The general was standing in the middle of the War Room, slightly bent at the waist and leaning against the edge of the command table.  His fingers feverishly drumming the polished cream-colored marble table-top.  There were two highly decorative vipers with their tails entwined and necks coupled, bearing sharp fangs and split tongues forming a large O directly in front of the general in the form of a golden inlay upon the magnificent marble.  This was the crest of The Order.  Gold and scarlet runners lay neatly upon the long walkway leading to the
door and around the command table.  Three giant tapestries bearing The Order’s crest were draped from the high ceiling covering the left, right, and back walls of the octagon shaped
room.  Light clicking and whirring sounds could be heard coming from a fairly large and intricate looking hourglass, attached to some kind of golden mechanical gyro-scope. 
It was sitting upon a thick, stout marble pillar directly behind the general, slowing spinning on its vertical axis while crystal clear grains of golden sand swirled from the top portion of the hourglass to the bottom portion, changing in color to a brilliant black as though it were being manipulated by some kind of magic.  
     The general continued to drum his fingers on the marble table in a fit of silent rage.  He stared at the same spot on the floor just in front of the command table and didn’t blink for what seemed like minutes.  His face was expressionless, but his eyes were roaring with anger. 
How could he allow them to escape?!  He screamed at himself in his own head.  He had no
answer.  As he continued to flay himself for his blunder, the room began to echo uncomfortably with the sounds of his violent finger drumming and the clicking noises coming from the gears in the hourglass behind him.  The generals first officer was standing off to his right, nearly pressed against the wall, looking as though he were afraid to come any closer to the general, as if he were a volatile explosive device.  He stood silently with his arms held stiffly behind his back and was struggling to keep himself from fidgeting.  His head was tilted downwards slightly, like a scorned dog, and he stared at his toes for the majority of the time, only occasionally adjusting his gaze to the general when he could no longer fight the urge to look at something other than the floor.  The tension in the room was now terribly uncomfortable and the air seemed to get denser, making it difficult to breathe.  Finally conjuring the courage to say something, the first officer swallowed hard and cleared his throat.               
     “Ahem…umm, Sir, perhaps we sh-“
    His attempt to speak was cut short by a bellowing voice coming from the allway.      
     “GENERAL FERINUS!” yelled the voice.
    The general snapped out of his silent fit of anger. He stood up straight upon hearing the voice, and his right hand gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.  The yelling soldier came barreling through the doorway.
    “Sir…SIR!”  Yelled the soldier, running up to General Ferinus and looking as though he might topple over with every step.  He stumbled to a stop directly in front of general.  He was bent over with one hand on his knee, and the other one clutching his ribs.
    “Catch your wind soldier.” Said General Ferinus, grabbing the soldiers shoulder with his left hand.  His right hand still clasped tightly around the hilt of his sword.
    “Sir…we just got word…Banon and his companions... one of our scout teams… they spotted them, Sir!”  Gasped the soldier.
    “WHERE?! Where were they spotted?!”  Demanded Ferinus, his hand clamping down on the man’s shoulder, causing him to wince slightly.
    “The Black Forest, Sir.”  Said the soldier.
    Ferinus shot a hurried look over his shoulder at the hourglass behind him.  He watched as the sand in the equalized between the upper and lower bulbs, indicating it was mid-day.
    “We haven’t much time!” exclaimed Ferinus. “Quickly, send word to the western outpost and have them send a large regiment into the forest to intercept them.  We must catch them before nightfall or we may never find them in that forest.”
    “Yes, Sir!  Right away, Sir!” Barked the soldier.  He stood up straight, clacking his heels together and jerking a clenched fist to his chest, placing it firmly over his heart in salute.  Ferinus gave him no reply, and the soldier walked hurriedly out of the War Room.
    “Raspier!”  Said Ferinus, addressing his first officer.  “I need you to go down to the pens and have my Bengal prepared for travel. You and a group our finest men will accompany me to the western post immediately.”
    “Right, Sir.” Replied Raspier.
    “I must go and inform Lord Vilen of these recent developments at once.”  Said Ferinus.
    “Oh, and Raspier...” Ferinus added, “…be sure to keep my Bengal light, I would like to arrive at the western post beforethey return with Banon and his… friends.”
    The generals face turned to a grimace when speaking his last  word.
