Search found 18 matches for Ludwig Beilschmidt

Ludwig smiled slightly as he saw the prisoner jump, but his victory was short-lived as he snorted in derision and continued to mock him. He frowned at his comment regarding wasting bullets. "Well I will put the next one to better use then." Actually, he was quite pleased with that; he wasn't normally very good at comebacks.

He felt relieved as the prisoner turned around, thinking maybe he was finally relenting, but he seemed to hesitate. Ludwig didn't lower his gun. He didn't want to waste any more bullets, but perhaps a shot through the foot might slow the impudent Briton down a bit.

The prisoner proceeded to calmly walk out of the camp with an exaggerated stride. He'd brought this on himself, Ludwig thought, he knew what was in store for him if he disobeyed a guard, and yet he seemed not to give a damn. He hadn't wanted to waste bullets like this, but he knew if he ran after him it would only end badly for him, so he aimed his gun, eyes narrowed, ignoring the prisoner's question, and pulled the trigger. Of course, he had no intention of actually shooting or hurting the prisoner, not yet at least, so he aimed for the bullet to hit the ground just where the prisoner was about to step. Hopefully it would give him a start or at least shut him up.

For a brief moment, Ludwig thought he might have found someone in the same predicament as him, someone prevented from fighting by unfortunate medical problems, somebody who wouldn't think of him as weak for his condition. That stupid idea was of course shattered by the Italian's response.
"This isn't lucky!" He replied bitterly "I'd much rather be on the front line, fighting for the Fatherland. To consider not being able to fight a piece of luck is cowardly!" He was getting the impression that Vargas might be a conscientious objector, a coward. By the sounds of it, he could fight just fine. "What about you, then? You're not fighting either." He folded his arms, straightening back to stand at his full height. Perhaps if he continued to come across as severe, he could scare the nuisance into leaving him alone.

"Uh, yes." He'd prefer to be addressed by his rank or his surname, but he was only a lieutenant, he couldn't exactly demand to be addressed respectfully, so he let it slide. He was alarmed by the enthusiasm with which Vargas shook his hand, as if he was trying to dislocate his arm from his its socket.

He frowned at the Italian's question. He didn't really have a prepared response for this question, though he was sure it was one he'd encounter a lot for the duration of the War... and even for years afterwards. The superiors at the camp all knew his situation and reasons not to fight from his paperwork, and the other guards had been reserved and tactful enough to ignore the issue. Vargas clearly was neither reserved nor tactful. He didn't owe this man, who was essentially a stranger at this point, any kind of explanation for not being at the front, but telling him so would make him come across as cold. It wasn't that he wanted to be rude and distant, but his reason for not fighting was embarrassing.
"Because I can't fight." he replied flatly, hopefully in a tone that didn't beg any further questions. He didn't want to get into a conversation about this, and would rather he be left alone in peace for the rest of his shift, as grateful as he was for the meal.

He was being mocked, he knew it. The prisoner thought he had some kind of superiority, as if Ludwig's uniform and his gun didn't exert any sort of control over him.

"You'll do no such thing!" He barked, reverting back to German. His finger was curled around the trigger, waiting for the prisoner's next move. He wouldn't shoot him, no, too much hassle. He could scare him though. Shoot near enough to him to give him a fright. He had startling accuracy. "Do not move another inch!" He ordered in English this time. He wanted to make it perfectly clear to the prisoner what his intentions were. He could calmly return to the camp without a fuss, or he could be shot, pursued, caught, locked in solitary confinement. It was his choice.

((I'M SORRY, CHRISTMAS WEEK WAS HELLA BUSY))

He found the guard's cheerful demeanour... not unsettling per se, but certainly out of place in a prisoner of war camp. Nevertheless, it was somewhat refreshing after all the misery and anger among both prisoners and guards. He smiled at the Italian's joke, though increasingly aware that the longer he stood here chatting inanely with him, the longer he was slacking off his shift. When he alerted Vargas to this, he seemed to ignore his need to return to his post entirely, continuing their conversation. At his enquiry, Ludwig was embarrassed to realise he had never given his name. He knew that he wasn't particularly friendly, but he expected better manners of himself than that. "Uh, I'm sorry, my name is Ludwig Beilschmidt, Lieutenant." He stuck out his hand stiffly, not really sure of protocol for small talk and introductions between soldiers. It didn't matter though, Vargas seemed friendly enough, and Italians were famously open and good natured.

