Tag Archives: Johann Lederhosen

“Captain Jack and the Suffering Bastard”

2 Sep

Some men are lucky, even in their bad luck. Though he was known as the Suffering Bastard, Reich captain Johann Lederhosen knew he was lucky. All of the men he had dined with last night on the sub were dead at the bottom of the ocean and he was breathing the spiced tropical air.

It was only a detail that he was tied to a piece of flotsam and drifting ever so slowly towards a small island somewhere in the South Pacific. In short order, he would have demonstrated his god-like Aryan powers and the natives would be bowing down to him. He was sure of it.

The Suffering Bastard’s sub, the U-2613, had surfaced at dawn to communicate with the Reich. The Suffering Bastard had wanted to take his radio conversation to the conning tower because he intended to lie to his Kreigsmarine commanders about his position and did not want any of the officers to overhear it. They might get greedy. The war was lost, he figured, so he might as well keep the gold rather than have it slip into the hands of the damn Americans after the war. He had heard that his shiny cargo could buy him a small country in South America.

It turned out he didn’t lie to anybody. He was puffing his third Rothhandle Blitzkreig cigarette, when he realized that he was out of radio range. It was marginally better not to have to lie to them. He had four things that he must accomplish before the war would be over for him: 1) offload the gold; 2) get it to a safe place; 3) kill his crew; and 4) acquire a new identity. He couldn’t figure out what order to do them in. If he killed his crew first, how would he offload the gold. If he acquired a new identity first, his men would not follow him. It seemed like it should be an easy puzzle, but it wasn’t.

He was weighing the disadvantages of killing the crew right after the gold was in a safe place, when his reverie was disturbed by machine gun fire tearing through the sub, causing his monocle to pop out of his eye.

Even without his charmed eyepiece, he could see the plane was an American P-40, but a clear view of the pilot still eluded him. It wasn’t until he’d reinserted his monocle, as the plane made a third pass, that all became as clear as the several shots of vodka he’d swallowed earlier.

“Damn it!” Lederhosen muttered. “Vat in Hell ees he doingk here?”

Captain Jack Harris of USAF, his nemesis was on his trail again.

“Vas eez it vith zees American?” he wondered, as he thought back four years to that hellish day in North Africa; when the Suffering Bastard was stationed there as an Afrika Corps commander. It was 103 degrees and the German, energized with schnapps and some local fruit juice, in a drink he called a Vixen Valkyrie, tried to relieve the boredom of the desert by shelling a nearby oasis settlement.

The Arabs had it coming. He was sick of haggling with them, it was better to negotiate in the universal language, so he lobbed in a few shells, singing in his best operatic tenor, as the Bedouin and their camels took to flight.

He was hoping they were going to charge his Panzers but they fled into the desert instead.

“Cowards!” he cursed.

What he didn’t know was that an American reconnaissance unit was also on station. In what seemed like moments, a squad of silver streaks appeared on the horizon. He stared into the drink and thought for a second that it had actually summoned Valkyries, but no luck. They were American fighter planes. Much to his chagrin, he realized that his recreational bombing had alerted the enemy. Most embarrassing.

How was he going to explain this to Rommel? He couldn’t. It would be a career ending injury for the Suffering Bastard. So, his plan was simple. He would have to kill everyone, including his own men. He couldn’t trust any of them not to report his snafu to Rommel for their own personal gain.

First things first, he shot his #2 officer in the head. Next, he ordered a full assault of the oasis. While his men were attacking, he had one of his Lieutenants, who spoke flawless American English, radio the American Air Base to tell them of the attack.

The Americans dispatched their elite Jeep Gunners, the Rodent Patrol, into the town as planned and wiped out his troops.

He then shot the Lieutenant point-blank in the face and fired upon the American planes using an 88mm. Having destroyed all of them—or so he thought—The Suffering B fled the camp in his multi axel Mercedes Staff car to report his heroic tale of survival to Rommel himself. The problem was, he had left one man alive.

