OPERATION OVERCAST (Nerves of Steel mission)

You shift nervously in your seat, casting a quick glance around the briefing room. You’ve been sitting in the hut for nearly fifteen minutes, waiting for something – anything – to happen. The rest of your team is seated on the uncomfortable wooden chairs that constitute furniture, all as anxious as you. You’re an odd bunch – the file you read indicates your squad consists of two Germans, a Japanese scientist, a Canadian soldier, a satyr, an American and a Lakota warrior. It almost sounds like the start of a bad joke. You haven’t really talked to the others since you met in London, and you know very little about them. Most of you spent the long train trip to Dover sleeping or preparing for the mission ahead.

Abruptly, the door at the back of the building opens and you all rise to your feet. A muttered acknowledgement reaches your ears as Colonel Roland Langley strides past, waving for you all to resume your seats. Langley’s silver hair and lined face contrast with his perfectly kept dress uniform, as if he’s trying to compensate for his age. Clearing his throat, Langley grasps at the small crop and stands tall, his gaze boring down on each of you in turn.

“Gentlemen,” he says, eyeing you all levelly. “What you are about to embark upon today is a mission of the utmost importance to the Allied war effort. It will not be an easy mission. You will not all return,” he says, his voice booming through the room. He indicates the map pinned on the wall, and quickly begins outlining the plan.

“You will be delivered via glider insertion into a rural region in northern France. Our intelligence operatives have informed us that a small research camp has been established there. The target of the mission is one Herman Adler, an infamous scientist and avid member of the Nazi Party. Once your glider has landed, you are to rendezvous with the local resistance. They have been briefed on the further stages of the operation,” Langley says, before tucking the crop under his arm. “You will be accompanied by a small force of airborne troops. They will act as a diversionary force to distract the German forces while you achieve the mission.”

“Resistance will be heavy,” he continues, running his gaze over your faces. “Our sources indicate the camp is guarded by a contingent of Waffen-SS. Reports claim there are in the vicinity of sixty troops stationed at the camp, along with light armour. Given the occult nature of Adler’s research, you should also expect to be met by non-human forces.”

Langley steps forward and rests his hand on a stack of brown envelopes. “Your orders are contained inside these envelopes. Everything should be self-explanatory.” He checks his watch briefly. “I have the time as seventeen-hundred hours. Your glider will be towed at seventeen-thirty. Before then, you will need to retrieve your equipment from the barracks.” Glancing up, he offers a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Good luck, and Godspeed.”

As the Colonel leaves the room, you all glance at one another for a moment, then quickly stand. There’s orders to be collected and equipment to be stowed, though you probably have time to introduce yourselves.

((At present, you’re all in the briefing room. There’s a barracks outside somewhere, but post if you want to go and collect your gear and I’ll let you know what’s outside. For now, collect your orders (say if you want to open them – I’ll post the sheet for your perusal), chat and get ready.))

"Gott verdammt, es musste der Waffen-SS sein, Schwein-Hunde werden in der Hölle brennen." Siegfried growled under his breath as he stepped forward to collect an his envelope, which he opens with an index finger.
Before going through the papers inside, Siegfried steps away from the little table the envelopes are stacked and the big German began to look at the contents of his envelope.

"Vell, at least I know I em not ze only German here," pondered Thorsten with a flicker of confidence in his eye, "This doesoon't seem like such a vorrisome mishun. Anna shall be safe vith that fisherman's family in my absence." For the first time in years, Thorsten felt that he was going to be able to make a difference in the war, even if it was a minute one. He even managed a smile from his usually stony face and walked forward to claim his orders. However, he mistakenly brushed past his fellow Deutschlander in the process. "Pardon me, Herr Rosenberg. My mistake," said Thorsten with as much formal eloquence as obvious panic in his voice.

Jonathan (AKA: Jon) silently stood up, walked forward and retrieved the letter. He then tucked the piece of paper safely away in his inner jacket pocket and walked out to retrieve his equipment, which he had to drop off after boarding the train. Jon didn't like being separated from his possessions for too long.

((short post cuz short))

As Siegfried tips the envelope open, a neatly folded letter and two small photos fall out. The orders are essentially a more detailed version of Langley's speech - the two photos, however, are much more interesting. One appears to be a map of the area of operations, while the other seems to be an aerial photo of the target. The other envelopes seem to contain the same things - two photos and a letter.

