Everyone was looking to Sarge and the officers for clues on how to react. The end result was a lot of guys working really hard on looking totally impassive. Lothar was trying to look impassive but he just couldn’t seem to get his face around it. I could see his flushed smiling face from where I stood. I expected to see a wet spot form on his trousers at the crotch any minute now. That’s when I understood if making love was as close as we can get to being god then isn’t taking life just the opposite side of the same coin?
With the last batch processed there was no longer any reason for us to be there. A couple Poles slid down the slope along with Lothar and shot anyone who looked like they needed it. The SD officer said something to one of the SS men who disappeared. He reappeared a few minutes later with a handful of bottles that were passed around to all the Germans who had been involved in the shooting. Sarge waved me and Dieter in, and called out to Lothar to get his ass out of the pit. As he scrambled up a couple more Poles slid down the embankment, each carrying a butcher knife and a pair of pliers. I thought it might be interesting to stay and watch what happened next but that was not to be. The Lieutenant wanted to get moving as the drivers weren’t looking forward to navigating these roads in the dark.
I walked back to the trucks and saw the Fat Man from the churchyard picking up his share of the spoils. Apparently the militia was paid with clothes and a portion of the money retrieved from the Jews wallets. I also found my answer as to why the shooters didn’t rotate – they got paid more. The rest of the clothes and items were being inventoried by the two SS men.
As I stood there watching the SD officer walked up and stood next to me. After a minute he said “The clothes will go back to the Reich to be distributed to the poor. Any money goes to a common fund for the good of the entire SS.” What was I supposed to say to a comment like that? So I told him “The German people know they can count on the SS sir.” When in doubt parrot the party line was my motto. “I was impressed by your behavior and ability to carry out your orders at the market square, Private.” I replied “Thank you Herr Captain.” He continued “I have been assigned to a special commando. We could use a man like you.” He waited for my reply while my mind raced. Always trust your gut instincts and mine was screaming at me "No! No!" So I went with it and told him “Thank you Herr Captain but I would prefer to stay with my squad.”
“Of course, I understand. Heil Hitler!” He walked off. My reply of “Heil Hitler” was spoken to his departing back. I was so wrapped up in watching him walk away that when the hand fell on my shoulder I jumped like I had been goosed.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Diary of a Serial Killer - Chapter 5e - by Nova
The last ten from the group we had brought in were standing on the edge of the antitank ditch. As they got a good look at what was lying below them, a guttural moan of terror arose from them. The auxiliaries carefully set down the bottles they were sharing on the ammo boxes behind them, unslung their rifles, and formed a firing line. A militia NCO gave the order in accented German to shoulder arms, following it with the command to fire. One thing that has stayed with me ever since is the meaty sound you hear when a body is struck by a bullet. It is unmistakable, and after hearing it enough times you can tell by the sound if it was a solid hit or a grazer. The sound changes, with the thwack more pronounced when it hits a meaty part of the body.
Either the alcohol had helped or they were just rusty as this one went a lot better than the first few. All the shots looked to be solid torso hits taking them all backwards over the edge. The next ten from the other squad were quickly hustled in and were just as quickly dispatched. The boys were in a groove and stayed in it until the final two batches when things went a little awry. Two of the shooters began missing completely, probably due to the alcohol taking effect. They were relieved, which made them very unhappy. They started to make a fuss until it penetrated their alcohol sodden brains that the SD Captain was quite willing to add them to the pile of bodies lying below. Our primary concern here was range safety. No one was eager to get shot by a drunken Pole. It probably wouldn’t even qualify you for a wound badge, our equivalent of the Purple Heart.
They were replaced by two members of the militia who had been, until then, standing around watching the show. I was surprised they had not rotated the shooters among the men in their company. Later on that became common practice. By then we had a crowd of spectators as all our men had stayed to watch after bringing their groups in. After each batch had been processed, Sarge, the Lieutenant, and the SD officer would walk the edge of the pit and shoot anyone who looked like they were still alive. Meanwhile I, and at the other end, Dieter just stood there watching.
