark. She half opens her mouth to speak again but thinks the better of it, especially after the SS man nearly accompanies her. Back still stiff she turns, with a sweep of her skirts, and strides briskly back into the hospital.

Henrik continues lightly leaning on the wooden handle of the shovel, as Schmidt speaks toward him. His deep voice carries a strong accent as he speaks french. "A german, it appears," he answers flatly as to what he is seeing.

Doktor Schmidt's steel grey eyes narrow to slits as he stares at Henrik, "Hold your tongue if you know what's good for you, fool." He pauses, realizing that the man doesn't sound local. He looks at him suspiciously, "You are a foreigner, yes? Have you registered your presence here with the Kanszlerie? All foreigners in the area are required to do so."

"I answer, when asked a question," Henrik rumbles in reply to the not-so-good Doktor. "Should I not?" he asks without color. As Schmidt goes on, the big man shakes his head slowly. "I am a swede. I have not been directed to any 'Kanzlerie'."

Doktor Schmidt hmphs. "I do not like your lip. If you have not been directed, then I am directing you know, sweded. Apparently, the military command is worried about collaborators or rebels or spies or some such nonsense. You have twenty four hours time to register yourself, and provide proof of identity and residence here, before you are interned or deported. Well, less than twenty four hours now, I should think." Doktor Schmidt doesn't seem particularly interested about this, even if his expression does indicate that seeing Henrik interned or deported would not be unpleasant.

Marcel is in no hurry to get anywhere. This is your ordinary innocent civillian's dilemma. Move too fast and you are running away, move too slow and you're listening in, not to mention staying in the vicinity of the SS for longer than desireable. Look too much and you'll be accused of disrespect, avoid looking and you'll just be acting suspiciously. The short man stops by the ruins of the cafe and peers in, feigning interest, before glancing back at the Volkswagen and the hospital door.

"Very few people do," Henrik notes simply to Schmidt's distaste for his 'lip'. "Yet so many continue speaking with me." Broad shoulders are rolled in a small shrug. "Where is this 'kanzlerie' office, then? So that I can obey the rules, like everyone else."

Christiane is gone for the full stretch of that ten minute deadline Schmidt gave her. Though not a minute more. The only slowness she shows is when her hand touches the hospital door. She hesitates to open it, taking a deep breath, but she finally emerges again. She's even changed into a fresh apron. Must spiff yourself up for the new boss, after all.

Doktor Schmidt shrugs his shoulders, "I do not know. I do not care. It your business, and the business of the administration to handle the matter. I suggest using your iniative, unless you wish to deal with the Gestapo." He shoots a Look at Marcel - the man is clearly malingering - before heading to the hospital. "You will show me all of your medical facilities, starting with the archives. I must see the extent of medical malpractice and slovenliness here before I can correct it, after all."

"I'll ask the first nazi I see. And the second," Henrik answers, uncaring whether Herr Doktor hears him or not, as he picks up the shovel and moves on his way. Blue eyes go from Doctor, guards, and car once again to the shell pocked street before him. He doesnt look back.

Marcel does not malinger. He dawdles. It is his hat back there, after all. Upon receiving a Look, he politely, nay, humbly, nay, spinelessly, inclines his head to the Doktor, and continues down the street without another pause, though his pace remains leisurely.

Christiane is eyeing Schmidt more speculatively, and nervously, than before. There's an added unease to her manner that wasn't present before the reemerged from the hospital. She licks her lips, glancing over her shoulder at Marcel. Rather to sorry to see him go. But all she says, even after the maligning of the hospital is, "Of course, Doctor. This way." And in she goes.

Arras Hospital (16 4)
The Grid-----> > > > > THE GREATEST GENERATION < < <

Arras Hospital is a relatively modern facility. The building was built about ten years ago, when the old hospital no longer served as well as it should, so the house still retains some of that freshness of new paint and new gear. Upon entering, there's a large waiting hall and a receptionist meeting the clientele. Hallways leading off of this area goes to various sections of the hospital.

It is currently night time.

Sub-Rooms :
1. Balcony


Out <O>

Christiane arrives from the Out.

Doktor Schmidt arrives from the Out.

Doktor Schmidt orders the two SS men to stay at the entrance of the hospital, apparently not worried about his safety. He follows after you, ready to mercilessly criticize every little failing he finds, imaginary or real.