'Old chap?' Who did he think he was? A friend? He glared at the prisoner, who seemed to think this was all some kind of joke. "No, you cannot." he said flatly, not lowering the gun for a second. He could shoot him. He could kill him for trying to escape, set an example to any other cheeky prisoners who thought it might be fun to make an obvious attempt at escape and taunt the guards. He could do it if he wanted. But he was reluctant to pull the trigger. The man wasn't exactly making a serious go of escaping- if anything, it felt like he was trying to get in trouble. It wasn't worth shooting him over. All the same, the prisoner didn't know that, and the gun provided good leverage.

That said, no matter how unwavering he was in pointing his gun straight at him, aimed perfectly for the bullet to pierce his chest and rip through his heart, the guard still did not seem to take him seriously. It was infuriating.

The unsettling smile on the inmate's face as he invited him to join him left Ludwig wondering whether he was truly mad, that he'd perhaps taken a blow to the head or one too many bouts in solitary. No matter. He wouldn't spare him his punishment, mad or not. "No, thank you." he replied, voice cold and little more than a growl. If the prisoner moved an inch further out of the camp, running or otherwise, he would pursue him.

"Thank you." he murmured, taking the plate and cutlery from the other guard before tucking into it ravenously. He'd been a lot hungrier than he thought, clearly, and this food tasted sublime to his deprived tastebuds and hunger addled mind. He really was grateful for it, though he still felt weak for accepting it and not doing his job.

He looked up at the other guard (Vargas, did he say his name was?) who had cooked this for him and had offered to watch the camp while he ate. He seemed like a kind, generous man. Probably the kind to be too soft on prisoners. He'd have to thank him properly for this somehow, without letting on he'd broken the rules like this.

He finished his meal quickly, not wanting the Italian covering his post for too long (and also because he was really starving). "U-um... thank you very much for the meal." He couldn't tell his rank, but he assumed he was a lieutenant like himself, so he didn't require any great formalities. "I should get back to my post now though."

The prisoner was ignoring him. "Hey!" he shouted, more irritated than before. Perhaps he didn't understand German? Ludwig knew a little English from school and from training, but he was reluctant to use it, as it was just another thing for the prisoners to mock. "Excuse me!" he started in English. "Th-that is not allowed." His accent was embarrassingly thick, he knew, but at least the prisoner couldn't pretend not to understand him. "Get back here now or I will shoot." That was the extent of his English- a few phrases picked up from his superiors. He knew he had the right to shoot him now, but he didn't want to cause any kind of big trouble, considering it was only his second month here.

The other guard didn't seem to be relenting either, even going so far as to come and join him in the watch tower. Ludwig was aware that with every minute he wasted arguing with this persistent guard, he was slacking off his duties. He needed to get rid of this distraction, and his patience was waring thin- he was about to let his temper get the better of him, shouting the Italian down from his tower, when he removed the upturned pan from the plate, releasing the strong, mouthwatering scent of the meal he'd prepared. Ludwig's stomach growled greedily in response to it, much to his embarrassment, face burning red. He could feel his resolve quickly dissipate. He hadn't eaten anything in about seven hours, and he'd been on his feet for four of them- what harm could it do to eat it? Oh, but now the other guard was threatening to eat it instead. "W-wait..." he protested feebly, feeling angry with himself for breaking so quickly.

Ludwig was on edge. Nothing was happening; all the prisoners were behaving well, doing nothing that could be considered remotely suspicious, and that made him all the more suspicious. They were trying to relax the guards, make them lazy and unobservant, so they could get away with escape. His superiors had briefed him about one inmate in particular- a Brit named Kirkland, who had already made countless escape attempts since his arrival two years ago. Though clearly none of them had been that successful, it was still important to keep tabs on him- he was a troublemaker and likely up to no good.

