//------------------------------// // New Languages and A Nazi that Smiles // Story: Chaos Incorporated // by DontTreadOnMe777777 //------------------------------// Ricky shoved open the great double doors to the temple, striding through the doors like he had just won a war single-handedly. Unfortunately, no one was there to see Ricky make his grand entrance, making Ricky just the slightest tinge of annoyed. He walked down the hallway a ways before realizing that no one was going to find him, so he made some noise. "Discord! Back!" he shouted through the hall, his voice echoing slightly in the aftermath. Within two seconds, Discord was next to Ricky, accompanied as always by his characteristic teleportation flash of light. "So, what exactly did you get? Some ultimate army of utter death and destruction? Something that'll wipe the floor with the ponies?! Ooh, ooh, what about the commander? Was it an epic duel to the death?!" Discord was just about to take another breath, in order to keep ranting like a little child, when Ricky decided to talk. "I played a baseball game with the leader of a division from the major power's smallest army from World War I," he said. Discord visibly deflated - literally - his body sinking to the ground, before suddenly popping up again, full of air once more. "What! That's it!" Discord yelled. “Hey! It’s also one of the best trained armies, not to mention it actually speaks English!” Ricky shot back, irritated with Discord’s displeasure. “Okay, okay, I get it. Just… make sure that you get some good armies this time, kapeesh?” Discord rubbed his temple with his claw, obviously frustrated. "Yeah, sure," Ricky waved off his concerns. "Well, if you don't need me right now, I guess I'll go and get another one." "Yeah, by all means, go," Discord said, shooing him out of the doors again, before disappearing again. Ricky sighed. So far, the only reactions he had really got from Discord were frustration and anger. He was starting to wonder if he should have just stayed at home, and not gotten himself into this mess. "Well, at this point, it's just a matter of seeing just how deep the rabbit hole really goes," he thought morosely. Mentally slapping himself for thinking so darkly, he then focused on what he needed next. What he really needed were tanks and a fast-moving contingent of infantry. Something that could go quickly, get to destinations and objectives faster than just walking. And then, it came to Ricky. Smiling, he jogged off into the village, searching for a certain unit. Quite a few Nazi armbands confirmed he was in the right location a few minutes later. After finding a German that spoke decent English, he managed to get directions to the leader of the Grossdeutschland Regiment, Karl Lorenz. He finally found his tent, right next to some trucks. Taking another deep breath, Ricky quickly steeled himself to get ready to talk to a real Nazi for the first time. He walked through the door. The tent was empty. Ricky just stood there, dumbfounded as to why there was not a Nazi screaming Hitler's praise in his face. Groaning in pent-up frustration, Ricky turned to leave. He left, pushing the flap back open, muttering to himself: “Where the hell could he be? What could he even be doing?!” He was just about to leave, when a loud metallic clang sounded off from the direction of the two Opel Blitz trucks parked next to the commanding tent. Suddenly, Ricky saw two legs appear from underneath the chassis of the truck, followed by a torso, which stuck a hand out, its palm open and facing upwards. “Hans, schlüssel,” the man under called for his comrade, which, as a quick 360 scan of the area confirmed, was not present. “Hans!” the man called, obviously beginning to get impatient. A few more seconds of silence followed, before the man fulled crawled out from under the truck he was maintenancing. “Hans!!! Gib mir der verdammt schlüssel!” The man yelled as he stood to his full height, probably around an impressive 6’0”, maybe 6’1”. His narrowed eyes searched the landscape, obviously trying to find his “Hans” friend, until he saw Ricky. “Hallo. Ich heisse Generalmajor Karl Lorenz der das Regiment Grossdeutschland. Wer bist du?” Karl asked quietly as he dusted his oil and grease-covered pants off, which just served to get more shit on his hands. “Um, hello, Karl. Do you speak