    “Of course, Sir.” Replied Raspier, nodding his head and immediately making his way down to the pens.
    Ferinus, now alone, began pacing excitedly back and forth across the room with his hands writhing in front of him and a sinister smile spread across his face.  Maxwell Banon.  He thought to himself, gripping a fist tightly in his hand and squeezing it so hard his knuckles
cracked loudly.  Banon… the traitor.  He knew nothing of loyalty.  He had turned against Lord Vilen, running off with Azvaran’s son and that pathetic rabble he had the dishonor of calling his friends. His face immediately turned to disgust.  He stood up straight, lattening his collar and rolling down the sleeves of his shirt. He walked over to one of the marble statues around the outside of the room where he had hung his dress coat.  He picked it up and swung it behind him, putting it on.  He put on his gold cuff links and straightened the crest that was pinned to the front of his coat.  He took a deep breath, preparing himself to break the good news to Lord Vilen.
TO BE CONTINUED...

    It was a cloudy Saturday afternoon, the kind of dark and rainy weekend that Manhattan was used to. A black Cadillac pulled up to the curb outside Frank’s Pizzeria on the corner of 44th Street and Ninth Avenue. The car’s driver walked to the rear door, opening it to a man inside dressed in a black pinstripe suit and polished white shoes. The man donned his black fedora
as he stepped onto the sidewalk. The chimes on the door of the pizza shop jingled upon the man’s entrance. He had a purpose. He didn’t look like he wanted pizza. Though he was a larger man, maybe he was simply hungry. Unlikely. People didn’t dress like this to come to a hole in the wall like Frank’s.             
     “You got the goods?” the man asked after approaching the counter.
    “You Tony?” said the man behind the counter, only to receive a small nod in approval. “Just a minute.”
    The pizza man walked to the back room, out of sight. Tony, as he was known in this city, looked around at the interior of the empty restaurant. He’d been here many times, but it still felt gaudy to him. The Yankees banners and pictures of the Giants were old and outdated, to provide some sort of mindless nostalgia for the imbeciles who wasted their time with sports. The wallpaper was peeling back and yellow on the edges, likely from the cigarette smoke that had beaten the walls for years. Frank’s was a typical, smelly, C-grade-health-inspection pizza shoppe.
    The man returned with a small cardboard package half the size of a shoebox that had no markings on it. The box seemed to be the only thing in the place that was as clean as Tony. Everything else was covered in grease. The man behind the counter wore an apron that couldn’t have seen a washing machine in ten years. Whether the stains were pizza sauce or blood, Tony didn’t know, or care for that matter. He’d seen enough blood in his days on the streets. This package would bring even more blood, he thought. The idea alone filled Tony with anticipation.             
     “Twenty grand”, said the man as he placed the box on the counter.
    “I was told it would be ten”, said Tony. After all, he was given strict orders. Pay no more than ten thousand for the box. That was all. He wasn’t told what it contained, just that he would acquire it for ten thousand dollars and deliver it to an undisclosed location at sundown. All of these operations worked the same. The negotiated price was the maximum. If that was too unreasonable, necessary action would be taken.
    Tony pulled a brown envelope from the breast pocket of his suit coat and  placed it on the counter next to the package. The pizza man took it up and looked inside. 
    His thick eyebrows pressed together.“There’s only ten here!”
    He turned his head up to Tony, but was met with the business end of a nine millimeter Glock pistol. The expression on his face quickly turned to shock as the color drained from his cheeks. He took a sharp breath in as his hand jumped for the gun under the counter, but before he could reach it, the shot rang out.
    The recoil filled Tony. It resonated through his bones and lingered for a moment. He found a certain thrill in pulling the trigger. It was better than sex, he had always thought. No woman could bring him the heightened pleasure he got from sending a bullet plunging through the air toward his victim. The smack of lead on bone was music to his ears. The cloud of red mist that came from the sound upon impact seemed to hold the body in suspense until it flopped onto the floor like a forgotten rag doll.
    Tony stood in silence, admiring the high he received from his latest kill. After coming back to reality, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket, and pressed four on speed dial. 
    “Clean up at Frank’s”. His people would make it look like a robbery. He didn’t have to kill this man. It wasn’t a part of his job. But Frank’s Pizzeria was not an innocent restaurant. The idea of the pizza shop had been a cover up operation. Behind the counter, they channeled drugs to kids, and guns to the worthless. Even the mafia didn’t want their product falling into the wrong hands.
