Suicidal Devotion To Duty

"Suicidal Devotion to Duty"

Who: Wagner, Schwenkfeld, Fuchs, Falk, Smith, Bret, Adolf Lutz, Heckenschutze & the NPC Greeks
Where: Athens, Greece

What: The Nazis parade through the streets of Athens to show off their victory for the populace. One Greek makes a display of his own…

Major road

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

Coordinates : 2 6

The Thermopylae valley floor is quite flat, the steep sides east and west clearly visible with little to obscure the far side. Through the valley wends a road, curving slightly to avoid marshy areas near the river.

It is currently night time.

Sub-Rooms :
1. Foxhole

Adolf Lutz

(#505) SfKfz. 251/1
(#2312) Zundapp KS750

(Item 1) Stielhandgranate Ranged Weapon
(Item 2) Stielhandgranate Ranged Weapon
(Item 3) Stielhandgranate Ranged Weapon
(Item 4) Stielhandgranate Ranged Weapon
(Item 5) 7.92-57 x 1700 Ammo
(Item 6) 9mm Parabellum x 1742Ammo

West <W> East <E>
South <S> North <N>

You are all gathered more or less outside Athens, having walked over Thermopylae without incident the next morning after The Bloodletting. Apparently the Aussies slipped away in the night. Aside from a minor skirmish, which you lot were not involved with, it looks in fact that the Aussies have pretty much slipped away from Greece in general. And so now its a cold early spring morning, and sergeant-types are prowling outside your tents, turfing you out of your bedrolls.

Falk has been jarred awake by a ranking NCO and is just emerging from his tent. It barely looks like he's slept. There's little sign of drowsiness about him, and his uniform is in the same state it was the night before. He shoulders his rifle, turning his gaze to the outskirts of Athens, silent for the moment.

Smith takes a while to get to the assembly area from the infirmary, his arm hanging limp in a sling. He's currently not armed, as he's not in active combat duty.

Adolf Lutz slings his rifle over his shoulder and move into the assembly area, yawning silently

Schwenkfeld is doing his duty as an NCO, getting the schutzen out of their bedrolls. "Up up!" pausing to take a look at some supply crates. "Might be a bandit or two with a rifle in the hills."

Fuchs shoves his nearly shaven head out of his tent at the ruckus, blinking, bleary-eyed against the morning light. His head disappears after a few moments, and finally reappears, followed by the rest of him. Once outside, he kneels, and begins tying off his bootlaces.

Hirsch stalks through the crowds, finds Schwenkfeld "Dress uniforms today, make sure they are in them and looking neat and soldierly as soon as possible.". Supermen modelling Hugo Boss, woo.

Smith is luckily wearing dress uniform, precisely because he's not fit for combat duty. He meanders towards Hirsch and Schwenkfeld.

Falk is looking more or less whole after the carnage at Thermopylae. Likely the Aussies took him for dead after he'd been knocked unconscious on the field, so he was able to sleep through the worst of it. His number wasn't up that particular day. "Looks like they ran," he mutters, to no one and everyone. He's near enough Schwenkfeld to overhear Hirsch and stomps back into his tent to hastily change.

Schwenkfeld stops and straightens as Hirsch captures his attention. "Dress uniforms. Yes Herr Untersturmfuhrer." He turns to the others rousing up just now. "Dress uniforms. Dress grays. All of you. Orders for the day."

Adolf Lutz turns around and runs back into his tent. Luckily nobody has noticed him. He quickly changes and returns to the Assembly Area.

Fuchs turns and spots the familiar forms of Falk, Schwenkfeld, and Hirsch, then frowns slightly when Falk disappears into his tent again. The barked orders from Schwenkfeld bring understanding to his features, and he turns to climb back into his tent, grumbling quietly about needing time to straighten them.

Bret scrambles from his spot on the ground and rushes inside his tent, quickly changing, he runs back out and starts to go to work.

Falk is in his dress greys when he stomps out again, uniform looking as clean and pressed as possible when marching across Europe on the blitzkrieg. He assembles with the others.

Schwenkfeld too ducks aside to straighten his uniform, taking off the combat gear to pack in a rucksack and pinning his medal and awards onto the clean grey tunic. "Gather in the square when you're set." he offers to no one in particular.

