Chapter One: Two Months later

…

"UNTIE ME THIS INSTANT! UNTIE ME NOW, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

He wasn't sure how this had happened. He had been expecting colleagues to take him and his wife to the National Socialist strongholds in North Germany. As he had opened the door for his guests, the stock of a rifle greeted him, knocking him unconscious. How long ago that had been, Obergruppenführer Oswald Pohl was could not say for certain. All he knew now was he was awake. He was now lying in his bedroom, his face undoubtedly bruising and now unable to move.

Worse yet, he had been tied to his bed. Oh God… What had he ever done to deserve this!

As he struggled against the ropes, the creaking of his door caught his attention. The door closed behind whoever the room now contained. The lights suddenly were flipped on.

Rotating his head, he took in the sight of what appeared to have been his captor with his back turned to him. He was a giant dressed in Heer officer's uniform, his long coat draped on the doorknob. He was pulling on a pair of gloves. From here Pohl could see the markings on the man's collars: He was an Oberst.

His struggling finally made the man turn around. Behind a very against regulation mountain man beard, that covered heavy facial scaring, was a sneer as sharp as the blue eyes which now glared down on him. He looked like the devil possessed him in the way he carried himself.

That was when he realized what was draped over the front of the Heer uniform.

It was a Butcher's apron.

He felt the bed press down as the huge man crumpled the bed springs; He reached into his pocket to produce SS identification papers. The man, who looked like he was living in the mountains, grinned menacingly as he looked from the identification papers to his victim.

"Obergruppenführer Oswald Pohl. Born 30th of June, 1892 divorced, onto your second wife, who is downstairs, a son, Ortwin in the Waffen-SS, even a daughter, Nortraut, an adult now," the giant rumbled as he tore up the papers that apparently belonged to the Obergruppenführer. "You are head of the SS-Wirtschafts-Verwaltungshauptamt - the SS Main Economic and Administrative Department - you deal primarily in the confiscation of concentration camp inmates valuables. You take their wedding rings, their wallets, their jewellery…. Even their gold fillings, which I have regretfully seen first-hand now."

The Wehrmacht Oberst reached out, his hand grabbing Pohl by his neck as he leaned forward to sneer directly in his face.

"I know this because I was summoned to a liberated SS controlled bank not a month ago," he growled, his teeth bared like an attack dog. "There were piles of wedding rings, jewellery, and yes, even gold fillings just waiting to be melted down. the moment I saw that, I knew I was coming after you as soon as I spotted you… and it appears your time is up."

You are little better than a thief under government mandate, aren't you? No… Not a thief… worse than a thief… you're a grave robber… from what I have seen of her, I imagine your wife is decorated in Jew gold, isn't she?"

All Pohl could do was sputter as he struggled against the steel grip the Oberst held against his windpipe. After several moments of increasing pressure, he let go, allowing Oswald a moment of wheezing breathing to bring him back to a clear mind. If that didn't bring him back then the sudden, resounding slap to the face did the trick.

"No, I don't steal... All valuables go towards funding the war effort!" he furiously denied.

His answer had no standing with the brute; Pohl was slapped again, even harder this time. This time the man laughed. It was the scariest laugh Pohl had ever heard. Both his hands wrapped around the SS man's shirt collar. His expression was that of pure loathing as he lifted Pohl up to meet him face to face.

"Well… if that's your reasoning, then I think it's about time that you contributed to the war effort."

Releasing his grasp on Pohl, the Oberst's hands moved up; one hand gripping him by his palate, the other by his mandible, with little resistance he pried it open and looked closer, inspecting Pohl's teeth as though he had been a dentist by trade before the war. The expression of seriousness turned into a smile as he pulled his right hand out of Pohl's mouth.

"It appears that you have a bit of gold yourself," he informed Pohl, still smiling like it was his birthday. "I know your underlings usually wait until they are dead, but for you, I think I could make an exception…"

Reaching into one of his belt kits, he opened it removed a pair of pliers. He dangles it as though it was a baby's toy. Oswald's eyes widened as he tried to scream through the steel grip of this fucking psychotic's hand. With all his might he bit hard at his hand, only to recoil in pain by just how strong it was. The lunatic did not flinch. Not in the slightest. Instead he turned hand into a fist, and then wedged open his mouth.

The pliers inched closer and closer. This was on purpose, the psychological effects of knowing what was going to happen was even more devastating than the actual event…

"W-Where's my wife," he whimpered, his eyes begging his torturer. "She's going to hear this... she can't… can't…"

The tormentor wasn't moved, he didn't even blink.

