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The Bio Bar
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Author:  Rughey [ Sat Apr 02, 2005 17:03 pm ]
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With a loud clatter and bang, the door bursts open. A ball of dust rolls into the pub and comes to a stop several feet past the doorway. As the dust begins to settle, the man at the centre of the ball gets up and sticks his head outside.

"Bastards! I'll kill yee if Ah ever find yee on the street!" he shouts. He slams the door, kicks his helmet to an empty stool at the bar, brushes the remaining dust off is jacket and sits down. The Denison is adorned with Canadian Para Bn patches, which is interesting considering the Geordie accent. "Gissies a pint, man," he says to the bartender, who correctly assumes that the stranger desires a Newcastle Brown.

"Bastards. They'll rue the dyah they messed wi Rughey," he mutters between sips.

"Who are you talking about?" askes the bartender.

"Bloody conscientious objectors, gadgie . Harrassing me fighting on the side of canny good, trying te steal me beret an the leik. Not reet, mind. Makes ye wonder what it's all aboot." The para continues after a few more sips of ale. "Yee knaa , what me aad dad used te syah is, 'Son, yee canna dee what other fowk think yee ought te dee . Ernly what yee knaa te be the reet thing.'" He pauses, realizing that most of those within earshot have no idea what he's saying.

Someone off in the corner stage-whispers something like, "Who invited the Geordie?"

Of course Rughey hears this and shouts back, "Aye, it's a free country, innit? Tosser!" Back to his Newcastle he turns, calming down from the CO incident. Rughey glances around the room, looking at the motley crew of military and civilian types within the confines of the walls of the pub.

Author:  smudger [ Sat Apr 02, 2005 20:06 pm ]
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Smudger, meanwhile, has been called away. The local AFPU unit sent a runner to fetch him to photograph a U-boat crew which has been been brought into town for processing before sending off to England to a POW camp, and he has been ordered to snap them for the record.

Time passes... The clock over the bar ticks slowly until it reaches 9pm and chimes drunkenly. Something is about to happen.

Author:  edward [ Sat Apr 02, 2005 20:26 pm ]
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*stands up, tips the bartender, and goes too play darts*

Author:  smudger [ Sat Apr 02, 2005 20:49 pm ]
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At 5 minutes past, there are muffled sounds of a loud argument just outside, and the door slams open once again. A cold blast of wet air blows through the room, it is raining heavily outside.

The muffled scrape and tramp of a pair of muddy British Army ammo boots combined with the sharp thud of Kriegsmarine deck boots marks counterpoint to a heated exchange between an AFPU Sergeant Photographer and a Marine Kriegsberichter as, continuing their argument, they march in step to the bar, arms across each others shoulders. It's clear this is not the first pub they've been in this evening. The door slams shut.

"Mein host! Ein bier bitte for my friend, and another for me - and make them deep and cold!". The German officer slaps down a wad of Reichsmarks on the bar and raises an eyebrow. The AFPU sergeant turns round. "You're wasting yer time there, me old cocksparrer. That jerry wad's no good here. Cop some of these Invasion Dollars I traded some fags for with the Yanks down the PX." A wad of soggy, badly printed temporary currency is slammed down next to the marks.

"Bert, mein old friend, we smudgers need to stick together in hard times. Danke schön!". "True, Lothar mate, we do." Two foaming mugs of beer arrive, and a few dodgy dollars disappear into the till. The photographers stagger over to a table in the corner and continue their argument.

"Lothar, pal, I tell you, Contax is best. You can't beat a good Zeiss Sonnar f1.5." "Nein, nein, nein, Bert! Leica every time, I swear by my IIIC, and this lovely smooth Summitar f2 will beat your clunky Sonnar every time. I've got 3,000 photos I took on U-96 to prove it!"

Sonderführer-Leutnant Lothar-Günther Buchheim pulls his trusty Leica out from his bag and places it carefully on the table, determined not to spill good beer on it. The salt-peeled chrome of the body, greyed vulcanite covering and tarnished brass of the controls speaks volumes. Grinning, Sergeant Bert Hardy reaches into his small pack and plonks his gleaming Contax II down on the table, carefully folding out the support on the base so it sits to attention. The only signs of this camera's adventures are a split in the brass rim of the lens where it has coincided with the square head of an unwary SS trooper - and a shallow angled dent and rip through the morocco leather on one side of the body where it has stopped an almost spent bullet from an MP40.

"The one thing we can agree on..." says Bert... "is that German cameras are the best in the world!" finishes Lothar, grinning. They clink their glasses together in celebration of a universal truth that has crossed the boundaries of a war which had made them enemies, and now friends, and together down their pints in one. "Mein host! More bier!"

The NKVD officer sitting in the shadowy corner behind the two photographers clicks away merrily with his FED, grinning silently...