I believe we had become invisible to everyone else due to being a distance, however small, from the action taking place. I found it fascinating to watch our guy’s faces as they came in with their groups and saw what was happening. A few looked troubled by it. One stepped back about five paces after looking over the edge and threw up, much to the amusement of the Poles. Fortunately he did not barf on anything important like their bottles or the ammunition boxes.
Either the alcohol had helped or they were just rusty as this one went a lot better than the first few. All the shots looked to be solid torso hits taking them all backwards over the edge. The next ten from the other squad were quickly hustled in and were just as quickly dispatched. The boys were in a groove and stayed in it until the final two batches when things went a little awry. Two of the shooters began missing completely, probably due to the alcohol taking effect. They were relieved, which made them very unhappy. They started to make a fuss until it penetrated their alcohol sodden brains that the SD Captain was quite willing to add them to the pile of bodies lying below. Our primary concern here was range safety. No one was eager to get shot by a drunken Pole. It probably wouldn’t even qualify you for a wound badge, our equivalent of the Purple Heart.
They were replaced by two members of the militia who had been, until then, standing around watching the show. I was surprised they had not rotated the shooters among the men in their company. Later on that became common practice. By then we had a crowd of spectators as all our men had stayed to watch after bringing their groups in. After each batch had been processed, Sarge, the Lieutenant, and the SD officer would walk the edge of the pit and shoot anyone who looked like they were still alive. Meanwhile I, and at the other end, Dieter just stood there watching.
I believe we had become invisible to everyone else due to being a distance, however small, from the action taking place. I found it fascinating to watch our guy’s faces as they came in with their groups and saw what was happening. A few looked troubled by it. One stepped back about five paces after looking over the edge and threw up, much to the amusement of the Poles. Fortunately he did not barf on anything important like their bottles or the ammunition boxes.
Background on this story
First off, this story is partially fiction. I have no idea what people thought and said while they did this. It isn't fiction when it comes to the events. If anything, I choose to only write about a sample of the activities of the average police battalion during this period. By my extremely rough calculations approximately 20 police battalions shot at close range over a million people in 2 years.
I usually write stories about the near future. The future I see is really just the past in a new clothes. Men don't change - only the date on the calendar does. It is my belief that should there be a collapse of the economy, actually, I think it already is, then the future will be interesting.
This is a fragmented society held together by the most tenuous of bonds - electrons - and half remembered, half baked ideas of what a society should be. I personally believe should it come to that then America will not be a pleasant place to be for at least a generation.
You may believe that people such as the characters don't exist. They do. This story was reality for years a large number of people. The Germans and the Soviets lost more people in a single battle than the US did during the entire war. One out of five Poles died. The death rate in Ukraine was even higher. The Jews were exterminated. Ideological wars are religious wars and history has shown they are the most brutal.
The book that influenced me the most was Professor Brownings Ordinary Men: Police Battalion 101
In it Professor Browning wrote about a reserve police battalion consisting of middle aged men who had grown up before NSDAP gained power and were by all accounts normal people. These normal people went out and shot thousands of men, women, and children when ordered. Yes, they had the option to refuse. No one was ever punished for refusing. Very few did. Most pulled the trigger.
If you are interested in life after a major crash then keep this mind. It will be ugly. Reading about it may be entertaining but there is a huge difference between that and the reality. I do not believe everyone is evil nor do I believe everyone will be an enemy. I do believe that out of a 100 people the odds are pretty good at least one of them will be an evil piece of shit.
One of the questions I have thought about is what do you do when confronted by evil in the guise of a human? For most of us there is nothing really we can do in a functioning society. That is why we have the law. Law enforcement, at least to me, is at the core nothing but people who have sworn to protect the innocent and not so innocent from the true predators. This is where Gardener and Max come from. On the other side of them is the characters in this story. To appreciate what is right you have to know what is wrong. Not only know it but understand it as much as it can be understood, fear it, and kill it.
Edit: I do not believe that if the US tears itself a part we will be living simple wars of conquest and looting. We will experience ideological war. Total war. I hope it never happens.
Edit Again: I do know a little about what I am writing here
I usually write stories about the near future. The future I see is really just the past in a new clothes. Men don't change - only the date on the calendar does. It is my belief that should there be a collapse of the economy, actually, I think it already is, then the future will be interesting.