As Jonathan goes towards the door, it bursts open, almost hitting the American in the face. A man dressed in the uniform of the British Army shoves his way past, mockingly tipping his hat to Jonathan. "Sorry 'bout that, guv. In a bit of a rush, see." The man moves past and grabs an envelope, quickly tearing it open and skimming it. He sighs, tossing it aside. "Never let me do anything fun. Always the same old stuff." Lounging back in one of the chairs, he pulls a cigarette from his jacket pocket and jams it between his lips, before turning to the satyr. "They letting goats into the army now, are they?"

Jonathan grumbles and heads outside. The tarmac is fairly busy - paratroopers rush back and forward, stowing equipment away. A tall man with an impressive moustache gestures wildly, bellowing orders in a perfect parade-ground baritone. The barracks are just to the right of the briefing room - Jonathan shoves the door open and steps inside. The room is deserted, but he spots his equipment on one of the beds. A brief inspection yields all his possessions are still in place, save for his weapons, and a set of camouflage fatigues have been set out neatly on the bed.

"What the hell was that guy's problem, and who was he anyway?" Jon muttered as he was inspecting his things. Everything seemed to still be in place and the dark-colored backpack seemed to not have been handled rough much apart from probably having been briefly searched. Toolbox, ammo clips, his canteen and even the two small tin cans with mystery food (due to the stickers having been lost quite a while ago) were all still there. Only his gun was missing, but he figured he would get that once they'd board for the mission.

After swinging his pack by one strap across his shoulder he first noticed the fatigues. For a moment he was puzzled, then he figured that they were most likely part of the mission. He put the camouflaged jacket over his own and packed the uniform's pants in his pack, his own (slightly reinforced) jeans were dark and smeared with enough dirt and grease to act as camo. They'd once been blue, but that had been a long time ago.

Having inspected and packed everything, as well as dressed, Jon walked out of the barracks again, deciding to wait outside, where he could observe the rest of the military preparing for the operation.

Siegfried re-skimmed the orders before speaking up to the jackass who'd just entered and started flinging insults.
"At least vith goats you have chance." Siegfried countered. "Do you have part in the operation? I see nothing about an Englischer dummkopf."
Siegfried glared at the Englischer, his grey eyes flashing dangerously.

Akira stood up nervously. The whole situation made him nervous. Especially, the big German looking man. (referring to Siegfreid). After 3 of the others had moved and the American and apparently, the British man had entered, he got up, not wanting to appear too cowardly. Akira moved carefully, not wanting to disturb the others sitting and standing. As Akira walked to the table, one of the American brushed him while returning to his seat and his old childhood reflexes kicked in. "Sumimasen.", he uttered as he bowed towards the man. The American appeared not to notice anything. Akira hoped the others did not notice as well. He returned to his journey to the table, picked up his documents and quickly returned to his seat. "Baka!", he thought to himself. "Don't repeat what happened after the move to America." After quickly chastising himself, and regaining the correct mindset, he proceeded to carefully open the envelope.

Sergio simply stared at the smoking Englishman.
"Those give you cancer," the satyr said calmly, nodding at the cigarette. He then got up and clopped over to the table, picking up his packet of information. He read it carefully and studied the pictures. His bag was already at his side, all his necessary belongings in it. Sergio flipped open the satchel at his hip and placed the folded paper and pictures inside his research notebook, kept safely in the pocket of the bag. He was already dressed in the appropriate uniform, the drab green blending slightly with his dappled grey and brown fur coat. The satyr rolled his neck, his curling horns brushing his uniformed shoulders in turn as he tried to loosen his stiff muscles. He straightened his collar, but waited by the door. Sergio figured it best to wait inside as long as possible, to reduce the amount of time he was seen outside, and thus in semi-public eye. Satyrs in combat dress (well, everything sans boots) were not a common occurrence, even in these odd times. However, Sergio did not like cigarette smoke, and preferred to be on time to things, so he opened the door and stood outside, in the slightly cleaner air. He waited near the door and watched the hustle and bustle of the base before a mission.

Conrad Hastings only half listened to the speech, as he knew what his part was going to be. Shoot at some folks, run around a lot, and make a half-hearted attempt to kidnap some guy. Big deal. Maybe he'd wind up trying to put that stuff they told him he had to good use, maybe not. Probably wouldn't matter worth a shit against SS-Stormtroopers. Whatever.