    Tony picked up the package and the envelope from the counter, and walked toward the door. He could see that it had begun to rain. He looked down at his glossy white shoes. He would have to get them polished again. He didn’t like the rain.
    The chauffeur drove Tony Taminizio across the Island of Manhattan to drop off the package that had cost a man his life today. Tony’s phone rang with a text message twenty minutes earlier, pinpointing a location within Central Park where the final exchange would take place. 
     The package lay on the seat, just to Tony’s left. He wouldn’t let it out of his sight. The more he thought about it, in fact, the more his curiosity wondered what was inside. He could take a peek. The box wasn’t sealed, and nobody would know. Just to open the box slightly and see what has caused such a stir...
    No. Tony had a job to do, and he would do it. There had to be a reason he wasn’t told what was inside. He tried to set his mind on different matters.
    When he was sixteen, Tony had caught a late-night news broadcast, as he often did when his parents were out on the town. Tony always blanked out during the sports broadcast. He never understood why grown men would run around throwing different sized balls at each other. A breaking news story interrupted that night’s recap of the Mets game. The woman’s voice seemed to echo through Tony’s head over and over again. This just in: A drunk driver on the Manhattan Bridge collided with a black Jeep Grand Cherokee at breakneck speeds tonight, sending both vehicles into the East River. Police confirm that John and Lacey Taminizio have been killed in the crash... 
    He distracted himself with the city. He peered out the window of the Cadillac at the metal and glass behemoths that shroud New York. How pointless it all was.  Top floor corner offices, theaters that show the same act countless times, advertisements for touch screen phones: all wastes of time and money. Then there were the people who saturated the streets with their pockets full of dollar bills ready to stuff their faces with the nearest source of fat they could buy. Everyone had their social hubbub about them, each person high and mighty, gloating about why they don’t use the trending websites. It was all petty garbage to Tony. He wouldn’t speak to a single person if it wasn’t a part of his job.             
     For nearly twenty years, Tony had been forced to fight his way through society. His late teenage years were spent on the streets, lowering himself to whatever job would give him his next meal. At seventeen, he was approached by a tall, slender, blue-suited man. He wore a salesman’s grin with a plump cigar between his teeth. The strange man claimed he’d been watching Tony for some time and was impressed by his work ethic, and wanted to provide a place for him to stay. He only ever called the man Don, and Don was the only person to ever gain Tony’s respect.             
     As the overcast clouds began to darken, the Cadillac turned into Central Park from the north, onto Malcolm X Boulevard. After about a minute on the serpentine road, the chauffeur stopped, most likely by order of whoever was in charge. Tony’s phone chirped in his pocket. The display read UNKNOWN CALLER.             
     “Circle the park for thirty minutes”, said the voice on the other end. “Do not ask questions.”             
     The call was ended very abruptly, and Tony was left confused as to why he was given this instruction, and not the driver. He relayed the message, and the car accelerated out of Central Park. 
    Tony found himself holding the box in his hands, weighing it with his mind, trying to guess what was inside by the weight. He shook it like a birthday gift, being careful in case the contents were fragile. It made no sound. It was not heavy.                 
     The sky was almost completely dark when Tony’s phone sang out again with a call from the same unknown caller. The voice told Tony to head up East Drive until coming to a black van. 
    The car turned back into the park, and after two minutes, pulled up behind a large, windowless black van parked on the left side of the road. Tony let himself out of the car, holding the package down at his left. The air around was quiet, which was unusual considering it was in the middle of New York City in the early evening.
    The back of the van opened up and startled Tony. It didn’t open forcefully, it just opened. Something about the stillness and the ominous van was unsettling to him. The man Tony knew as Don stepped out and approached him. 
    “Thank you for your prompt delivery”,Don said, holding his hands out to receive the package Tony had brought him.
    “Excuse me, Don, but you don’t deal in these affairs. What’s going on?” said Tony.
    “Give me the box and I’ll explain everything.”
    Tony thought hard for a moment, and reluctantly handed the package over to his superior. He quickly opened it up, and pulled out several wads of packing paper. He removed a single cell phone and tossed the cardboard box over his shoulder.