The pliers wrapped around one of the back molars. A look of satisfaction crossed his expression as he took in Pohl's expression of terror.

With all his might, he pulled the molar and pliers back towards him. He did not twist and pull. He simply broke the tooth right out of the Obergruppenführer's mouth, pulling bits of Pohl's gums out with it, his blood splashed against the Wehrmacht man's apron. Pohl screamed, he screamed and screamed as the pain shot through his body like he had been dismembered. The blood caught in his throat and mouth, turning the scream into a gurgling cry that would haunt the Wehrmacht men downstairs nightmares.

The torturer did not react. He looked at the tooth, then to the gold. Idly he dropped the molar and pliers to the ground. He pulled himself away and, tilting Pohl's head to the side so that he did not drown in his own blood, he left the SS General's side. Pohl watched as he slicked his hand through his slightly longer then regulation hair.

Quietly he took a seat across the room from Pohl and slumped, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared blankly at his bleeding victim. He scoffed as he sat back and reached into his jacket, pulling out a gold cigarette case.

"In the past few months, I have come to learn a hard truth, Herr Pohl: In order to beat your kind, I have to be like you." The Oberst said as he lit a cigarette and placed the case back into his jacket. " I tried to be above them, but I know now how naïve I have been."

He inhaled his cigarette, staring off past the Pohl as he moaned as shuffled against his restraints.

The brooding Wehrmacht man blew smoke into Pohl's direction.

"Ernst Kaltenbrunner was right about me," he muttered to himself. "I'll be the most hunted man in the world when the smoke clears and what is left of you all realize what Joachim Hoch had done to them."

Oswald froze. His pain subsided as he realized now just who this bastard was. He was the traitorous SS officer who had murdered the Führer! Joachim Hoch was sitting across from him, torturing him! That bastard, that cowardly piece shit!

Inhaling his cigarette, Joachim Hoch stood up and stretched. He turned his back on him as he went towards the door.

"So like you I'll kill and torture," he said as he opened the door and stepped through it. "The only difference between us will be our victims. Yours didn't deserve it. Mine will."

As quickly as he exited the room, he was back in, closing the door. He stood there, leaning against the exit, finishing off his cigarette before dropping it and stamping his boot on it.

"Ab… ab I und' 'rrest?" Pohl attempted to slur out. Each word burned like hot embers.

Hoch stared at him blankly, and then he started to laugh.

"Arrest?" he repeated delightfully as he shook his head.

Hoch took two steps forward. A thumping and scraping noise immediately caught his attention.

Pohl wiggled his head to get a better view at the source of the noise. There, being dragging on the ground was an axehead, its handle limply grasped in Hoch's hand. Pohl moaned and struggled against the binding of rope. He screamed out as he tried to stop Hoch, he ignored his own pain as he cried out again and again until Hoch was standing over the bed, looking down on the SS man.

"You still mistake why I'm here, Herr Pohl," Hoch growled lowly. "You see… I'm no policeman, and frankly I'm done giving free passes to your types..."

The bastard traitor shook his head.

"No," he said, shaking his head to reveal the axe to the man. "I'm taking this axe here, I will chop right here…" the blade of the axe touched against his neck… "and present your head to your colleagues so that they are convinced to surrender peacefully. Greater good you see. Kill one; potentially spare many lives. For once in your miserable life, you're going to do something right."

Hoch pulled the blade of his axe from off Pohl's neck. The General sobbed as he stared up at his executioner. His eyes filled with tears that did not make Hoch change his mind in the slightest.

"Good bye, Oswald Pohl," was his finally words. "The world is better off without you."

With all his might, Joachim Hoch swung down hard.

…

…

"Keelah, I cannot believe I'm actually doing this. Tell me it's all just a bad dream."

"I'm afraid not, daughter. If you are so eager to become Saleb's personal guardian, then you have start doing the things she wants to do. If that means you have to spend hours on end with gossiping mothers with nothing better to do, then by the Ancestors, you will do it."

Under her breath, Hanala'Jarva grumbled mutinously as she wrapped her head dress over her short hair. As she looked in the mirror to poke at the facial scars, she could see behind her that mother was crossing her arms. There was a slight smirk on her face as she listened to her daughter muttering to herself.