This is a fragmented society held together by the most tenuous of bonds - electrons - and half remembered, half baked ideas of what a society should be. I personally believe should it come to that then America will not be a pleasant place to be for at least a generation.
You may believe that people such as the characters don't exist. They do. This story was reality for years a large number of people. The Germans and the Soviets lost more people in a single battle than the US did during the entire war. One out of five Poles died. The death rate in Ukraine was even higher. The Jews were exterminated. Ideological wars are religious wars and history has shown they are the most brutal.
The book that influenced me the most was Professor Brownings Ordinary Men: Police Battalion 101
In it Professor Browning wrote about a reserve police battalion consisting of middle aged men who had grown up before NSDAP gained power and were by all accounts normal people. These normal people went out and shot thousands of men, women, and children when ordered. Yes, they had the option to refuse. No one was ever punished for refusing. Very few did. Most pulled the trigger.
If you are interested in life after a major crash then keep this mind. It will be ugly. Reading about it may be entertaining but there is a huge difference between that and the reality. I do not believe everyone is evil nor do I believe everyone will be an enemy. I do believe that out of a 100 people the odds are pretty good at least one of them will be an evil piece of shit.
One of the questions I have thought about is what do you do when confronted by evil in the guise of a human? For most of us there is nothing really we can do in a functioning society. That is why we have the law. Law enforcement, at least to me, is at the core nothing but people who have sworn to protect the innocent and not so innocent from the true predators. This is where Gardener and Max come from. On the other side of them is the characters in this story. To appreciate what is right you have to know what is wrong. Not only know it but understand it as much as it can be understood, fear it, and kill it.
Edit: I do not believe that if the US tears itself a part we will be living simple wars of conquest and looting. We will experience ideological war. Total war. I hope it never happens.
Edit Again: I do know a little about what I am writing here
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Diary of a Serial Killer - Chapter 5c - by Nova
I was awoken from my daydreaming with Hans’s voice calling my name “Willi! Willi! You all right? Is it fifteen minutes?” I looked at my watch. “Yeah Hans.” It was actually fourteen minutes but that was close enough for police work. Hans bellowed “Alright lets go! Go! Go!” The militia had been warned not to be too rough until we were out of sight of the others in the market place. This was rendered somewhat pointless considering what had already transpired but they had been gentle – relatively.
As we walked I could hear the sound of our truck engines revving hard and faintly underneath the engine sound two volleys of rifle fire. From the raggedness of the volleys I knew it had to be the locals. We knew how to shoot a disciplined volley. Hell, we drilled on it enough in school.
I was right as it turned out. The Lieutenant was disgusted, as was the SD officer. Each one for their own reasons. The Lieutenant because of how unprofessional it was, and the SD officer because it was taking to long. We marched our group, well march isn’t the correct word. Herded would be more accurate. We herded the Jews, and our new friends, as I mentioned before, knew exactly what they were doing. Their marksmanship may have been shoddy but they knew Jew herding, and they were surprisingly restrained in applying the rifle butts.
We reached the vehicle area where we were met by the Lieutenant who was grinning manically. “Move your batch over there and have them strip.” Where “over there” actually was turned out to be easy to discern by the pile of mens clothing on one side, and the bundles stacked neatly on the other. “Come on strip! Move! Move!” We shouted at them repeatedly in German which was echoed in Polish by one of the militia.
They began stripping and it was not a pretty sight. Whispering to each other, they shucked clothes until it was all dirty asses and mutilated Jewish weenies. It made me nauseous to look at them. Once they were stripped, and standing there, we found out we had one who was reluctant to show his bare ass. He was shot for being such a pain.
We did a lot of these type actions over the next few years and there were always a couple guys who tried to shield their genitals from view like women. We would stand around, drinking, most of us smoking, and laugh at them. The ones who refused to undress were always shot on the spot.
As we walked I could hear the sound of our truck engines revving hard and faintly underneath the engine sound two volleys of rifle fire. From the raggedness of the volleys I knew it had to be the locals. We knew how to shoot a disciplined volley. Hell, we drilled on it enough in school.