    “This,” Don said, holding the phone in front of him for Tony to see, “is our final defense. One call from this phone brings every mafia leader on the isle of Manhattan to this very location within the hour. Two dozen of the most important members of organized crime, right here, right now. This ends tonight.”
    Tony had no objection. This had been his goal for the last twenty years. Don had gotten Tony’s foot in the door at a young age, and the bureau had paid him generously for his two decades on the streets. But now what? If the mafia went down, he thought, how would he fuel his bloodlust? He couldn’t bear the thought of never firing another round again. He opened his mouth to protest...
    “It’s a go” Don said before ending the call. He slid the phone into his breast pocket.
    Less than an hour later, twenty three of New York’s most powerful organized crime leaders were gathered in Central Park, each one under the assumption that they were meeting here to get a cut of a recent bank heist. For his protection, Tony was watching everything on CCTV from inside the black van on the other side of the park. If anything were to go wrong, he would be evacuated from the city and relocated. 
     Another agent in the van controlled all of the sophisticated surveillance equipment. In his headphones, Tony could hear the chatter of the crowd.
    “We’re each getting two million,  right?”             
     “I heard Frank was a mole. He snitched and got whacked!”  
     Don stood up in front of the crowd. He was known in the business as working directly for the man in charge. To the rest of the mafia, Don was simply known as The Assistant. Names were irrelevant.
    Tony’s heart was nearly beating out of his chest. His Glock Model 19 would never taste blood again. For a split second, he wanted to spill his own blood, if only to silence the raging drum beat of his heart. It would be his final wish, the way he would want to go. He would die at the height of satisfaction. But it wasn’t that easy. Nothing was ever that easy. He had to keep his life, if only to seek out the highest of highs. He observed the crowd on one of the eight tiny TVs set up with different camera angles on each.
    Don gave a speech that sounded more like the beginning of a church sermon than a bank payout, but he knew what he was doing. At what appeared to be the height of his presentation, he shouted the words, “The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry!” The gang leaders were suddenly surrounded by SWAT teams on all sides. Tony had chosen the trigger phrase. He was always a fan of John Steinbeck. The words seemed fitting for the circumstances.
    He kept watching, trying to get as many screens in view at once to take in the gravity of what he had just worked twenty years for. Suddenly, his thirst for death seemed slightly less significant than this moment.

    Through the foggy mist sat an eroded castle barricaded by dead trees filled with ravens rather than foliage. A small gravel path brought my clean leather boots to stand in front of two six foot cedar doors fixed with large metal rings as handles. I was hesitant to knock because I
was afraid I would crumble what was left of the fortress or that I wouldn’t be able to lift the boulder heavy handles. Although I knew those weren’t the real reasons. I was in fear of what was is inside because an awful feel churned inside my stomach and the ravens now seemed to be staring at my soul. The silence was broken when I slammed the handle to the worn cedar with thunder echoing my action, which made the birds flock. Silence once again engulfed me as I waited for an answer. 
    The door creaked open letting out light equivalent to the dim moon, which had helped me navigate through the dark. From behind the other door stood a man dressed in a Tuxedo, but the shadows upon his face didn’t allow me to see much. Without any questions to who I was or what I wanted the figure gestured for me to step inside. I followed him as he walked down a candle lit corridor, which was lined with a few framed paintings to make it feel less like a dungeon. The hall end in a large room decorated in the most valuable items, which made it clear that the man now sitting in a beautiful purple winged chair by the mason fireplace could probably have anything he wanted. It puzzled me why such a wealthy man lived in a dirty old castle in the midst of a lifeless forest. 
    As I sat down next to the man I became cold even though we sat three feet from the fire. I had still not seen his face or heard him mutter a single word. It was such an odd atmosphere, but it was only presence of anything human like I had encounter in the past ten days. I drank the Scotch he had poured me in hopes it would bring warmth and conversation, but it didn’t. After I had finished my drink the man took out a black substance, burned it to liquid, and gave it to me. I hesitated to drink because this time the main didn’t make himself a serving, but instead changed chairs allowing me to see his face.
    The man wasn’t much different from anybody I had ever seen except that he looked ill. His skin was pale with grey lips to match and dark bags from lack of sleep beneath his eyes. Black colorless eyes, which I could not obstruct my view from, were the most prominent feature about the man. He stared at me with those eyes until I drank the vial. Instantly I was consumed in darkness and pleasure by the black substance I was given. In this euphoria stupor I blacked out, unaware of the man’s actions. 