"Welcome to motherhood, Hanala." She said smugly, watching Hanala buckle at the statement, "Doing things that you hate, but your children love is the cornerstone to the job. Where your only reward is if you do it properly your child won't tell you that they hate you ten or twenty years down the line…. now go and get Saleb, we have a shuttle to catch."

Inwardly Hanala groaned as her mother's statement made her forgo any further fights against her new duties as a guardian… adoptive mother to her orphaned niece. Still… she was right. It would be difficult. It would be made more difficult when Saleb finally understood the exact reason why she was in her Aunt's care in the first place.

It had been just over ten days now that the adoption was legalized. Since returning back to the fleet shortly after the catastrophe that cost one hundred and twenty quarians lives including her brother and sister-in-law, Hanala had decided to make things right. She would do so by first off asking Saleb if she would like to live with her aunt shortly after having to break the heart-breaking loss to a four year old.

Of course this this wasn't an immediate process. Since the Earth month of February, Saleb had lived with her Grandmother while Hanala spent the months learning how to take care of a child. Something she had no experience doing, nor had she ever planned on having. Priorities shifted when one was to blame for the deaths of Saleb's parents. Now she was comfortable with having Saleb living on the Bismarck with (though, mother did spend nights there as an extra small comfort for her granddaughter.)

Rolling her eyes at her mother, Hanala left her company and heading down out of the Admiralty lounge set up for her, went to Saleb's bedroom. The room was mostly unused. Saleb spent most of her nights clutched to her auntie. It helped her sleep so Hanala was more than happy to oblige that, even if it would cost her own rest.

Although she hated dealing with the stupidity of other parents, who invariably criticized her handling of Saleb once she got brought the guardianship to the public, she was getting used to this whole parenting thing. It was different from giving orders, or dating someone. It was always surprising what the worst day of her life had brought out in her.

Knocking twice and waiting, Hanala opened the door and stepped in quietly.

There sat Saleb, quietly, alone. Her outfit was a simple dress, a braid tied into her hair haphazardly. It was a Ka'Zetta –a hair barrette usually worn by a bride on the day of her marriage. One that Hanala knew belonged to Veyare. One that one day Veyare would have passed along to her daughter, as her mother passed it on to her.

Smiling softly, Hanala entered the room, earning a look from the child. Hanala remained silent as she sat down next to the child. Her hands reached up, and much to Saleb's protesting squawk, she pulled the Ka'Zetta out. Not for long however, she pushed it back into her hair, getting it in just right, the side of her hair now pushed up to reveal the girls ear as it was meant to. Smiling Hanala leaned in and kissed the girl on the cheek.

The child flinched.

"Are you ready to go?" Hanala inquired as she stood back up, ignoring the feeling she was somehow failing the child so soon.

Turning back to her, she found Saleb staring into her lap, her fingers laced together, slowly she shook her head.

"I don't want to go," she spoke, softly looking into her lap as though she was going to be in a heap of trouble. "I'm not feeling well."

Still smiling to the child, Hanala pressed her hand to her forehead. There was no sign of being ill. She did not need to break out her omni-tool diagnostic programs to know the child was not up to the little visit.

Hanala bent down onto her knees.

"I'll let you in on a little secret…. neither do I." Hanala admitted coyly, doing her best to offer the girl a mischievous smile. "I've been sick all day as well. The thought of having to sit with a bunch of blabbermouths while you get to have all the fun is a nightmare. You think we should tell Grandma to go away? I could issue her an Admiralty order and have her banished to maintenance work in the air ducts…"

Saleb nodded her head with much more enthusiasm. She liked the plan. Hanala giggled slightly as she clasped her cheek, allowing her fingers to graze the side of her niece's face.

"Well, we cannot do that," Hanala continued, ignoring the pout being offered by the child. "See, we have obligations you and I. We've hidden away for quite some time now. All your little friends are going to wonder where you are. Don't you want to see them? Do you not want to play with them?"

Saleb shook her head, making Hanala bite her lip. She really did not want to force the child into doing something she didn't want to do. It felt to her that Mother was trying to push her granddaughter into a state of normalcy without understanding that Saleb was never going to know normal until much later in life. The loss of her parents was not going to be a vague memory. Blurry given her age, but it would remain to be a huge gaping hole in her life.

Perhaps this was the way Mother grieved, to push everyone around her back into doing things that were considered normal. Her good intentions were her own selfish desires to hide away from the fact that her favourite child and the daughter she wished she could have was dead and she was now stuck with… well… Hanala.

