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Edwin Rommel

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Everything posted by Edwin Rommel

  1. Hrmmmfff--- not kwalifiet am I-- to be inkluded unt all --- Zho only zhe Ami'z are mizzed- vhe vhill korrekt zhat very kwiekly mit zum blitz Blitzkreig klever maneuvrez....
  2. Uf kourze-- need ein doorschtoppen right avay- mein Enigma ist erommel@iafrica.com- Danke Schon!
  3. As Rommel rounds the far corner of the lean-to shed behind the restaurant he is met by a strange sight— A small pile of bloodstained previously white clothes are in a neatly folded pile on the ground- next to it is a pair of bloodstained white plastic boots… Rommel rushes to the bubbling pot… A human head, with the lips pulled back in a silent scream slowly tumbles among the biling bubbles on the surface.. “Och mein Lieber….”
  4. The last rays of sun touches the Ramtops— Lobsang is sitting on the veranda – having a quiet cigarette before going in for supper… He is contemplating the events of the past few weeks— Making a decision, he gets up and walks to the procrastinator control room. He opens the door of the supervisors office… “Please fetch me the control records and personal procrastinator one Soren Fick- currently on a submarine called the “CSS Fishbait”- make it quick…” After a few minutes the supervisor returns, looking puzzled--- “It is not there sir??” “What??? How is that possible- I know for a fact that he is still alive- how can his procrastinator be gone?? Go look again” Ignoring the “No Smoking sign” Lobsang fishes in his robe for his cigarettes.. A micro-procrastinator is issued to the history monks at child birth and then placed in the vast time hall where it spins away on it’s little bearing- slower and faster as time progresses- some spin for long periods, others only briefly. When the personal time comes to an end, the procrastinator is removed by a monk and mailed to the department managed by the dispatchers. They in turn will then mail the procrastinator to the appropriate end outcome- the ones that has to be recycled (a bit of an administrative nightmare really) is sent back to the receiving department where they are re-introduced into the time hall, if there is space- otherwise they are squeezed into whatever life form has some unused capacity.. A whole religion developed around this- but that is a story for another day.. The system has been working flawlessly forever- until, it seems, till now… The personal procrastinator is sacrosanct- whoever controls it, literally holds your life and future in their hands. Monks are carefully screened for years before being allowed into the Time Hall- specifically for this reason. To lose a procrastinator is virtually impossible- unless… Lobsang tugs a bell-pull. Far away a soft tinkle sounds, followed by shuffling footsteps increasing in tempo and loudness as it approaches the door to the control room. The acolyte visibly pales as he sees the chairman rather than the normal supervisor… “Yes sir, chairman sir--- what may I do sir??” “Get me the security camera tapes for the past week- make it quick!” Lobsang kicks the perpetual motion generator wheel into motion, and after while the old CRT screen flickers and a grainy picture appears… After a while the acolyte re-appears with an armful of 8mm film canisters, which he loads into the tape drive in sequence and then nods towards Lobsang. Lobsang pushes a button--- and after a few seconds the inside of the time hall, boundary fences and several not so hidden nooks and crannies flickers onto the screen… Lobsang lights up a cigarette from the stub between his fingers and settles down to watch… supper forgotten…
  5. Ich schmell it uppen mit disdain unt shake mein finger at you in retaliazion!
  6. Ich did not vhont to zhay it firzt- but Dayhum ( (tm) Gunny) he iz zhat good.... unt zhe Donzter fart schtory-- iz juzt vhell bullcrap.... - nearly schmellz like it az vhell....