    I awoke alone with a raven staring at me from the fireplace mantle. The man had disappeared without any signs of where he might have gone or when he would be back, but I figured he was counting sheep in another room. A day or two went by before I actually began to care that stranger was gone, because my pleasurable experience was now wearing off and I wanted another round. I had also forgotten or lacked to care the reason for visiting, which was because needed directions to the near city Varicosa where my sister lives. Taking a closer look around the house I saw that there wasn’t any other rooms, only the corridor I had entered from. The man must have left for supplies in the city or maybe this was not even his home, though he seemed to know it well. 
    Growing ill, I decided I couldn’t wait for the stranger to come back I needed the vile tasting black substance to ease my pain while I waited. I opened the drawer where the man had gotten the black tar, but to my surprise the drawer was filled with vials of the substance pre-made. The raven was still in the room staring at me, probably since the house had no windows, which made me feel guilty as I took a vial to the lips. This time in my state of euphoria I stayed awake skimming through some literature in that beautiful purple winged chair. My attention slowly become focused on the bird that so oddly had appeared as the
man had left. I watched it waddle across the mantle, often looking at me for long period of time. As soon I took three steps closer towards the bird I knew where the stranger had gone. 
    I was cursed by the black substance as once was the man who gave it to me and all the ravens that filled the trees. This castle was mine to keep as long as I was trapped by my addiction, my illness, my curse that breaks by a stranger’s first taste. In my now numb state, I grabbed the raven and let him out the same cedar doors where I entered. Then I returned to the chair I admired and drank two vials of the curse that kept me from feeling ill, but troubled me with darkness and immobility. In my chair I sat and waited in anticipation for the day I could spread my wings.

    “Private! Get your head out of the sky. This isn’t math class, this is war!”
    “I’m sorry sergeant, it won’t happen agin”, grumbled Private Adrien Shepard. 
    “It better not Private or I’ll have my foot so far up your John Brown hind parts you won’t be sittin’ for weeks!”, yelled sergeant Mcfly as Private Shepard rolled his eyes.          
    Adrien Shepard was a strong, spirited young man who only joined the army because his mother made him. She told him he needed to learn some discipline. He never argued this decision because his father was a war hero in WWI and always dreamed of stepping out onto the battlefield and winning a great victory, just like his father. As much as he loved the idea of fighting, he missed his home back in Erie, Pennsylvania where Miss Susie Marie lived waiting for him to return home. Susie was his most faithful girlfriend of three long years and is expecting a wedding ring anytime. He loved the way her hair shone in the sunlight....
    “Adrien...Adrien...ADRIEN!”           
     “What?”
    “You were daydreamin’ agin. You know what Serg. will do if he catches you daydreamin’.
    “Sorry, Jeb. You know how I git right before a big operation.”
    “Hurry up and git your gear. Serg. is givin us a briefin in 5 minutes.”
    Jebadiah was one of Adrien’s best friends since the third grade. They did everything together including going to war. Jeb was a rather large man with a dark burly beard; says it makes him look more “manly-like”, but it seemed  hopeless because Jeb would usually run at the first sign of trouble.
    Adrien gathered all his gear and entered the tent alongside Jeb. He immediately was struck by smells of body odor and gunpowder as everyone was loading their guns, getting ready for their anticipated mission. The sergeant entered with a stern face and ordered their silence.            
     “Gentlemen, this is your time to prove yourselves true patriots to your country, the United States of America. Here proceeds operation Munich where you will set up a perimeter of the fort. You will move in, capture, and maintain control of the premises. Leave no survivors. Have no mercy. This is war! Gather as much Intel as you can and report back to base. You will leave here immediately and report back to base in 72 hours. Do I make myself clear?....Gentlemen, Good luck..”
    After the Sergeant spoke, everyone dispersed to meet with their platoon and headed off in the direction of the fort. It was early in the morning and they had a long walk ahead of them before they would arrive that evening. It was also dark and foggy and they had a hard time seeing ten feet in front of them.
    Even though they only walked for about 12 hours, it seemed like a lifetime to the troops. There were no stops or breaks; they just trudged on until their destination was finally in view around six o’clock that evening.            