He patrolled the camp, eyes keen, looking out for anything out of the ordinary, anything he could call a prisoner out on. He reached the gate and was about to walk back in the other direction when he did a double take- the gate was wide open... How the hell had this happened? Surely there should be someone manning the gate? Guards in the watch towers to shoot people attempting to open the gate? Speaking of which, who was opening it? A scruffy looking blond man with a nonchalant expression and intimidating looking eyebrows.

"You there!" He shouted, taking his gun from his holster. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" He asked, not really caring about the answer, and pointed his gun at the prisoner. He'd seen this one around before, he was sure, but he'd never stuck out as someone particularly troublesome- just another prisoner. That he would try something so bold as walking out of the camp like this in broad daylight astounded him.

He really did want to eat- he was starving, and the smell from the kitchen was so good, and if everyone else took it, then he wouldn't get in trouble for it if he got caught right? But as tempting as it was, he still knew he shouldn't, so keeping a straight face, he continued to decline it. "Just because other people do it, doesn't make it okay." He knew the more he protested, the harder it would be for him to break and take the meal anyway. He'd look like a hypocrite if he took the food now, so he was even more determined to turn it down. "... It's really kind of you to offer, and to go out of your way like this, but I'm not supposed to have any distractions up here- I have to keep my eye on the camp."

Despite his clear refusal, the guard remained, silent for a little while. He was about to tell him to leave, when he started trying to persuade Ludwig to eat anyway. It struck him that this might be a bribe or some kind of system of favours- if he were to accept this food, he might have to repay the favour to him at some later time. He'd rather not involve himself in that kind of thing. "You can heat it up again once you get back to the kitchen, can't you?" He folded his arms, resolute. "Doing this is breaking the rules, so please take it back." He ignored the guard's introduction, hoping he would leave soon so that he could get back to watching the camp.

He frowned when the guard screamed in fear. Well, it was natural to be frightened when you had a gun pointed at you, but such a cowardly reaction didn't fit a soldier. He replaced the gun in his holster. Clearly he'd been too eager for action. "I'm not going to shoot, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were a guard." He tried to sound calm and reassuring, but his tone was frustrated. He'd wanted a prisoner. He'd wanted to catch him and reprimand him and feel like he was doing something. But no. He was back to being useless.

He raised an eyebrow at the guard's explanation. "Bringing me... You're not supposed to do that." He frowned. "I'm still on duty, so I'll come down to eat later."

Ludwig was four hours into his shift on the watch tower, and he still had two more until he could finally stop and call it a day. These long stretches up in the towers were deathly boring, with nobody to talk to, no distractions, no jobs or orders to carry out; all he could do was stand here watching out for trouble makers and escapees, though none of the prisoners were quite stupid enough to attempt anything in full view of the watch towers. And now as dusk was falling and hungry guards filed to the mess, the scents from the kitchen wafted up to him on the cold evening breeze, he felt even more bitter about being given this shift. He thought his superiors were probably just testing him, picking on him as the new recruit, as this was the third time this week alone he'd been forced to miss a meal because of his shift. He wouldn't complain though- he could handle the hunger and the boredom just fine, and he knew that if he persevered, he could earn his superiors' respect and he wouldn't be given these godforsaken shifts anymore.

He couldn't sit down or relax- it was his job to remain vigilant, even when guards and prisoners were busy eating, it was exactly at times like this when guards were expected to be lax that he needed to be most observant. He saw someone run from the mess, but a glance at the uniform quickly reassured him it was a guard, not a prisoner, so there was no need to worry. He looked out over the dark forest outside the fence. There was always a chance that a prisoner had someone on the outside, looking out for them, trying to help them break out. Suddenly his attention was caught by a creaking noise. He whipped his head around, looking out over the camp for the source of the disturbance. It was getting louder, closer. Someone was climbing the watch tower. A prisoner? Did they plan to overpower him and make their escape somehow? He reached for his revolver without a second thought, pointing it at the trap door, waiting for the would-be escapee to reveal himself.

There was a knock, and then a head popped up, shouting 'Dinner!' and Ludwig jumped a little, lowering his gun as he recognised the infiltrator as the cheery little Italian always working in the kitchens. "Y-you... What are you doing up here? My shift doesn't end for another two hours."