Hanala shook her pessimistic thoughts away. She instead stood back up; both hands now touching each side of Saleb's face.

"I think you and I owe them a little visit -just a little one," she said, amending her statement as Saleb pouted even harder. "We'll leave when you want to leave. Then we'll have fun. I'll get us some sweets, we'll watch vids and I'll tell funny and scary stories about that big scary monster for the rest of the day... but only if we go first… Deal?"

Saleb looked at her aunt, debating the answer.

"Alright… Please don't be too scary." Saleb said her tone sweetly nervous as she took her aunt's hand and pushed herself off the side of the bed.

Hanala nodded as she suppressed her laughter.

For the most part, the transition to a new guardian was going pretty well, all things considered. Saleb and she had been getting along well. A little quiet, but not bad, the real matter came to the other important personal relationship.

Joachim Hoch. Or as Saleb called him: Big Scary Monster. It would have been cute too if Joachim was still in a stable mental state. He did not take that innocent gaffe well. It took Hanala standing in front of the child to circumvent his annoyance before it could quickly escalate into something worse.

There was no doubt that Joachim Hoch was mentally ill at the moment. During the time Joachim was placed into isolation, he was placed under a suicide watch after the physician found him staring at his pistol a little too fixated on it. Hanala tried her best to delude herself into believing that the doctors were being overly cautious, but in the back of her mind, she knew better. She knew how devastating what had happened had been to him. She may not have mourned for Gerald for obvious reasons, but she did for Lene and the family. If she wanted to curl up into a ball and die when she thought about how they found the Langer's, she could never in a million years understand the amount of agony that was probably still tearing Joachim apart.

With his extreme guilt and grief plaguing him, he simply wanted nothing to do with Hanala's issues; neither could she really blame him for not thinking about her own losses on that day. It was expected that he wouldn't be willing to help shoulder them for her benefit. Not when he was this devastated. Not when he was this vulnerable. Not when he had been led to falsely believe that this had happened because of him.

When the smoke had cleared, the SS had destroyed everything, absolutely everything in his life. They did not stop at the Langer's, they torched the Langer's possessions in Germany and Austria, they burned down the home Hanala and Joachim shared outside of Berlin, they drained out all the accounts Joachim and the Hoch family had, even the Langer's just in case, leaving him broke. They had burned down his home in Potsdam; they even torched what was left of the Hoch home in Kiel and knocked over the gravestones that belonged to each member of his immediate family –His brothers and his parents. Apparently a fitting punishment for doing what was right.

He was now on the top of National Socialism's hit list; most likely higher than Gerd von Rundstedt and the other Generals, for what he agreed to do on behalf of the Admiralty. If the Quarians pulled their support and left, the military leadership would have to be spared by the Nation Socialists, especially when the rebelling military men were the best tacticians and field commanders the country had. Hoch, on the other hand, would meet a gruesome end. So it came as no surprise to her that Joachim ad turned into an unemotional rock since the fateful day. All things considered, it was probably for the best he was this way.

Now, just because she thought it was for the best, did not mean that it didn't bother her. It had happened when she approached him and told him she had filed the proper documents for a legal custody of Saleb. It was a decision she wanted to make with him. Although he had no legal standing in the eyes of the Quarians, she wanted him there at her side, being an uncle to the child. Perhaps it would help cool his bubbling anger from bursting onto the people who wronged him.

Instead of the desired effect, he instead took it as an ultimatum, to forget his rage and his desire for revenge and to settle down. It was something that he might have wanted not that long ago, but with the death of the Langer's a fresh wound, he could not accept the chance for relative peace she presented him.

Joachim all but ended things between them there and then; just as he had after the ultimatum and the news she had been deceiving him, he told her to not make contact with him. It was not the end. It was a pause in the relationship, the silence between the two of them lasting now for nearly three months.

When the doctors decided he was stable enough to end suicide watch, Joachim left the medical observation, took several Quarian firearms and headed back to Earth. There was no goodbye. He was simply gone.

She could not judge him. If she had no obligations, she would have done the exact same thing –Whether Joachim wanted her there or not. But Like Joachim had once been before her, she too was sick of death. So instead she would finish the final repairs of the Cruiser and prepare her people for joining humanity on Earth.

So for now they parted ways. Hanala trying her best to be a mother figure to a girl who didn't deserve to be an orphan; And Joachim, who was off doing Ancestors knows what… Most likely taking lives.