    They stopped about a hundred yards outside of the fort and sent in a couple of scouts to observe the enemy. When the scouts gave the signal that it was all clear, they moved in slowly. The town looked desolate and deserted from the sight of the ruined buildings, broken windows, and the silence of the streets.
    The building that the enemy troops were stationed in was supposedly a few blocks away according to what the Sergeant had said. Lieutenant Ganders then gave the order for the troops to split up and move into position around the fort.           
    This was Adrien and Jeb’s first experience in battle so they felt anxious and afraid, but they were somewhat relieved when they were put in the same group.  They silently moved in around the building, making a perimeter around the enemy.            
     “Jeb, you got my back covered right?” Adrien quietly said in a quivering  voice.
    “Of course I do. I watch your back, you watch mine,” stated Jeb in a somewhat confident voice as he crossed his fingers. They both looked at each other and they knew this was it. This was the time they’ve been waiting for. Ever since they joined the army they have wanted to see some action, and they knew this was their time to shine, this was the time they could give something back to their country, and for Adrien to make his father proud.
    They got into position, waiting for the lieutenant’s signal to move in. The lieutenant gave the signal and they crept into the building. Adrien and Jeb, not sure of what to come, let the rest of their group go first into the building. As they entered the damp and dark facility they could hear faded voices from afar. It sounded like arguing to Adrien, but then again, “all German sounds like arguing”, thought Adrien. The Lieutenant gave the signal to follow the voices, which seemed to be coming from the basement. The stairs, which seemed to go on for an eternity, led to a balcony that oversaw what seemed to be the control room where German personnel were bustling around busy doing things Adrien couldn’t quite decipher. Adrien and the rest of his platoon, being careful not to be seen, crawled across the floor onto the balcony making a single file line parallel to the rusty remains of what use to be the railing of the balcony. Lieutenant Gander pulled out a hand grenade, took out the pin, and dropped it down into the control room, then gave the signal to open fire.
    As soon as the grenade exploded Adrien and the rest of the platoon stood up and shot at the closest German troop they could aim at. The German troops were undoubtedly surprised and were franticly rummaging about looking for their weapons and taking cover, and despite the dust in Adrien’s eyes from the grenade, he kept firing his gun hoping to be of assistance in this heated battle. As time went on Adrien noticed less and less firing, and thought to himself, “we did it, we did it!” Adrien wiped the dust from his eyes, and looked around. He saw rubble, smoke, bodies, and smelt the fragrance of victory in the air. Lieutenant Gander ordered the men to move to the basement level. As the men followed the Lieutenant’s orders, Adrien caught himself smiling at their ‘just achieved’ victory.  When they got down to the lower level they started rummaging through everything, looking for something of importance.  Adrien and Jeb went off by themselves to what seemed to be the kitchen, at least what was left of the kitchen. It was dark and they had a hard time seeing what was in front of them, so they stuck out their hands and felt their way around. As they made their way to one side of the room they
  suddenly heard a noise coming from the opposite side. Adrien and Jeb both spun around, guns at the ready as their eyes darted around the room looking for any sign of movement. Then Lieutenant Ganders entered the room and switched on the lights that both Adrien and Jeb apparently failed to observe.            
     “What’s goin on in here!”
    “Sir, there’s sumthin over there”, Adrien managed to stutter. “I heard it, it came from over there.”
    But when they both looked there was nothing there.
    “Have you done lost your mind Private Shepard? There’s nothin there but a fridge and some old pots and pans, now git out here and try to find something useful.” 
    As Adrien and Jeb began to follow Lieutenant Ganders out to the control room again there was another noise. This time Adrien, Jeb, and Lieutenant Ganders spun around, guns at the ready, though this time their eyes were fixed on the oven. Lieutenant Ganders put his finger to his lips and gave the two boys the signal to move over to the oven, and the Lieutenant followed in behind them. 
     The Lieutenant slowly put his hand on the lever that opened the oven and looked at Adrien and Jeb as to say to them, “Get ready”. Lieutenant Ganders quickly swung the oven door open, and all three men had their guns aimed inside.
    “Wait, Wait! Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!”
    “What in hells name!” yelled the Lieutenant.
    It was a young German troop no older then Adrien and Jeb.
    “Don’t shoot!” pleaded the German.
    “Sorry kid, im jus’ followin the orders,” Stated Ganders as he lifted his gun
  ready to make the kill.
    “Wait, Wait! I give you information, important information.”