Smith shuffles towards the square, trying to keep his arm still.

Hirsch shakes his head slightly. "We're having a victory parade, on short notice, the Allied forces have pulled out of Athens even further to the south, looking for a trip to Crete I am told. There'll be a short inspection and then the LSSAH will be leading the march.". Asphalt soldiers as the LSSAH at least originally were, they get all the parades.

Schwenkfeld straightens again, nodding firmly to the news Hirsch brings. He's fully outfitted in a clean dress uniform now. Shining buttons and all, given they've just been polished. "Victory parade, men. Fall in and be ready." as he turns his head to make sure there's none slacking and idle.

Falk grunts and falls in, shoulders straight, head high. He does love a parade. He fixes his scarred face in an expression he deems properly frightening. For the kids.

Bret starts working again as Otto turns around.

Smith calls out, "Sir, should I be participating? I can't carry a rifle." He looks very keen on the parade though, dread of rejection sharp on his face.

Schwenkfeld draws up his chest, "You're an SS schutze in this unit. We all march together. As long as you're able to walk, be proud to have your rifle lifted as best you can, Schmidt. Join your brothers in arms."

Bret runs his hand across his eyepatch in thought, "I suppose we've all left something here in Greece haven't we brothers!?" Even including Smith as he speaks.

Hirsch looks over at Smith. "You'll be with us, war wounds are something to be proud of, and you should be in the parade anyway, you have earned it. If you can't march, the halftracks will be with us, you can be in one of those.".

Schwenkfeld motions Schutze Ritter over to march alongside himself. Perhaps the big guy's going to doublecheck the younger one-eyed soldier's uniform before they're paraded out.

Smith nods to Schwenkfeld and Hirsch. "Yes, sir. I would prefer to march in the parade, but I can't carry a rifle." He smirks slightly at Bret's words, shifting his mangled arm.

Bret walks over to Otto a bit curious.

Fuchs finally makes his way back out of his tent, perhaps a bit slower than others, but he's managed to get his uniform straightened out a bit, and has wiped every scrap of mud from his boots. His rifle is retrieved and he leans it against his shoulder, moving over toward Smith. Seeing the wound on the man's arm, he leans over to reach for the man's rifle shoulder strap. "Here, just tie it off, let your hand rest under the butt. It's strange enough in the left, but it will be held in place nice and snug.

Falk nods shortly at Bret's words. He has a few new scars from this latest blitz, himself. "Greeks fought well," he grunts simply. "This land is a fine prize for the Fuhrer."

Schwenkfeld looks to be sure Bret's dress uniform is straight and fixed all proper and in order. "Collar's a bit crooked." as he leans to quietly mutter that to the young man, indicating the side of the uniform where the eyepatch is. Hard to get all the details straight, perhaps, when one just has one eye. Rottenfuhrer Schwenkfeld doesn't make the correction himself, but waits for the Schutze to fix it patiently.

Bret turns his head at an odd angle trying to see the collar, "Ah, my apoligies." He straightens it and looks back to him, "Is better?"

The company stabsfeldwebel comes around, eying the squad in readiness for inspection, but all seems to be in order here, for now. Hirsch eyes him a bit warily, lets him go on his way without making conversation. No news is good news with such people.

Smith glances back at Fuchs, surprised. He seems quite pleased, however, at the other's offer, following the veteran's direction in tying off the rifle at his shoulder. It doesn't look very comfortable on him, but that doesn't look to be of much concern to him.

Schwenkfeld gives a short nod to Bret, smiling in approval. He, too, turns though hearing the company stabsfeldwebel make inspection. He waits now, attention to Untersturmfuhrer Hirsch.

Fuchs manages a slight grin. "Don't ever try it in the field… but for a parade it's acceptable." His own rifle is shouldered as he complete the knot, then turns away from the younger man to look toward their untersturmfuhrer, awaiting further orders.

The other platoons in the company are already lined up on the grass, causing Hirsch to get angsty, and walk around the tents, giving some encouragement where needed to get the slackers who did not have already polished buttons moving.

Bret hastily polishes his buttons and readies his rifle.