Author:  Rat [ Sat Apr 02, 2005 22:47 pm ]
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*loud clatter heard over the roof, a thud is heard followed by a cry of " ow sh*t parachutes messed up again, help can any one help me* someone walks out of the bar to find a US paratrooper of the 82nd dagling down the side of the pub, cuts him free and the trooper falls to the floor with a bump* the rescuer claims " rough lading eh buddy?

to be replied by.nah not really, just wanted to "drop in" for a quick drink

Author:  StmmZaum [ Sat Apr 02, 2005 23:43 pm ]
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*Back in Soviet uniform, Styepan Blagodat ambles through the door, stamps the mud off his marching boots, removes his sidecap and walks over to the bar*

"Slivovits please, how should I pay?"

*reaches into gas-mask bag and produces a wad of Reich Marks, Roubles, assorted other currencies, two watches and a jar of pickles.*

"Evening soldiers, how are you all?"

*Sees NKVD officer in corner and looks nervous, hides watches*

Author:  smudger [ Sun Apr 03, 2005 7:34 am ]
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"Did someone call for Germans?" Leutnant Buchheim staggers back into the bar from the direction of the little boys room, and looks in amazement at the spectacle before him, then, determined to add some culture to the occasion, and stamping his boots in time, launches into a spirited rendition of "Torpedo Los!"

Smudger crawls out from under the table, jumps unsteadily up, and joins in at the chorus. In moments, the entire room is rocking to the strains of the old favourite U-boat song.

Marloes, stunned, slumps in a dead faint, crushing Trooper Rat to the floor, a blissful smile on his face...

Torpedo Los!

I. Hoch über den Wellen ob tief unter dem Meer
vorwärts in ständigem Sturm hinterher.
So wie der Haifisch da seien sie Blut,
suchen wir sie die Feiendliche Brut
Nichts kann uns halten wir trotzen Gewalten
Gruß unserm Land U-Bootsoldat

II. Wir zeigen uns würdig dem neuen Geschlecht
kennen den Weg unser Eisernes Recht
Der Heimat zum Schutze vor Sturm und Orkan
Der Glaube an Deutschland erhellt unsre Bahn
Reißt es empor uns mit starker Hand
wir kränkeln nicht Engeland

III. Und wenn du auch gehst bis ans bis ende der Welt
wird dir von uns dein Weg verstellt.
Die Menschheit betrügt damit ist es vorbei,
wir brechen dem Löwen die Kiele entzwei
Nun hört in den weiten der Ruf ist so groß
wenn der Ruf erschallt Torpedo Los!

English:

Fire Torpedo!

I. High over the waves or deep under the sea
Forward in constant storm after.
As blood to the shark,
We seek the enemy brood
Nothing can stop us, we defy the elements
Greet our land U-boat sailor.

II. We show ourselves worthy of the new generation
Our iron law knows the way
To defend the homeland from storm and hurricane
Belief in Germany lights our way.
It drags us up with a strong hand,
We do not weaken, Engeland.

III. And if you also go to the end of the world
We will show you the way.
Mankind betrays, it is over with that
We break the Lion's keel in two.
Now hear in the distance, the call is so loud
Because the call is "Fire Torpedo!"

Author:  jkrusat [ Sun Apr 03, 2005 12:48 pm ]
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Jan, on hearing that the drinks have been ordered on his name by Bill, quietly sneaks into the men´s room to contemplate, because, being a member of the King´s Own Enemy Aliens, he doesn´t get paid particularly well and is practically broke. He is waiting for Bill and Smudger to be ordered to go and wash dishes...

Jan

Author:  Tanaka [ Sun Apr 03, 2005 13:18 pm ]
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The small bundle of torn rags in the corner finally starts to move, much to everyones surprise its that japanese soldier from ealier, everyone thought it was just apile of coats in the corner.

''Hay hay, wheres my sword gone, bloody souvenir hunters, nick your gold teeth if they got the chance,'' He says as he rubs his jaw wondering why he has tooth ache.
''o hang on, heres my sword, i was sitting on it.

Whats all that racket about, christ my head is killing me, theres only one thing for it, SAKI please barmen''

Author:  Rifleman [ Sun Apr 03, 2005 15:02 pm ]
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Whiskey Irish for preference

Author:  Rughey [ Mon Apr 04, 2005 20:34 pm ]
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"Whee invited the Japanese sowldga? An the wee Germans. Whee sez they could drink wi weh ? Aren't they the enemy?"

Rughey looks around, puzzled, then looks at his watch.

"What year is it, anyways? Me watch says 1944, but it could be off."

Author:  StmmZaum [ Mon Apr 04, 2005 20:55 pm ]
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*mumbles something in russian*

More Vodka please barman!

Author:  Oblt Müller [ Mon Apr 04, 2005 21:16 pm ]
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At that moment Oblt Müller stepped inside the bar from the street outside, having heard the rendition of 'Torpedo Los !' and thinking the Kriegsmarine were having a get together in the bar.

Upon noticing the place was a mixed bag of allies, with a Japanese, a KM photographer and especially a Fraulein or two thought to himself ' Hmm think I'll stop here a while '.

He walked to the bar, ordered a scotch on the rocks, and thought to himself " What this place needs is some swing " !

Author:  StmmZaum [ Mon Apr 04, 2005 21:49 pm ]
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*produces balalika and starts to produce 'swing' music*

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