The hospital is quiet, more or less. The exit of the BEF left the staff with a more normal load of patients to tend. The typical townie stuff, pregnant woman here, a broken limb or appendix removal there. Some effort - far more than ten minutes of it - has obviously been made to straighten up the place. Staff did have a few hours warning that this was coming. Christiane's first stop is the supply cabinet as she makes her way down the hall. She unlocks it, pointedly, to show off a bare minimum of morphine, bandages and other basic first aid supplies. Anything that might be useful in a military field kit has been picked over. "Your fellow SS personnel…took possession of many of our medical supplies when they arrived. I was told your staff could resupply us. I hope you do it soon. What we were left with will not last more than a few days, even if things remain calm."

Doktor Schmidt's sneer remains more or less fixed on his face, as he stares around the hospital. "Many changes will have to be made here. It does, I am forced to admit, meet basic standards of hygiene and orderliness, but things do not look organized enough." It would be a strange world, in which things would be organized enough for the Doktor's liking. In any case, any kind of system that is not his own is clearly inferior. He stares at the supply cabinet with displeasure, "I see. Well, it will be seen to. I will also require you to form seperate wards for military personnel and civilians. This hospital will, at least for now, primarily be treating injured German soldiers." Doktor Schmidt frowns slightly, as if that prospect didn't exactly fill him with joy. "With treatment of locals as a second priority. Continue the tour, Fraulein."

Christiane frowns. But she doesn't argue. "I will have the other nurses make arrangements," she says, moving briskly on to the offices where the medical records are stored. It's orderly. In that it's clean and things are put away. On closer inspection, the drawers are perhaps not as full of files as they should be. Even closer inspection would discover many of the files in the wrong place entirely - records of aged town residents mixed with children mixed with random files left over from the BEF's stay in Arras. Schmidt might even come across a grocery list. "I must apologize for the state of our records. The doctors were very busy with treating wounded during the German push and we had to leave the record keeping to some volunteers from town. Well-meaning people but…" She shrugs. What can you do?

"I am going to be taking the office of the chief of the hospital for my own use. I also want a list of staff, nurses and doctors, on my desk tomorrow morning, complete with personal records." Doktor Schmidt rifles through the archives, listening to your explanation. After a moment, he shoots you a look that implies that he, Doktor Schmidt, doesn't believe a word of it. "Yes, I am sure that they did. Soldiers can be awfully messy." His voice drips sarcasm, but he offers no other comment.

Christiane tenses as Schmidt looks through the records, swallowing hard at that look. "A list. Of course. Is there anything else you require of me today, Doctor? My shift is nearly over and my husband will be waiting for me."

"Your shift ended? Your records are a mess, your hospital is a disorganized dump, and you have time for your husband?" Doktor Schmidt sighs, adjusting his small, round spectacles. Clearly, he believes that you have your priorities wrong. "Mrs Morgenstern, you will find that I am not a man who tolerates sloth or inefficiency. I am sure that you will have time for kisses and sweet nothings once this place is

"Your shift ended? Your records are a mess, your hospital is a disorganized dump, and you have time for your husband?" Doktor Schmidt sighs, adjusting his small, round spectacles. Clearly, he believes that you have your priorities wrong. "Mrs Morgenstern, you will find that I am not a man who tolerates sloth or inefficiency. I am sure that you will have time for kisses and sweet nothings once this place ceases to be an embarassment to the medical profession."

Christiane stiffens at that, a hint of a flush creeping into her cheeks. An angry one. Sweet nothings? "Of course, Doctor. I did not mean to be…slothful. I will get started on separating the patients while you…settle in."

Doktor Schmidt nods, blithely ignoring Christiane's upset. "Very good. And have my office cleared out." He glances around, and then adds in a lowered voice. "I like Schnapps. Some good wine may be acceptable as well." He offers her a nod, before briskly walking towards the exit of the hospital, his work there done.

"Schapps?" This is clearly not something Christiane is used to fetching for doctors. Not that she's going to say no to him now, still nervous of SS wrath and all. "I will see what I can find. I wish you…luck in your work, Doctor." As Schmidt exits, she strides off to busy herself elsewhere.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.5 License.