  7. Ach scheisse get him zhum Kevlar unt anti-deprezzantz Doktor Katezenjammer
  8. Rommel whispers to Shultzie seated next to him in the Filippino restaurant. “Zhiz meat kebabz really haf fonny tazte- do you zhink it iz dog- Ich heard zhey eat dog..?” “Nein Herr Feldmarshall- it iz not guut- to schweet unt alzo a bit tough- do not imagine dog vhould tazte like zhat..” “Ah so gentlemen- do you enjoy your pood? We were not sure how to prepare it- this is the pirst time we try?” Rommel shakes his head and slowly rubs back over the conversations they had since landing in Manila.. “Entshuldigen mich, Herr Elly- zhe introductory tour through zhe Manila mit Jeepney vhoz guut, unt all zhe greetink uf people vhoz guut- but zhiz food--- iz—how vhould ich zhay--- iz different, nicht vhar? “Oh no Ser- did we do not do it right- we wanted to make you peel right at home?” “Nein- everyhink is fine- vhe vhere just vhondring vhot meat zhiz vhoz- it iz not dog iz it?- vhe undeschtood you ate zhe dogz zhometimez- unt vhe haf not tazted zhe dog meat before unt zhat iz maybe vhy zhe meat taztz schtrange fur uz- nicht vhar Shultzie??” Shultz nods and secretly spits the meat out onto his palm before dropping it under the table where several small piles of slightly chewed piles of meat are already residing all along the length of the table- “Ah- no it is a joke that we eat dog- some very remote tribes in the mountains on some of the islands eat dogs, and the Chinese eats anything… but no- we heard you eat camel- and therepore we prepared some camel for you…” “Kamelz- vhe eat kamelz—vhere zhe helldid you hear zhat…???” “We had a call prom your protocol manager—he said his name was Dave Thompson and he was speaking por his boss?? And that you would really enjoy to be welcomed in the traditional North African way by having camel- and that you might even be bringing your own to celebrate the occasion of arriving in the Philippines??” “Ach himmel- Dave Thompson- zhat vhoz zhat schwein vho chazed uz on Bazuruto..…. Unt BOSS vhoz zhe … unt vhe vhill bring… Berthrude… HIMMEL—SHULTZ!!!” Shultzie and Rommel both jump up simultaneously, kicking the table over backwards in their haste- and sending half eaten food and drink and startled patrons flying all over the restaurant… They rush to the swing doors of the kitchen, first sticking in the narrow doorway before bursting through into the inside with several started cooks dropping plates and pans and looking in the direction of the duo… “VHERE IZ ZHE KAMEL?!!!!” The nearest cook points in the direction of the back door.. “Ting Chong wele plepaling it out thele sil…” Shultzie and Rommel rush outside… Under the open lean to a huge pot is bubbling on an open fire… in the open area there is a lot of blood and some guts lying in the dust…it is very quiet apart from the squeak of the hinges of the yard gate slowly moving in the breeze…. “Ach nein--- mein liebchen--- vhot haf zhey done……..
  9. The chute opens- with some deft flicks and janks on the steering ropes Stans lines upwith the surface running submarine some 800 meters below him. The orderly taking a steaming mug of cocoa to Gunny on the bridge gets knocked back into the control room by a descending pair of boots slamming onto his head. Stans deftly unclips the harness at the last moment and with a soft thump he lands on the control room floor and starts pulling the parachute inside through the open conning tower hatch.. “So—how is everybody…” Doug looks up from the map he is styding--- “Did you just parachute in through the conning tower hatch opening??” “Ahh—well yes? Is anything wrong?? “But that is impossible--- how did you m,anage that??” “Quit elementary actually- piece of cake- almost like a root channel—once you find the right angle it is easy from there…Where is Donster..” “Jeez- just follow the “aroma”- we have locked him in the back- and the rest of us live here in the front” Unseen by anybody Stans fist pumps as he steps through the hatch to the next section “Now that was something--- eat your heart out Gunny- let us see you repeating that neat special forces trick!!
