This is a continuation of The good the bad and the babbeh by(that1hugboxer) and How the mighty have fallen by(that1hugboxer)
You are Duncan.
You are currently reading your Adoptive grandfather’s journal to Hoagies foals as a sort of adventure story
(mid march 1960)
(It has been 22 years since the the Nazi invasion of my beloved Czechoslovakia, 21 years since they took over the factory I was worked at, and 15 years since the end of nazi occupation in my homeland.
Still my hatred burns towards one man in particular. Karl Heinz of the Werkschutzpolizei. Heinz perfected and weaponized the arts of Ass-kissing and snitching, it was through these two mechanisms Heinz climbed the ranks on rungs of broken Holmes and shattered lives.
False accusations of Jewish heritage or terrorist activity against German occupation resulted in 13 of your closest friends and family being sent to concentration camps.
The one thing he took from you that can be retrieved is a vz.27 pistol that he snatched from your workbench the day of occupation. He made sure to let you know at every opportunity that it was in his possession and just how fond he was of your craftsmanship , how accurate it was…. How efficient it was for dealing with uncooperative former employees.
I have with complete disregard for my own safety set out to find this man. Live or die, come hell or high water, I will not sit by quietly and let him escape justice like so many others.)
Mush One of the foals interrupts.
“Dis am bowing .”
You smile.
“Well you don’t have to listen if you don’t want to… but you are going to miss all the exploring and fighting.”
Mush’s ears perk up.
“Gwandpa was expwowin’ toughy?!”
You chuckle.
“Oh yes. He went all over the world fighting bad guys… but since you’re not interested…”
Mush sits down.
“Mush be gud babbeh an wisen!”
You return to reading the journal.
( I have made my way to Greece where in realized just how unprepared I was for my journey.
The last known location of Heinz was on the island of Kalogeroi .
Not taking any chances I purchased a Nagant M1895 and a 50 round box of ammunition from a an old war veteran.
Getting to the island required greasing the palm of a shady fisherman .
It was on the island where I ran into of all things an American. Richie Vanderholt was in his own words “huntin Nahtseez” .
Richie had apparently been globetrotting in an attempt to kill off as many escaped Nazi war criminals as possible.
After explaining my situation, Richie decided that not only would he help me but that we were despite meeting less than 20 minutes prior, now best friends.
Richie despite being 2 years older than you and a veteran of the second world war, was ready to throw caution to the wind and storm the abandoned monastery with his Thompson.)
Horseshoe one of the foals interrupts .
“Howseshoe gib nu-sees wowstes’ sowwy hoofsies”
His sister panini rolls her eyes.
You smile.
“Ok little ones. That’s all for today.”
You close the journal and return it to the shelf in your adoptive grandfather’s room.
You are followed into the living room by Atlas.
He climbs into your lap as you sit down on the couch with Odis.
“Daddeh…Atwas am su tiwed…. Bein’ Hewd weadah am hawd…”
You pet Atlas on the head.
“You do a great job Atlas. It helps Daddeh so much.”
Atlas looks up at you.
“Atwas just wan’ Quicksiwbah be nice . “
You raise an eyebrow.
“How long has quicksilver been causing trouble?”
Atlas sighs.
“Atwas Nu wan be Tattwetawe…Buh can Daddeh pwease teww stop bein mean?”
You smile.
“Oh don’t worry I’ll have a long talk with him.”
Atlas looks as though the weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulders.
“Tanku daddeh.”
You place atlas in his fluffy bed and place Odis next to him.
You walk into the safe room .
“Quicksilver. come here now!”
Did I spy a small Inglorious Basterds reference in Richie’s name? I love that movie so much.