An American pilot witnessed his treacherous behavior from his plane. He’d flown several flyovers trying to kill the Suffering Bastard, but the Bastard’s lucky Skull’s Head had saved him, or at least that’s what he believed. He thought it lucky, because it had been given to him by the Fuhrer himself, by accident, while he was impersonating another officer who was too drunk to make it to the medal ceremony.

Captain Jack, great pilot though he was, couldn’t disable the staff car across twenty miles of desert but both men had gotten a good look at each other; Captain Jack through his plane binoculars and the Suffering Bastard through his monocle. Both men swore to themselves that one day they would kill the other.

Three long years and thousands of miles later, the two carried on their vendetta.

After the debacle in North Africa, The Suffering Bastard had followed Rommel back to Europe, where he got wind of the plot against Hitler. He parlayed the information through his Chain of Command, earning him a promotion to a top secret project in the South Pacific. It seems that the Germans had found a huge source of gold off South America and the High Command, suspecting that the war was going to end very soon, planned to buy themselves cushy lives after the war in various greedy dictatorships around the world.

It seems too, that the Americans in the form of their damned OSS, which Captain Jack had volunteered for, had followed him all the way to South America and then followed the gold all the way to an obscure Sub Base located somewhere off South America. Then, Captain Jack ordered a strike on the base.

The Suffering B commandeered a submarine loaded with Gold and another ominous cargo, in the form of an ancient artifact, and had hastily abandoned the Island, narrowly escaping both the allied bombs, the gunfire of his own forces and something even more sinister that he was, as of yet, unaware of.

At the end of the day, he surfaced the sub to look back at the island. He could see the smoke in the distance. The American Bombers had pounded the hell out of it. He opened the last of his Reichandle cigarette packs and enjoyed the nicotine thinking that, once and for all, he had escaped Captain Jack.

Until he saw the lone parachute descend from the sky to the island. Somehow, he knew it was Jack. Somehow, he knew Jack would find a German prisoner, interrogate him and learn that The Suffering Bastard had escaped. But how was he to find a submarine in the entire Pacific Ocean?

Damn the American.

He ordered the Sub to dive with the idea that he would escape to some deserted island. At that moment, his plan became clear. He would have his crew move the gold onto a freighter and with the help of a hand picked crew, find his way into a safe port. There, he would unload the gold, ditch the crew and have a happy and healthy retirement. He wasn’t clear on how the ‘ditch the crew’ portion of the plan would work but it didn’t matter.

That hope was gone. As the Flying Tiger turned towards him, he saw the lone bomb on the bottom of the plane drop and he jumped off the conning tower into the pacific blue waves.

The water flashed orange as the bomb hit. The sub split in half, spilling its crew, gold and miscellaneous contents out as the two halves dropped into the depths.

Miraculously, one of the crew members floated to the top, hanging on to a life jacket. Lederhosen heard him praise the lord for salvation, and fortunately, he did not hear Lederhosen as he swam up behind him, knife drawn, ready to slash his throat. Then, Lederhosen remembered that the blood would draw sharks and decided that it would be easier to garrote him, even though he personally found garroting disgusting.

Lederhosen quickly went under water as Captain Jack’s Flying Tiger passed over once again and then took off into the distance. Afterwards, he strangled the submariner with his own life jacket cord and slipped it off him. Not wanting to suffer the same fate if there should be another survivor in the flotsam, he did not put on his life jacket but rather held it close to his chest as he kicked his way to shore, with the smooth graceful strokes he had learned in the water ballet before the war.

Indeed, the Suffering Bastard was, once again, lucky in his bad luck. He had been fortunate to escape certain death but unfortunate to lose his gold and his submarine, due to the vengeful attack of the mad American pilot. He had been unluckily deposited in the Pacific Ocean but quite lucky to be well within reach of an Idyllic tropical island, complete with a volcano and several huts, which indicated that there was a primitive tribe that would worship him. And, with any luck, it would also contain some of those magnificent pearl divers who might be able to go down and retrieve his gold.

Created by Flint Dille

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