  10. Stans removes the false bottom of his handhold- a bright pink mobile phone is retrieved, and after switching on and logging in he pushes a button to place a speed dial number. After three rings he kills the call and sets the phone down and heads for the shower. Neatly dressed and fully packed some 20 minutes later, he sits down with a cup of coffee- At exactly 30 minutes, the phone rings. “This is Cheatum- why did you pace this call” “I need to jget back to the Fishbait” “Indeed we do- we are very cross with you actually- why did you treat our man so poorly? He was picked up on the southern Tanzania coast- totally dehydrated and sun-burnt to a cinder- if it was not for some bits and pieces he could recover from his briefcase, he would certainly be dead by now…” “Sorry- there was an argument on the Fishbait about some triviality and I was deep-sixed by Donster – I still think it was post count envy, and could not remain on board without causing suspicion. I did leave a large number of transponders hidden away all over her – so you can still track them- the trigger code is #3342768-“ “Hold on---“ Stans hears some conversations going on in the background, and then Cheatum is back on the line.. “Ok- we are tracking them now—so why did you call” “Is the contract on Don Millar still out” “Yes- and the agent which was expelled from the fishbait volunteered to specifically complete it…” “Is it really necessary – if I can back on board I can keep a watch on him and make sure that he does not find out? I think taking him out is way too harsh-?” “You do realise what will happen if he finds out about the secret code and distraction and deception strategy – if that is removed from the equation it will be global war in a very short time- we cannot afford for him to find out what is happening…” “ I will follow him closely- and respond every time he makes a move in the right direction encourage him to keep going- and at the same time maintain a higher post count- he will never catch on- I promise..” “OK- we give you a last chance- do not fail us- again! Just look how quickly things go wrong if we cannot keep the males distracted… suicide bombing, flying planes into buildings, bombs… you name it…” “ Just keep me posted on the Fishbait’s whereabouts and recall your assassin… I will handle it- where is the ‘bait now?” “On the surface some twenty miles off the south-east coast of Africa. Apparently they cannot dive anymore since all the air scrubbers burned out due to overuse- so you will find them cruising on the surface with most of the crew on deck according to this satellite picture” “OK- I am off” “Make sure you succeed- Dewy Cheatum and Howe has a huge reputational stake in this- and we have nearly failed…” Stans kills the call and then breaks the phone after removing and destroying the Sim card. ## A few hours later he lands at Oliver Thambo Airport in Johannesburg- and after some confusion in the terminal building about changed flights, he boards a nondescript C119 which takes off and heads South West some minutes later. Stans dresses in a neoprene and Kevlar body suit and pulls on his normal long pants and stained dentist’s frock over it before setting down in the single seat in the hald and soon he dozes off…
  11. When American troops began to leave the Philippines at the end of World War II, hundreds of surplus Jeeps were sold or given to the Filipinos. The Jeeps were stripped down and altered locally: metal roofs were added for shade; and the vehicles decorated in vibrant colours with chrome-plated ornaments on the sides and hood. The back saloon was reconfigured with two long parallel benches with passengers facing each other to accommodate more passengers.[a] The size, length and passenger capacity has increased as it evolved through the years.[7] These were classified as passenger-type jeeps. The non-extended, original-seat configuration jeeps were labeled owners, short for owner-type jeeps, and are used non-commercially. The original Jeepneys were refurbished military Jeeps by Willys and Ford. Modern jeepneys are now produced with surplus engines and other parts coming from Japan. The jeepney rapidly emerged as a popular and creative way to re-establish inexpensive public transportation, much of which had been destroyed during World War II.
  12. Nein- zhe real vhonz look like zhiz! Not ein tjeep imitazion-- hehehe- did you notize zhe punny pun zhere-- Tjeep- Jeep -- Ich am funny nein Schultzie??
  13. “Magadang umaga po!- Welcome to the Philippines Phieldmarshall Rommel! We have waited por this day so long!- it is truly a blessing por us that you and some of your crew made it in one piece! We have heard op all your exploits to get here, and we are very glad that you are safe- please come and join us in the parade we have organized por you!- and may I say how thoughtpull of you to bring us all some pood!” Rommel, still dazed by the overwhelming reception and not even catching all the words in the strange accent, slowly lowers himself through the hatch onto the scorching tarmac below the tired looking Shakleton. A strange bright aluminium vehicle, vaguely resembling a stretched out WW2 American Jeep, awaits them. Rommel stumbles to the Jeepny, while the crew behind him unpacks the aircraft, lastly, but not the least lowering Berthrude, still with a deflated beach ball in her mouth, to the ground. When she is on firm ground she shakes herself thoroughly, sending Christmas island beach sand, still stuck in her coat, flying in a fine spray around her. She seems a bit bewildered when a man dressed in white overall and white waterboots puts a harness over her head and starts puling on the rope…
  14. Stans realises that he has fallen asleep in the lap of one of his lady friends after finishing off the second bottle of Gelfidich. The fishing rods, long forgotten- had been pulled off their stands and lies in the sand some way off. A woman lies snoring on her back in the shade of a nearby palm- snoring gently. The hag on whose lap he seems to have fallen asleep is also a long way away in dreamland. Stans shakes his head- immediately regretting it- drinking whiskey under a tropical sun has never been a good idea- even good whiskey! He stumbles upright, picks up his fishing tackle and heads for his rented digs- "This has been enough- I need to do something with my life- I think I will take a shower and then do some thinking on how to find the Fishbait crowd again.."