Schwenkfeld is with the men, the last of which are getting spruced up and polished in their dress uniforms in preparation of a parade march. He's beside Bret, currently with the group waiting at attention for their unit's orders to begin.

Smith nods to Fuchs, frowning slightly. "Yes. Not that I've used a rifle in combat, so far. I usually carry the MG. And I certainly can't carry /that/ now." He grimaces, getting into formation near the rest of the men in the unit.

Bret who has gone through all the toruble of changing uniforms, loading things into their places and all sorts of other tedious activities, forgot to take the cigarette out of his mouth, when he finally notices he murmers a few curse words and flicks it onto the ground.

Falk stands still as stone as he waits to go on the march. As if he's trying to imitate some Nazi statue.

The platoon is soon drawn up in time honoured fashion on the damp dewy grass, with the rest of the company, some of it looking rather ragged after the previous fighting. But overall the SS, of course, look good.

The captain and stabs return, and after the usual military drill routine, check over the line, with the occasional loud abuse from the stabsfeldwebel upon finding someone less than perfect in the ranks.

Schwenkfeld is taking his minor part in the formation seriously, the large farmer's son proud of being a part of the victory with the unit. He doesn't speak now, though, and little movement save adjusting his helmet.

Apparently Falk is trying to imitate -him-, as Fuchs stands in line beside Falk near the end of the platoon. Even the rising and falling of his chest is hard to see as the man turns his gaze dead ahead.

Heckenschutze though standing in line is still in badages and has a crutch under his right arm.

Falk grunts and stands up even straighter and stiffer, if possible. As if in Nazi Contest with Fuchs. he redoubles his dead-eyed glaring ahead at Athens.

Smith stares forwards, his eyes practically glowing behind his glasses. True, his rifle is slung around the wrong shoulder and his arm is hanging in a sling, but he looks like this is one of the culminating moments of his life, like some other people would be when getting married.

Wagner is still seriously wounded, but even the surly old Scharfuhrer has managed to make it to the festivities. He sits in a halftrack, looking more surly than usual, legs covered with thick bandages.

The inspection is fairly brief, but the brevity is made up for by strictness. Apparently the stabs is really looking for excuses to bitch today. There are many carefully muted sighs of relief when the company is dismissed and everybody marches back to the tents, before being turned temporarily loose again.

Hirsch heads over to Schwenkfeld. "No relaxing just yet, Rottenfuhrer, we'll be moving out in half an hour or so.".

Heckenschutze keeps eyes front and stands as erect and proud as his injuries will allow.

Schwenkfeld looks straight to Hirsch and draws up shoulders and chin at attention. "Yes, herr Untersturmfuhrer." Swallowing a bit he tries to brush away a gnat. "We did good, jah?" asked of the officer.

Heckenschutze upon hearing the official inspection is over hobbles over to one side and sits on a crate.

Smith stands there for a while, before shuffling off towards the infirmary.

Fuchs moves away from the others, content to find his way back toward his tent, perhaps to handle his gear.

Hirsch nods. "We did. Apparently so quickly that any arrangements for a victory parade have been rushed and last minute, hence the confusion today. I don't think we expected Athens to be left open after the earlier harder fighting. In any case someone has been pushing for one, and as the first Waffen-SS unit, its always us that get duties like this. Representing the Party. Make sure the wounded who can at least present a semblance of triumph are in the halftrack, those who are too badly wounded to be moved are better off left in the aid stations.". Wouldn't do to demonstrate to the Greeks that Germans bleed the same as everybody else, right?

Bret is only wounded underneath his uniform, bandages across his chest and one around his hand, but he's still able to stand with the other soldiers.

Schwenkfeld makes a slight nasal grunt with the tiniest nod of his head. "I'll make sure the wounded are looking good. Scharfuhrer Wagner's still hurt, he should be in the halftrack." A salute with palm out's given, only stepping away to check the halftrack when it's acknowledged. "We'll be moving in one half hour."

Wagner nods to Schwenkfeld. "Good," he grunts. The Scharfuhrer doesn't look pleased by the news. In fact, he looks surlier than ever. He may not love parades, but he loves them more than being crippled.