English? Or French? Parlez-vous Francais?” Ricky asked, sighing. He should have expected the language barrier to be a problem. “So, an Amerikan, then?” Ricky jerked his head up at the unfamiliar voice next to him. Karl was smirking, a knowing look in his eyes at seeing the shocked look of Ricky’s face. “I vas in prison in Britain for two years, after ze war. English vas a necessity, of sorts,” Karl smiled. Ricky flinched out of instinct. ‘Never thought I’d see a Nazi smile. You learn something new every day,’ he thought soberly. “I’m a Scot, actually.” “Ah, yes.” Karl said, his eyes suddenly staring off into the distance. “During yard time, I’d look at ze beautiful scenery of ze countryside. Britain truly ist a beautiful place,” he said, almost dreamily. “You know, vhen I got out, I alvays vanted to live there,” he went on, “settle down, have a family, retire in peace. Ze verdammt war trials, however, along vith ze treaty, forced me back to Berlin. Ze bastards,” he muttered the last part under his breath, a dark look forming in his eyes. “O-kay, Karl. I just wanted to ask you a question.” Ricky began quietly. “Like vat?” Karl asked, raising an eyebrow ever so slightly. Ricky gulped quietly. “I wanted to know, if maybe, well, you see, I..." Ricky tried to form a sentence, but found himself stammering like never before. 'Why am I so afraid? He's just like any other man,' Ricky reasoned with himself, just as his more creative side was envisioning all the ways Karl could kill him. Needless to say, Ricky didn't particularly like that part of his brain right now. "Whew. Okay. I wanted to know if... If maybe you'd let me use the Grossdeutschland for something." Ricky took a deep breath before starting again, finding it oddly calming. "Like?" Karl's eyebrow, if it was even possible, rose higher. Ricky gulped. If there were two things Ricky could not do, they were make art and speak to a crowd - or a particularly frightening person. Ricky's stage fright was a long time in developing, starting with his first day of school. On his first show-and-tell day, Ricky was petrified, standing in front of his classmates, all staring at him. He stammered and bumbled his way through a showing of the dragonfly he'd found in the flowers. One particularly bad case was when his father signed him up for the school spelling bee in middle school. Standing in front of the crowd was so bad, he barely managed to stave off a full mental breakdown. He was so preoccupied with trying to avoid the crowd's eyes, he missed the first word. He was respectfully clapped off stage, but he knew everyone was secretly laughing. Since then, Ricky had become an introvert, barely socializing in school. ‘If I’m gonna do this, then I need to beat this fear,’ Ricky thought stubbornly. ‘I won’t give in!’ “Yes, well, me and some of my accomplices are planning to get the hell out of Hell, and take over this new world we find ourselves in.” “Ah, you mean the ponies? Yes, I remember the briefing from Hitler about it,” Karl said, remembering. Ricky’s eyes widened. ‘Hitler! Well, then again, what’d I expect?’ Ricky thought. “Yes. The Grossdeutschland seems like a perfect strike regiment for the composition of our army. So, what do you say?” “Let me answer that question with one of my own. Do you think men can be damned, truly?” Ricky stood there stupidly for a minute. “Honestly, no. Everyone has at least one redeeming quality in them. Even Hitler, he was a great speaker. It’s what you do with your talents that defines you.” Karl seemed to think Ricky’s answer over, before nodding slowly. “Thank you. I would be glad to help you.” A small smile crossed Karl’s mouth as he stuck out his hand. “By the way, what’s your name?” “Ricky, or Rick, or Richard. Richard Welfork.” He replied as they shook hands. “Richard. Good strong name.” Ricky pulled out his battery, and held it out towards Karl, who merely raised an eyebrow. He pressed the green button, Karl’s Grossdeutschland patch lighting up in the blue glow that Ricky had seen earlier. After the blinding flash, the battery stopped glowing again, but not before Ricky noticed something. The kindof-liquid-shit inside was now a bright green, almost lime green. Ricky gave it a confounded look, before shrugging and putting it in his pocket again. “Say, do you happen to know where Caeser’s legions are?”