Finding her mother standing in the shuttle bay, Hanala shook her thoughts away from Joachim and back to the situation at hand. She loosened her grip on Saleb's hand, only to have Saleb tighten hers. Hanala took the hand once again and led them down to Mother.

With any luck, this would be her first step back into the world that had been shattered by Hanala's foolish rescue attempt. She could only hope that one day; this sweet little girl clutching her hand like she was one of Joachim's Hoch's saints would still care for her despite what happened that fateful February day.

Even if Saleb could find forgiveness for what happened, Hanala knew that nothing would ever wash away her newfound self-loathing...

…

…

Climbing out of the back of the Opel Blitz Truck he was sitting in, Obersoldat Harold Braunbeck slicked back his hair as he pulled on his Stahlhelm. Slinging his Kar98k over his shoulder, he went to join the full company made mostly up of new recruits like him. This would be their first official assignment, attached to Generalleutnant Helmuth Weidling's 86th Infantry Division.

They were just outside of the city of Darmstadt. Like most of southwest Germany, it was primarily in the hands of the Wehrmacht, although that did not stop SS attacks and a civilian National Socialist terrorist group known as Werwolf. Werwolf was set up, trained, supplied and funded by both the Waffen-SS and, as rumour had it the Italians, who remained tersely allied with the new German government, but just as likely it would not be for long. With the Führer gone and Mussolini despising the treachery of the German high command, they were allies out of necessity now. If the Germans in Africa pulled out, Italy was doomed. If Italy fell, it provided the Anglo-Saxons and Americans a doorway into the Reich.

Just like he had said before, they were now allies of necessity.

"Company, fall in!"

The company fell into formation before the gathered officers, standing on the makeshift parade grounds. There appeared to be several leaders to the new arrivals. They broke apart, most of them heading to the front of the house where the crying was coming from, leaving behind the highest ranking man. A one eyed Oberst who stood silent as he inspected the company of mostly green soldiers. Hauptmann Horst Kleiner stepped forward to introduce the unit and exchange salutes with the officer.

As Kleiner stepped back to join his company, the Oberst stepped forward. His one eye narrowed as he looked over his men carefully. There was a flash of displeasure. He probably hadn't anticipated a unit whose median age was 19 years old. Boys compared to him. If he was angry, he did not say anything.

"Welcome to your first day in the 438th Mechanized Infantry, Kampfgruppe Hoch northern group," he greeted them, his voice raised now. "Our southern group is being pulled out of Algeria inside the week. We will be three thousand men strong by the time their deployment is completed-"

The screams intensified from inside the home. It sounded like bloody murder. The Oberst standing in front of them paid the interruption no mind. The company, on the other hand, sure did.

"I am Oberst Claus von Stauffenberg. I am this unit's commandant's second-in-command," the eye patch wearing colonel informed them over top of the strange noises. "Together we will be cleaning the Greater German Reich out of stubborn National Socialists and SS holdouts. This will not be an easy job. It appears that most of the Waffen-SS is now swinging in the direction of Himmler. If they come back we will have serious fight on our hands. One to which the Wehrmacht will not be able to send heavy support. We need all of our equipment situated on the front lines. As such we will most likely be reduced to obsolete armour to face our foe."

Kleiner raised his hand. Stauffenberg turned to face the Leutnant.

"Herr Stauffenberg? Forgive me for the interjection, but why are there two Oberst's for one Kampfgruppe?"

"We are Kampfgruppe in name only," was the Oberst's response. "It is simply a matter of legacy; we are, in actuality, a temporarily understrength regiment with two battalions instead of a standard three. I command Battalion 2, Waffen-SS Obersturmbannführer Joachim Peiper commands Battalion 1… And yes, twenty percent of Battalion 1 is made up of Waffen-SS troops that have broken off of the 1st SS Panzer Grenadier Division Leibstandarte. Speaking of which…."

Marching caught the company's attention. Some could not help it, they turned their heads to look, Harold included. Sure enough, marching down the road towards them came a small unit of what appeared to be Waffen-SS troops. They turned towards the new company and came to a halt at their side. The company commander, Hauptmann Werhner Cranz swore under his breath as he broke rank to confront the new arrivals.

The Hauptmann received no attention from the Waffen-SS, who's smug and arrogant attitudes remained despite the situation they were in. It took Oberst Von Stauffenberg clearing his throat to catch the Hauptmann's attention once again. Realizing it was futile to remain confrontational; Hauptmann Cranz left and marched back in front of his company.