  15. Gunny spews what was left of his lunch over the side of the bridge. “Damn Donster- you should warn us when you do things like that…” He wipes his shoes on the gasping and retching form of Fick- recently back from the dead. Fick belches- the paint on the nearby stanchion peels a bit… “What exactly do you call that CPR procedure Donster?” “It is called CAR- the pulmonary is just replaced with an arsesory—so it is cardio arsory resuscitation – quite popular in India… the mouth tube stings a bit when it goes in, but the rest is elementary really; ait- let me just get my tube- you never know when I might need it again” Donster retrieves the tube from Fick’s slack blue gasping lips, turns it over and washes it with Fick’s saliva… he smells it… “Good- enough- I don’t smell them anyway…” ## Rommel is woken by the thump and vibration as the Shackleton settles to the ground at Ninoy Aquino Airport. He is very hung over- Shultz and Helmut kept plying him with drinks until he passed out- otherwise they would still be sitting on Christmas island. The ground controller flags them into position and the silence after many hours of turbine whining is almost deafening. There is a knock on the access hatch….
  16. (For Donster….) From the deep a dark shape rises- the ultimate killer in the oceans- the shape speeds towards the surface, not paying heed to anything else in it’s way- totally focussed and intent on it’s objective…. The CSS Fishbait breaches the surface and the bow briefly rises totally out of the water before slamming down in a spray of foam. After a brief struggle, the main conning tower hatch slams open and with a high pitched whistle foul air streams out of the pungent cooped up tortured hatch opening. Gunny rushes to the rim of the bridge and after puking for a minute or two he wipes his mouth on his slieve… “Damnit – that bloody rotted from the inside out sonar man!!!” He turns to the hatch to see what caused the blockage earlier- he is surprised to see a human form pushed into the corner of the bridge— He turns the recumbent form over…. There is a collective gasp from the small crowd of crew who had gathered on the bridge in the meantime… “FICK????? Oh brother--- he still feels warm… he needs CPR…… any volunteers??” An uneasy silence settles on the group….
  17. “Chicken coop this is tumbling hen flight” “Coop- spotted debris in water 200 nautical miles east of Maldives” “Confirm hen- debris in water- do you think that this might be the missing Malay air flight?” “Coop- we see five bodies floating in the water and other miscellaneous debris- we would like to confirm that this is a definite maybe” “Roger Hen- Mauritian Navy S&R craft dispatched- remain on station as long as possible- well done- coop out” Dave Thompson stares at the receding debris on the surface some hundreds of meters below him. “Serves you right you bloody bastards you-“ ** Admiral Slabbert puts down the telephone. He walks across the thick carpet and opens the filing cabinets bottom drawer. He retrieves the quart of Dalwhiney Single Malt and checks the little tick mark on the label, left there to make sure that nobody is stealing from him. He fills two timbers and puts one of the bent plaque on his desk- he lifts the other in a silent salute to his best enemy, now feeding fishes somewhere in the Indian Ocean. “Here’s to you, you wily old fox you- you escaped IRS after all- who said that thing about death and taxes- well- you did both and denied them in the end- well done old fox!” He knocks back the drink and then reaches for the phone.. “Contact Thompson and recall them- IRS has wasted enough of our time- let us get on to the serious business of preventing these arses from running a perfectly good country into the ground” ** “Ich bin bored- kqn vhe not get on mit it? Vhe haf been here fur ein vheek and new adventurez bekonz uz- und you haf lozt enough money in zhe pub allvready!” Rommel tilts back hiss cap to look at the pissed off Schultzie. “Komme on mein kamerad- juzt vhon more day- zhen vhe kan get into zhat verdamtes airkrafts und fly to zhe detinazion.” Below them on the beach,, Berthrude rolls into a more comfortable position amongst the strands of seaweed littering the surface-a laze ear flicks away a fly. She yaws and farts loudly.. ** As the last air escapes from the tube, Fink’s life flashes before his eyes- it is so sordid and boring that he starts crying… what a waste of space and oxygen… “Pleaze zhe great fuhrer uf zhem all- please haf merzy unt let me lif a vhile lonker to make amendz fur all zhe scheisse Ich haf kauzed?- Ich am zho zho zhorry…” As the waves closes over his head he sees the surface moving further away from him, followed by a line of rising bubbles… “…….”