Schwenkfeld makes sure the others in the halftrack who are wounded have the look of the proud brave wounded of the SS, injured as they are. As he passes Smith in stepping out from the vehicle he offers, "You look like good brave Stormtrooper of the German Army. Greeks see that, Italians see that, they know we do not give up even when hurt. Looking good, Schutze Schmidt!"

Half an hour doesn't take long to pass when its filled with hurried preparation, so before too long you find yourselves marching (or riding alongside) with the rest of the company to the outskirts of the city, where some Italians, all in their own dress uniforms (flashier but less authoritative than yours), await, and theres some slight delay while commanders haggle over who gets to be first and pore over maps wondering where everybody is supposed to be.

Fuchs marches along in time with the rest of the company, being of the luckily unwounded, and keeps his gaze forward, yet another uniform in a veritable sea of grey.

Wagner rides along in the halftrack, one of the unlucky wounded. He stares at his boots, quieter than usual.

Schwenkfeld marches on foot with the SS, choosing to be in the mix among men rather than taking advantage of his his official status as a vehicle crewman. Although he might have little idea of the strategic importance of the victory over the Hellenic Kingdom on the mainland, he does understand the importance of looking the role of victors after a hard-fought battle.

Apparently the Greeks don't even know you're coming, as the streets are mostly deserted, and the few people on them just look more incredulous than defeated or depressed at seeing all these Italians and Germans walking down the road.

The actual march is fairly dull, until you finally trek up the hill to arrive near the ancient Acropolis, and the column halts, with some slight confusion. Hirsch makes his way through the crowd to his NCOs, to quietly mutter to them, "We're taking possession of this landmark, the Greeks are supposed to have surrendered or fled, but there may be some resistance nevertheless.".

Smith rides in the halftrack with Wagner, only there for the parade, rather than the march. He blinks at the mention of resistance, peering about.

It may be slightly out of turn, but Fuchs feels compelled to ask, "Are we keeping to parade march, or will you need a few scouts, sir?" His own voice is low, his gaze still ahead.

"We'll need some scouts, Fuchs. When inside the building I want you to assume there may be hostiles within." Hirsch murmurs. "That said I don't want any shooting unless you can confirm that someone is attempting to resist, this is supposed to be a victory parade after all.". He glances up, seeing some other SS squads already advancing hurriedly to various positions around the building. "Be ready, I'm just going to talk to the captain and see where he wants us.". And then he trots off to see how this is going to roll.

Schwenkfeld salutes the untersturmfuhrer. "We go on foot, sir, or in the halftrack with the wounded aboard?"

Hirsch pauses long enough to shake his head at Schwenkfeld. "We'll be on foot, possibly inside, the halftrack and the wounded will be staying here.". And then he vanishes from sight temporarily.

Schwenkfeld nods in affirmation, then quietly readies his rifle. Motioning the others who were fit enough to march, he gathers them along the inside of the stone embankments to ready for moving in.

Wagner sets his MP40 across his lap on the slim chance he may have to defend himself. In any case, he's in no condition to run.

Fuchs moves along toward the edge of the stone, his rifle cradled in his arms as he breaks away from the march. His eyes scan the buildings, looking for any aggressive movements.

Aside from a Greek flag fluttering on the roof, doesn't look particularly offensive or aggressive over there.

Schwenkfeld starts creeping closer, advancing up the ancient stone steps towards the crumbling buildings on high. If nothing else, he seems ready to take possession of the building the flag's flying from.

There are some ceremonial Greek soldiers within the Acropolis building itself, when you advance into it properly. They are still armed it seems, but aren't making hostile moves, instead remaining on attention at their post and studiously ignoring the intruders.

Schwenkfeld has his rifle readied, set for use but does not actually fire the weapon as he makes out the numbers and posture of the Greek soldiers. The rottenfuhrer takes a step back to be out of any possible line of fire from the Greeks inside, and sends word back to Hirsch. "Greek soldiers inside in dress uniform with rifles. Not positioned to shoot, though. Apparently making a gesture of bravery, maybe. Or politics."

Smith peers from the halftrack at the Acropolis and the soldiers on it, keeping an eye on things… Because that's pretty much all he can do.

Hirsch isn't too far from the front, having gone in himself along with the rest. Commanding from the front in SS fashion. "Relieve them of their rifles, Rottenfuhrer.".