I was right as it turned out. The Lieutenant was disgusted, as was the SD officer. Each one for their own reasons. The Lieutenant because of how unprofessional it was, and the SD officer because it was taking to long. We marched our group, well march isn’t the correct word. Herded would be more accurate. We herded the Jews, and our new friends, as I mentioned before, knew exactly what they were doing. Their marksmanship may have been shoddy but they knew Jew herding, and they were surprisingly restrained in applying the rifle butts.
We reached the vehicle area where we were met by the Lieutenant who was grinning manically. “Move your batch over there and have them strip.” Where “over there” actually was turned out to be easy to discern by the pile of mens clothing on one side, and the bundles stacked neatly on the other. “Come on strip! Move! Move!” We shouted at them repeatedly in German which was echoed in Polish by one of the militia.
They began stripping and it was not a pretty sight. Whispering to each other, they shucked clothes until it was all dirty asses and mutilated Jewish weenies. It made me nauseous to look at them. Once they were stripped, and standing there, we found out we had one who was reluctant to show his bare ass. He was shot for being such a pain.
We did a lot of these type actions over the next few years and there were always a couple guys who tried to shield their genitals from view like women. We would stand around, drinking, most of us smoking, and laugh at them. The ones who refused to undress were always shot on the spot.
Diary of a Serial Killer - Chapter 5b - by Nova
The SD officer walked over to me and held out his hand palm up. I placed the Luger on his outstretched palm, careful not to let the barrel touch his skin, as I did not want to burn his hand. Nothing was said. Nothing needed to be said.
I quickly walked over to where Sarge was standing. He looked at me and asked “You okay?” It didn't surprise me that he sounded more curious then concerned. I nodded, then told him “I'm Fine."
"I want to you to go with Hans and Dieter and escort the second batch down. You have a watch, right?” Again I nodded. “Hans doesn’t, so make sure you get them moving in exactly fifteen minutes.” We compared times and I reset my watch to match his. He turned and strode off rapidly to catch up with the Lieutenant, who along with the SS officers, was taking the first group.
We stood there. Dieter kept his distance from me and Hans. I think I had freaked him out. Hans was wound up and talking a mile a minute and I really wished he would shut up. Whatever I had just experienced had evaporated faster than Stefan, the company drunk, spent his paycheck on payday.
I had to fight to not keep looking at my watch. Our group stood there waiting their turn while men from the militia assigned to us made our group of Jews keep their hands above their heads.
It was difficult for the older men to stand there like that. One old man I noticed was really struggling, his arms would begin to droop, and then he would force them to rise again. I watched him and in my head saw him as my Jewish butterfly. His arms were fragile wings rising up, and then slowly settling back down. Instead of wind, the fear of a rifle butt to a kidney was propelling them up, and then gravity would pull them down. So I stood there watching him and let my mind wander.
The Jews standing there, hands reaching up in the air like that, reminded me of an American cowboy movie I had seen a few years before. In the movie the line that had stuck with me was when the good cowboy had told the evil rustler to ‘Reach for the sky partner.’ It was kind of amusing thinking about it.
I quickly walked over to where Sarge was standing. He looked at me and asked “You okay?” It didn't surprise me that he sounded more curious then concerned. I nodded, then told him “I'm Fine."
"I want to you to go with Hans and Dieter and escort the second batch down. You have a watch, right?” Again I nodded. “Hans doesn’t, so make sure you get them moving in exactly fifteen minutes.” We compared times and I reset my watch to match his. He turned and strode off rapidly to catch up with the Lieutenant, who along with the SS officers, was taking the first group.
We stood there. Dieter kept his distance from me and Hans. I think I had freaked him out. Hans was wound up and talking a mile a minute and I really wished he would shut up. Whatever I had just experienced had evaporated faster than Stefan, the company drunk, spent his paycheck on payday.
I had to fight to not keep looking at my watch. Our group stood there waiting their turn while men from the militia assigned to us made our group of Jews keep their hands above their heads.