"Joining you the rest of you will be seventy members of the 6th SS Mountain Division Nord. They were on leave during the uprising and decided that it was best if they serve the country and not the fallen Führer. They have taken an extraordinary risk to end their loyalties to the SS," Stauffenberg spoke, praising the new arrivals. "Together you will form the base for Battalion 3. Until your numbers are raised and leadership is found in an Oberstleutnant or even another Obersturmbannführer, for now Battalion 3 will serve as personal troops to Commandant Joachim Hoch."

There was a low murmuring from the new arrivals. They knew all about their former kameraden. Then again, who didn't after his astounding destruction of an elite panzer division with a Kampfgruppe. Of course, it probably wasn't him throttling Americans that made them nervous. It was what he did to the SS in Vienna back in February…

"God help us…" Someone in the Waffen-SS platoon said aloud to everyone. He wasn't just voicing their concern. Even the Heer soldiers shifted nervously.

"I realize that there will be a mistrust of anything related to the political army belonging to the late Führer." Stauffenberg pressed on, voicing their concerns before they started to simmer. "Our Commandant –a former Standartenführer believes that restitution can be made by those who thought service in that capacity was a benefit to the Fatherland. As you are Soldiers to the Provisional Government and to the Wehrmacht, I will expect you to welcome our repenting SS friends."

The screams once again caught their attention as a woman came running out of the house. She was utterly drenched in someone else's blood. Not caring, she collapsed before Stauffenberg and the one hundred and fifty new members of the Hoch regiment. The words she cried were almost completely unintelligible; all except for one statement.

"The Devil killed my husband!" she screamed to her audience.

Harold shifted in place… He was officially freaked out now. Serving with the enemy? Screams from that home, and now this woman crying about the devil… What the hell was he getting into?

"Attention!"

The new members of the Regiment went from a relaxed state, to complete attention. There standing in the doorway was the giant commandant they now answered to. An axe in one hand, the other clutching what little hair was left on a man's head. Meeting Stauffenberg's expressionless stare, the Oberst stepped out of the doorway and moved towards Stauffenberg, who looked torn between revulsion and resignation.

Well… At least the Oberst wasn't above getting his own hands dirty.

Dropping the axe as he joined Stauffenberg, he ignored the screaming woman below him as he handed the bloody head to Stauffenberg. The face of his beheaded victim was contorted into a haunting display of terror. Holy shit…

"Take this to Berlin," Harold heard Commandant Hoch say over the woman's wild screaming, clearly the wife of the man he had beheaded. "See if they can make use of it."

Stauffenberg, now several shades paler nodded, and as though he had a handful of shit, he winced as went towards the trucks the new company had driven in. He did not notice the grins coming from some of the veterans of this unit. The grins vanished the moment Oberst Hoch cleared his throat.

"My name is Joachim Hoch and this is a boilerplate disclaimer to each of you newcomers," Hoch barked to the gathered men. "If I so much as hear or see sympathy shown to fervent followers of National Socialism, I will have you locked up or sent back to the front. Armed or not, the unrepentant National Socialist is our enemy. He and she will be treated as such."

He paused and turned his attention to the large Waffen SS platoon. The leader, what appeared to be an Obersturmführer, somehow stood up even straighter as the bearded former member of their organization lumbered towards them. His eyes travelled over their uniforms still decorated in Waffen-SS insignias.

Hoch was not impressed by the display. His pointer finger snapped out and shoved the Obersturmführer in the chest.

"I'm holding you to a higher standard than the rest, Obersturmführer," he warned the SS-Obersturmführer. "Most of the Wehrmacht believes that they are morally superior to us. It is as though they think that they do not have the same sort of blood on their hands like we have. They have no need to apologize. Prove yourself better than them to me and you will earn commendation from me."

"You bastard… You murderous, traitorous bastard!"

The woman who was married to the dead man was back on her feet. No longer would she be a victim. Not when she had inched over to where Hoch had left his axe and grabbed it by the handle. With all her might she raised it over her head and bolted at him.

Calmly, Hoch rounded back on the woman. He did not attempt to disarm her. He dodged the swing of the axe and with all his might, drove his palm into the woman's nose. She screamed again as a sickening crunch could be heard by everyone gathered in her front yard. The pain was just too much for her; she lost her footing and collapsed.

Staring idly as he watched her clutch utterly shattered nose. Hoch reached into his pistol belt for his sidearm. As he retrieved the weapon, the woman held her hand out.