Fuchs immediately turns his eyes on Schwenkfeld, his features expectant of the order to handle the Greeks.

Schwenkfeld gets the word, and motions the others in the squad to follow him in. This time, though, he wields his rifle across the chest in a more ceremonial way, marching towards the Greeks as if part of the day's routine. He doesn't speak a word, nor could he in their own language, so the large rottenfuhrer simply marches straight up to the Greeks positioned near the flag and stands there attentively with his off arm out as if expecting them to formally hand over their weapons or the colours.

Fuchs takes up a position to the right of Schwenkfeld, forming a line as if a member of a honour guard, rifle across his chest in the same manner. His hand is not out, instead letting the ranking NCO have the priveledge of receiving the surrender.

Which is more or less what the Greeks actually do, presenting arms to the SS, though with rather grim expressions, and then passing the rifles to the enemy to be taken. Not like they speak German, either.

Schwenkfeld doesn't deny them their pride, even in defeat. He collects the weapons in a formal manner, handing them off to Fuchs or another of the men that's able to carry a share of them. No sneering, no expressions of disgust. Much the same as perhaps the Germans of the Kaiser's Imperial Army had expected the victors of the previous war to offer them in the time of surrender. Finally, the Saxon looks up to where the flag is flying, then gives the apparent commanding Greek soldier a solid gaze.

Falk marches through the streets with the Nazi parade, in lock step like a good SS man, then moves forward with Schwenkfeld's men to meet the Greeks. He holds himself tense but it's hard to tell if that's out of any fear of what might happen, or just his habitual Nazi posture. As one of the Greeks hands off his rifle Falk studies him for a long moment, before grunting and taking the gun as its handed down.

Fuchs shoulders his own rifle, and each weapon he recieves is quickly de-cartridged and the breach cleared, before handing it off to the next soldier. He keeps the last weapon, putting it on the left shoulder before retrieving his own weapon and resuming his parade stance. His eyes move to the soldier that stands directly before him, watching the man in silence, his own expression neutral.

Smith slides out of the armoured car, satisfied that the parade can continue. He jogs, grimacing as his arm moves painfully in its sling, to join the last of the marching formations.

The Greek flag comes fluttering down, tugged by one of the ceremonial guards. But rather than being handed over along with the rifles, the Greek holding it grips it tight, apparently unwilling to hand it over, as duty demands.

Schwenkfeld shoulders his own rifle, then with both large hands reaches to firmly but steadily pull the folded colours from the hands of the Greek. His stance is rigid, his size perhaps visually more intimidating than the stature of most Mediterranean types.

Fuchs grips his rifle a bit tighter, his eyes on the man beside the flag-holder. This is supposed to be a formal bit, but if these men without guns decided to stand up to the SS with guns… there really only is one outcome.

Falk takes the rifles as they're handed down, one by one, doing his part to dismantle them out of fighting form. Once he's done, he resumes staring at the Greeks impassively. Though a furrow of puzzlement crosses his face as he watches the one with the flag. He squints at his superiors, as if awaiting instructions, though his own rifle stays shouldered for now.

Smith makes his way to the hill and the flag, blinking quizzically at all the commotion.

The Greek realises the game is up when Schwenkfeld starts pulling at the flag. He narrows his eyes, and then yanks it out of Schwenkfelds hand, half turning his body so it coils about him in the process, firmly anchored. Taking a hurried step away, he turns and looks down the cliff of the acropolis at the city below - before forcefully hurling himself off the edge, with all the force and adrenaline he can muster, to prevent any German from stopping him from doing it.

Schwenkfeld makes a hurried reach for the Greek from behind, trying to grab the cuff of his collar. But the Greek's movement carries the force of fanaticism, and being unprepared for the action the large rottenfuhrer's unable to prevent it. Rottenfuhrer Otto Schwenkfeld has to quickly halt his own step to keep from losing his footing on the high place. There's a snort, exhaling a few quick breaths as he steadies himself to formality again from the moment of confusion. A quick look to Falk and Fucks before he can dampen the bewilderment in his own expression.