  18. And here the story stops- for now- to recap: * Rommel and his crew is safe- playing bitch tennis on Christmas island, for now- * Berthrude is happy, giving small kids rides on her back in the pool of the Christmas Island Casino- for now- * Dave Thompson is pissed off and sweaty for now- jogging around Diego Garcia airfield, for now, waiting for the Hercules to be made airworthy again *Fink is drifting on a slowly deflating life raft somewhere south of Durban, with an approaching storm and sharks to keep him company- for now *Stans is having the time of his life in the Maldives for now, having opted to stay behind when Rommel and his crew departed. Having pulled enough teeth in the past week to afford a bottle of Glenfidich 18 year old this morning, he is relaxing under a palm tree and keeping an eye on the fishing rods. *The lawyer has just washed out near Tolaria and is now desperately trying to find a public phone booth *The CCS Fishbait is missing somewhere in the southern Indian ocean- and Donster is keeping the crew entertaining with his repertoire of farting noises- for now *Dark Helmet has successfully killed 5 crew members and blew an hole in the airlock for now- with his new fancy schmanchy laser sword… he is happy- for now *The IRS is pissed off for now- but they always are- so nothing new here- for now * Admiral Slabbert is in a bad mood- but like the IRS- this is normal for him. He is trying to get hold of Thompson, who is jogging for now, with his cell switched off, for now. This computer is in the process of being dismantled for transport- so signing off- for a week or so- for now The almost end…
  19. Sipping on a tall drink with an little umbrella in sitting on the deck of the Christmas Island casino while watching Berthrude frolicking in the pool must be one of the better pastimes in the world. The Shakelton barely made it to the runway (again), but they made it- (again). A tropical storm caused them to divert south and literally they were at their last drops of fuel when they saw a land-mass beneath them- the rest- as they say, is history- for now. “Shultzie- fanzy ein round of bitch tenniz??”
  20. Fink struggles to remain upright and awake in the small life preserver tube bobbing in the wake of the Kontiki 2. Suddenly there is a loud thunderclap and a shimmer of green-purple-blue sparks around him. As he opens his eyes, the Kontiki 2 is gone and he is left drifting in the small waves somewhere south of Durban- a gull screams overhead. And soon a soft warm plop of bird crap lands on his head.. He has never felt so alone in all of his life… This is not to last long however- he feels a bump on his buttocks and as he looks down he sees a large grey body sliding past beneath him- a dorsal fin breaks the surface a few meters in front of him…
  21. “Ahh I am so sorry Fark-san- it is impossible to continue as your trusted henchman and insider with the Time Keeper Brotherhood” Fark Selmut pushes back from the tea table and tips the ash from his thin cheroot into a tea cup “You know as well as anybody else that you do not “retire” from my organization Zuren Lick, except wrapped in your favorite futon and on top of a pile of burning wood” “Fark- you must know that I prefer that to having to live like this any longer” “When did is start- this confusion and forgetfulness? You certainly lost a lot of money recently- you are almost as poor as a—hahahaha- monk?” “ I so sorry Fark, that I will replace as far as I can- I will leave the rest of my estate for you- please just end this-“ “Are you very sure Zuren- this is very final?” “I am sure Fark, you are the only one I trust to be accurate and clean and quick” “Very well then- please move onto the chopping block in the garden- I do not want a mess in here” “Fark, you are most kind- thank you” Zuren- now a broken and confused man shuffles down the stairs- involuntarily his hand moves into the folds of his robe and retrieves the egg timer from his pocket. It has been the constants source of calmness in the very very confusing past couple of days. He had lost virtually all of his money in two days at the races, and he ended up in places and situations where he had no idea how he got there- it now drove him to the point of asking Fark Helmut to honour him with a traditional act of Deja-fu. This is similar to the martial art of Kung-fu, but differs in the sense that there are no hands involved, only a sharp sword and a bent neck. Also- it only happens once- therefore not Deju-vu- which has a different meaning altogether. He drops the robe from his shoulders and kneels at the block sinking his neck into the shallow recess. In his hand he is still clasping the egg timer to calm him. He waits. In his peripheral vision he sees a flash of greenish light. Zuren lifts his head to see what is happening, and is nearly blinded by a pinpoint of very sharp green light playing over his face. “Ahh- so sorry Zuren- My cousin sent me this new fancy schmancy laser sword by space mail this week- it is pretty damn useless- I tried to kill several things with it, and it only makes this little light and nothing else… never mind—we will fix this in no time. He draws a a Smith And Wesson .44 magnum from the fold of his robe and blasts Zuren’s head off. As the echoes from the nearby cliffs of the Ramtops stops, and the last pieces of brain material plops down into the garden, the lifeless fingers open and a small egg timer roll across the deck and plops over the edge, shattering on the concrete below with a soft tinkle…
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