"Please…" she weakly begged. "Don't do this-"

Without allowing her to finish, Hoch learned down and pressed the barrel against her temple. He shot her dead on the spot.

Not bothering to wipe the blood from the blowback off his face, Hoch stood up and holstered his weapon before turning back to face the absolutely shocked arrivals. He was utterly unmoved by the sight of what he had done.

"You will deal with them accordingly," he said as he gestured to the dead or dying woman sprawled out before them as an example to them all. "I expect that all of you will not show the enemy any quarter. Our assignment is to purge this element out of the Reich. Do I make myself clear?"

Hoch did not have to give that order twice.

…

…

"Hauptsturmführer Skorzeny?"

Turning away from the window, Otto Skorzeny found an Obersturmführer standing in the doorway to his office, his cap resting on his arm as he waited for Skorzeny to invite him, which he did. He had all the markings of an intelligence agent. Cool and distant as he seemed to inspect his new superior officer carefully.

"Obersturmführer Adrian von Fölkersam reporting in as you requested," the younger man said as he dropped his transfer orders in front of Skorzeny, who sat down behind his desk and glanced over them.

Adrian von Fölkersam was a Saint Petersburg born Baltic German, his parents and family line were aristocrats with a long history of service to the Russian Empire. With the Bolshevik induced collapse, they fled back to the Fatherland and pronounced themselves permanent enemies of all forms of left wing thought -especially when it involved Bolshevism.

His background made him a prime candidate for daring sabotage operations behind the Russian lines meant to sow confusion and chaos, in Adrian's own case, to maximum effect. Skorzeny signed the transfer papers, officially assigning the Abwehr trained Waffen-SS commando to his new assignment. He looked and found Adrian still in a state of attention. A professional subordinate, well this was new.

He would need one. Especially with what Reichsführer Himmler had sanctioned. They were so close now all he needed was one final push to enact his plans. But it was coming. With nearly half of the Waffen-SS now in talks with Himmler, while the Wehrmacht was over extended across Russia, Occupied Europe and Africa, it was only a matter of time before the SS reconsolidated their power in the Fatherland.

All they needed was a leader.

"You can relax Obersturmführer, take a seat," Skorzeny ordered as he gestured to the seat at the front of his desk.

Obersturmführer Fölkersam obliged his new commanding officer, who dug into his desk and retrieved a bottle of schnapps and a couple of glasses for them. He paused and put one of the glasses away as the impassive Abwehr field operative held up his hand in polite refusal. Regardless, Skorzeny poured himself a drink and leaned back into his seat. One hand clutched his drink, the other opening the Obersturmführer's file on the table.

As testament to his character, most men tried to peak at their official records when they were in plain sight. Not Fölkersam. He continued to stare ahead in a state of attention, uninterested. Sipping his drink, Skorzeny sighed as he closed the folder.

"I would like for you to tell me about your service in the Brandenburgers," Skorzeny spoke finally, bringing his curiosity to the focus. "I would especially like to hear of your actions in Maikop."

For the first time, the impassive expression of the Waffen-SS Obersturmführer vanished. He smiled, only a slight, modest smile, but it was a smile nonetheless. In return, Skorzeny's own grin crinkled his mensur scar.

"Care for that drink now?" Skorzeny inquired, finally earning an ever widening smile and a slight nod.

As Skorzeny poured a second glass and slid it over to Fölkersam's reach, he crossed his fingers on the table as he watched the junior Waffen-SS man sip his drink conservatively. He was not in any hurry for the story to be told. This was just an interview. After a moment or so, Fölkersam set his glass down.

"Well Herr Skorzeny, it was August of last year," the Obersturmführer begun to recall for the hulking Austrian. "I and just fewer than sixty-five others of Baltic and Sudeten origin were ordered by our superior, Wilhelm Canaris to infiltrate behind enemy lines."

His words were so very cautious. Like he wasn't sure he should be discussing the matter. Skorzeny shot him a sympathetic smile.

"You penetrated farther into enemy territory than any other German unit at the time, am I correct?" Skorzeny inquired. Sipping his drink, Fölkersam nodded at the statement, he was not smug about it.

"You would be," he conceded, before he paused for a moment as he added. "We were ordered to seize and secure the Maikop oilfields… our intentions were to make sure little damage was sustained to them by the Soviet scorched earth policy when the Heer undoubtedly took the region. After obtaining NKVD uniforms from prisoners, and driving Soviet trucks, we infiltrated through the Soviet front lines and moved deep into hostile territory."