Fuchs is watching Schwenkfeld as he stands near the edge of oblivion, and takes the moment of confusion on the Rottenfuhrer's face to turn toward the other Greeks. He levels the barrel of his rifle upon the one directly in front of him, and gestures with the rifle for the man to get moving.

Falk lunges forward when the Greek grapples with Schwenkfeld, likely expecting a fight. He's unprepared for the man's act of suicide and all he can do is stare as he reaches out a hand toward Schwenkfeld's to steady the rottenfuhrer. Falk has seen a lot in his years but there's something in this that still manages to shock him. "The fool…" he mutters, a mixture of a curse and an expression of confusion.

Smith looks on with admiration as the Greek plunges to his death. This kind of pointless heroic gesture is just the kind of thing he digs.

Hirsch blinks at the display, lets out a brief hiss of breath. A moment of silence builds, which he eventually breaks. "Shame the Greeks aren't on our side. Damn Italians." he eventually murmurs, impressed. Suicidal devotion to duty is one of these things Hirsch can appreciate. He offers a Nazi salute to the other Greek guards - one which is not returned - and then indicates Schwenkfeld. "Lead these men away off the acropolis, Rottenfuhrer, and then let them go, minus their weapons.".

Schwenkfeld acknowledges the order dutifully, and motions for the Greeks to step in formal procession towards the steps and exit out. Their rifles presented, he does not physically search for sidearms though as best he can observe he does try to look for any indication of any of the guards bearing a pistol. "Fall in." to Falk and Fuchs so the SS can move as a unit with the Greek captives.

Fuchs turns and follows Schwenkfeld, keeping his eye on the GREEKS to watch them for any sort of obnoxious movements… plummeting to one's death with a flag is one thing - deciding to perhaps ignite explosives is another, and these Greeks apparently have a penchant for suicide.

Falk turns back to the remaining Greeks, as if expecting trouble. He turns his back on the Acropolis, following Schwenkfeld to guard the captives. "It is pointless to oppose the Fuhrer," he growls under his breath, watching Greeks, rifle drawn into a watchful sort of stance now. "They should understand by now."

There isn't much trouble from the Greeks, as they are led down from the heights. Seems nobody is willing to follow their comrades example. Either that, or the example has already been made adequately!

Schwenkfeld seems to recompose himself with the march down the steps, and upon reaching the streets below where the halftrack is parked, motions to the Greek soldiers to indicate their freedom to depart. A gesture of his hand towards the city of Athens from them as if indicating his permission for them to lose themselves within. His rifle's kept shouldered for now, not pointed at any of them though the SS squad behind him is enough to protect the German force.

Fuchs continues following Schwenkfeld, gesturing with his rifle to get the Greeks moving. Despite Schwenkfeld being the larger of the two, Fuchs is apparently the one most interested in showing the Greeks the business end of his rifle.

Falk keeps his rifle up and ready as he jackboots along opposite Fuchs, blue eyes staring into the Greeks as they're loosed back into Athens.

The Greeks seem to understand what is going on - they head back into the city proper, still marching as if they were in a military unit. Plenty of other Greeks have already been let off in this way by now, they probably knew how they were going to be treated.

Schwenkfeld stands there watching, keeping silent with the men of his unit. There's a slow turn to look over to where the broken body of the Greek had come to rest on the rocks, wrapped in the flag of the Hellenic kingdom.

Bret walks along the Greeks slowly, trying not to attract the attention of any of them, coming up to Otto and walking along with him.

Falk does not look back at the fallen Greek. He keeps his gaze forced straight ahead, shouldering his rifle as the Greeks disperse, but still watching them with every appearance of Stone-Faced Nazi. There is an unusual solemnity to that face, though. His mind likely still on what he just witnessed.

Fuchs dips his head in a nod, the closest thing to respect he could show to the enemy, then turns once more to Schwenkfeld. His rifle is shouldered, and once more, to business. "Orders, sir?"

Schwenkfeld hears Fuchs question, looking for a moment to Bret as the eyepatched young SS soldier awaits. "We'll rejoin the others at the halftrack. If the Untersturmfuhrer has more orders, we follow them." The man lifts his chest to start moving from where the Greeks were released, taking the lead in returning to the SS officer in charge of the unit.

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