It was difficult for the older men to stand there like that. One old man I noticed was really struggling, his arms would begin to droop, and then he would force them to rise again. I watched him and in my head saw him as my Jewish butterfly. His arms were fragile wings rising up, and then slowly settling back down. Instead of wind, the fear of a rifle butt to a kidney was propelling them up, and then gravity would pull them down. So I stood there watching him and let my mind wander.
The Jews standing there, hands reaching up in the air like that, reminded me of an American cowboy movie I had seen a few years before. In the movie the line that had stuck with me was when the good cowboy had told the evil rustler to ‘Reach for the sky partner.’ It was kind of amusing thinking about it.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Book Status
The books won't go out until they arrive in the warehouse. My guess is you won't see them until around the middle of March. I asked to be notified when they start mailing them out.
We closed on the doomstead yesterday!
We closed on the doomstead yesterday!
Diary of a Serial Killer - Chapter 5 - by Nova
That served as the start signal for the locals and the controlled chaos began. We were relative rookies at this type of work except for some of the men who had been in the SA or had been in the police before the Fuhrer came to power.
The locals knew the drill and spread out among the groups of men. Every Jew who had stood up, or even looked like they were thinking of standing up, was getting butt stroked upside the head. These guys looked like rabble but they knew what they were doing as their strokes were fluid and graceful. The effect was devastating and very effective. Everyone shut up, sat down, and sat small. At least those still capable of sitting, as there was now eight men laid out in the dirt. Three of them were motionless, while the rest were moaning, crying, and struggling to get back on their asses as they tried to staunch the flow of blood which was already drawing flies. Big fat black nasty flies at that.
The SD officer attempted to address the gathered mass of the chosen people but was unable to project his voice over the background of moaning and jabbering. He began screaming at them to “Shut up!” I was now standing on his left about six paces away. I could see the cords on his neck standing out tautly while his face flushed a deep shade of red. The spittle was flying from his lips now. I was struggling with not laughing out loud at him as he looked exactly like the priests at the Home when as a boy they had discussed my shortcomings as a human being with me.
He had excellent peripheral vision unfortunately because he abruptly shut up, turned towards me, and beckoned. I stepped up to him and saluted smartly. “Jawohl! Herr Hauptman!” You were not supposed to address an SS officer as “Herr” but then I never had one correct me either. He handed me his model 08 Luger and in a surprisingly measured tone told me to shoot the wounded.
I took the outstretched pistol from his hand, stepped back one pace, saluted and shouted “Jawohl Herr Hauptman!” I did a parade ground quality about face, and stepped rapidly over to the closest moaner who looked up at me, his expression clearly indicating that he expected me to fix his bleeding head.
The locals knew the drill and spread out among the groups of men. Every Jew who had stood up, or even looked like they were thinking of standing up, was getting butt stroked upside the head. These guys looked like rabble but they knew what they were doing as their strokes were fluid and graceful. The effect was devastating and very effective. Everyone shut up, sat down, and sat small. At least those still capable of sitting, as there was now eight men laid out in the dirt. Three of them were motionless, while the rest were moaning, crying, and struggling to get back on their asses as they tried to staunch the flow of blood which was already drawing flies. Big fat black nasty flies at that.
The SD officer attempted to address the gathered mass of the chosen people but was unable to project his voice over the background of moaning and jabbering. He began screaming at them to “Shut up!” I was now standing on his left about six paces away. I could see the cords on his neck standing out tautly while his face flushed a deep shade of red. The spittle was flying from his lips now. I was struggling with not laughing out loud at him as he looked exactly like the priests at the Home when as a boy they had discussed my shortcomings as a human being with me.
He had excellent peripheral vision unfortunately because he abruptly shut up, turned towards me, and beckoned. I stepped up to him and saluted smartly. “Jawohl! Herr Hauptman!” You were not supposed to address an SS officer as “Herr” but then I never had one correct me either. He handed me his model 08 Luger and in a surprisingly measured tone told me to shoot the wounded.
I took the outstretched pistol from his hand, stepped back one pace, saluted and shouted “Jawohl Herr Hauptman!” I did a parade ground quality about face, and stepped rapidly over to the closest moaner who looked up at me, his expression clearly indicating that he expected me to fix his bleeding head.
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