"Is it true you ran into a large group of Red Army deserters fleeing from the front?"

The Commando nodded.

"Yes, Herr Hauptsturmführer," Fölkersam once again confirmed. "They were a company or two in strength. I saw an opportunity to use them to our unit's advantage. We spooked the lot into returning to the Soviet cause through their typical methods. Threats, intimidation, but then offered an alternative. Service guaranteed their names kept out of the traitor books. It worked. We attached ourselves onto them and escorted them back behind the Soviet lines. We could almost move at will. No one suspected us as long as we kept ourselves looking busy and away from the roaming NKVD squads."

Skorzeny leaned into his seat; uniforms, trucks, manipulation of other people's fears in order to achieve an ends to a means. It was wonderful to see that covert actions were not a solely English specialty. He got a lot of flak from Churchill about how painfully inept Germans were when it came to cloak and dagger combat. Perhaps on his next visit to the imprisoned Englishman, he would present Adrian to him.

"That's impressive," He whistled, leaning further into his seat. "That's damn impressive."

For his part, Fölkersam did not seem too fazed with the praise.

"Thank you, Herr Skorzeny. Anyway, I was operating under false identity of a NKVD Major named Truchin based in Stalingrad; I explained my role in recovering the deserters to the Soviet commander in charge of Maikop's defences," he continued until he paused, a smile widening over his mouth as he added. "The stupid bastard not only believed me, but the next day gave him a personal tour of the city's defences."

Skorzeny burst out into laughter, his hands clapping together at the statement.

"We stayed there for a few days and by the 8th of August, the spearhead was only about 12 or so miles away," he continued. "Together my unit and I decided it was time to act. We used our grenades to simulate an artillery attack; the grenades knocked out the military communications centre for the city. After expending our grenades and waiting until the panic started to set in, I went to the Russian defenders and told them that a withdrawal was taking place. Since they knew I was NKVD and friendly with their commander, and finally lacking any communications to confirm the order, they began to evacuate Maikop quietly."

Taking a cigarette from Skorzeny, Adrian paused to wait for his cigarette to be lit before he took a long drag, and then exhaled.

"The spearhead entered Maikop without a shot being fired the next day. The only soldiers they found were us. We got lucky that Abwehr was watching the advance. We could have been thrown into a Prisoner of War camp."

As Adrian von Fölkersam fell silent, Skorzeny found himself finally finding a kindred spirit. Someone he could talk shop with, without being bogged down in listening to tedious topics Ernst Kaltenbrunner loved to discuss and imagine that Skorzeny had been a lawyer just like him. With any luck, he would convince the professional to see the benefit of being a friend to him.

"I already read the report, but I'd rather have had heard it straight from you," Skorzeny admitted to the Obersturmführer. "Impressive, truly impressive. And to think there is no recognition of your accomplishment."

At the mention of recognition, Adrian von Fölkersam actually looked upset, offended by the statement that Skorzeny made. Fölkersam slid his glass of schnapps to his superior.

"With all due respect, I did not sign onto my assignments for the glory, Herr Skorzeny. That is not the sort of soldier I am," the aristocratic commando spoke, his voice defensive. "I did it because my country asked me to. As the blade of the Abwehr, it must be a silent one; always a silent one."

Skorzeny only offered him a grin.

"This isn't the Abwehr, they are now our enemy," he reminded the offended commando. "No my friend, you're in a different league now. I have brought you here for one reason and one reason only… First however you must swear your loyalty to me. This mission has been commissioned by the Reichsführer. What we do here is removed from the rest of the SS's knowledge."

Fölkersam inclined his head.

"I swear it, Herr Hauptsturmführer," he said immediately.

Skorzeny nodded, pushing himself out of the seat, he waited for Fölkersam to do the same. There were no words he could use to describe what the Obersturmführer needed to know. Not without proof presented first. He would need to see his prisoner… the quarian pilot Dalad'Voar vas Osalion, who was sitting in a holding cell now unknowingly since he captured him in February. He believed himself a stranded guest still.

Little did he know the role he would soon play in Skorzeny's machinations.

"Come with me," Skorzeny said to the newcomer as he opened the door. "I have someone who you need to meet."

...

...

Changes: Clean up, Angst extermination

Welcome to the last part. I probably won't release this story as fast as I did Last Days. At 320,000 words, it's three times the size of the last story. Lots of fat trimming will happen, but it's going to be a long one regardless.