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Silver Revolution


Kaiser Martens

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He raises an eyebrow. "You're throwin' that away? Heh. That thing is bulletproof...but do as you wish..."

He leans back as he prepares himself a leberwurst sandwich there, reading over the newspapers related to the front. "We got a rank raise, that's all. I guess that they were just glad to see something good happen considering the disaster that the southern front is." He shrugs. "Not like we did anything other than our job. Don't worry though, as far as action goes, I hear that we're gonna be quite outnumbered out there. Of course, here the newspaper seems to lie a bit and claim that things are even...want some?"

He begins to eat his sandwich, as Riedelmann brings several bottles of beer from the fridge. Steiner is nowhere to be seen. Apparently, fearing death in the campaign, he decided to spend time with some ladies.

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"Sure. Newspapers always lie. It keeps the sheep calm and keeps enlistment up. Course, some of us know the truth of the matter. I say just carpet bomb the pinko cities....I got my own problems to worry about. Cant worry about dieing in this mol forsaken place."

"So Martens," Frolov ask, chowing down on his own sandwhich and taking a shot, "Where you from? Whats your story?"

Frolovs own men were out and about. Some were sleeping, others cleaning rifles. A few went to the local bar and proceed to drink themselves to death.

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He puts his sandwich down, and once that he's no longer chewing, he replies. "I come from the south. The place where I come from used to be called Argentina, before the war. My family is from Northern Germany though. That's why I came to this place after everything got $%&@ed up. The destruction was such that I didn't have much to leave behind. And West Germany's politically correct chicken!@#$ democratic !@#$%^&* just wasn't my style. How'bout you, how did a Slav like you end up in this nest of Prussians?" He drinks from the beer.

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"I was a political dissident. I had a bone to pick with the communist scum running the country. I argued for a more...absolute approach. I feel the Monarch could run the country better than the commies....but they didnt listen. Instaed of getting killed I fled to Germany. I joined the local Militia incase the scum come after me."

Frolov takes his 5th shot.

"I also get a feeling that Democracy is just a waste of time these days. Only the smart should get a voice. But who am I to judge Mol's Work?"

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"Mol? Mol who? Anyway, yeh, $%&@ democracy. We may be poorer but I'd rather live here in the east than in the corrupted west. Their president isn't even a German, for Odin's sake" He shakes his head in disapproval and goes on to finish his sandwich, continuing with the beer.

"In battle, lets try to keep together. Maybe that'll keep us alive."

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"I'll drink to that, Kamerad!"

--------------------------------

The next day started sooner than they expected, only the knowledge that they may face death would keep the men alive as they were transported to a staging area outside of Marchia. Transported all together by train, they were soon, in a hurry, told to deploy, and the men would quickly board a brand new Panzer III, a far cry from the frail models I and II...

Martens looks it up and down as he adjusts his stahlhelm, and his comrades start to get ready. Just out of the factory, even its Balkenkreuz mark was improvised. He looks around, seeing at least twenty other PzIIIs, and over in the distance, Frolov being assigned to regular army corps, with actual truck transports, rather than before where he had been a lowly militia man. Although he does not smoke, being offered a cigarrete by Steiner he accepts it, and looks around, Marchar divisions arrive. Some managed to retreat properly, others were simply battered. The fight would begin in some fifteen minutes.

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OOC: Well, if there's any volunteers, I'd go for it

OOC: I'm willing. Since this is historical RP from what I can tell (from the topic title), PM me what I should do and I'll see about adding some curveballs.

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