He ripped open the envelope, skipping past the written information, which was of no use to him, and the photo of the creepy guy, which also looked relatively pointless. Just some Nazi bastard with a rag over his head, just a brighter target to blow a hole through. He took a look a the map, which without any labellings that Conrad understood, was pretty much useless too. He stuck the items back in the envelope, ripped it through the middle, and chucked it to the floor, rising from his chair. Hastings didn't have to know what was really going on, he could just follow along whatever happened.

Some British guy entered the room and the German at the table started flinging insults at the man. Hastings snorted, making for the door and reaching for the package of cigarettes. Upon realizing his lack of matches, he slurred several unnecessary swears together under his breath, he turned back to the others, to ask about any. The first two he saw were the Nazi and the Jap. Screw it, he'd get one outside.

He strolled out through the doorway, not even considering asking from the horned weirdass, and instead yelling at the first paratrooper he saw.

"Hey jumper, match?" Politeness really never crossed his mind. Not calling the guy a jackass casually could even be considered an improvement. Not aware of the horned freaks aversion to the cigarettes, he stood by the doorway to light the cigarette. Who cared about him anyway?

Inside, tensions were building. The British soldier paused for a moment, then flicked the cigarette away. "If there's one thing I can't stand," he said, standing slowly, "it's a Hun." He was a good foot shorter than Siegfried, but his stocky build and set shoulders showed he was a definitely a brawler. "If there's another," he continued, reaching up and jabbing the German in the chest for emphasis, "it's a bloody traitor. An' you're both." Most people would have wilted under Siegfried's gaze, but the soldier met it evenly. He jammed his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels casually. "Guess I'll have t' watch you, Jerry. Might try to put a bullet in us. Change sides when the fighting starts."

Outside, however, everything was fairly calm. Most of the paratroopers had finished loading the glider and were lounging around, chatting. A couple shot uneasy glances at Sergio, and the sound of distrusting muttering floated across the tarmac from a small group, but most disregarded the satyr. The men of the 1st Airborne Division had seen much worse than a goat-headed man; Arnhem had seen to that. As Sergio ran his gaze over the glider, his keen eyes and technical knowledge picked up something wrong. From a distance, he couldn't be sure what it was, but something about the glider was defintely not right. Investigation, however, would require passing the paratroopers...

((I'll accelerate the RP shortly. I just thought you might appreciate some time to chat. Or rip someone's head off. ))

Thorsten turned to the table with the stack of envelopes when he realized that his fellow German did not notice his apology. He reached for his orders and tore them open as he walked outside to the barracks. His eyes widened slightly. The picture showed a doctor whom he recognized from a convention, years before the war. He had spoken of a theory of a possibility for a serum that could extend one's lifespan by several years. The good doctor had gotten a standing ovation from the convention visitors, but to see him now working for the Nazis absolutely shocked Thorsten. After all, what if he had perfected his serum? The Germans could have an immortal fighting force for years to come. Shaking such thoughts from his head, Thorsten went into the barracks to change into the camouflage fatigues. He found his belongings all there except for the Luger (probably confiscated.), changed and grabbed his staff before heading back outside.

After reading through his folder and carefully observing and memorizing the contents of his orders, Akira put the orders in his pocket and got up and exited the hut. The British and German guy were going at it and Akira didn't want to be in the middle of a fight, that is unless he had his katana with him. He found a large katana always seems to frighten others wanting to challenge him. Oddly enough, his katana gave him a special feeling inside that calmed him. As he exited the hut, he saw the gliders they were supposed to take to the rendezvous point with the French. The French. That surprised him as the French were probably the worst fighters in history. With the exception of Napoleon. As he made his way towards the barracks, he wondered here his stuff was. He searched several barracks until he saw his bag. He searched his bag to see what was confiscated...

Sergio's eyes narrowed, his casual gaze now focused on the glider. Something was indeed ... off. He felt it his duty to inspect, at the very least, since this vehicle would bring the team to the ground safely only if it worked properly.
The satyr leaned forward, and began to take step after careful step toward the glider. He tried to stay out of anyone's way, just in case there were any last-minute checks being done on the tarmac, and averted eye contact by staring intently at the glider. Soon, Sergio found himself eying the machine carefully, scrutinizing it as well as he could. When a technician bustled by, the satyr gestured a hand at him.
"I hate to be a bother," Sergio said, turning to the engineer. "But has this glider been fully checked and cleared for take off?"

"I obfiously cannot do anything about being a German, but I would rather die than return to the nation that locked me in a cage, tattooed a Balkenkreuz and serial number on my chest and performed experiments on me." Siegfried said slowly as he shrugged his leather jacket off and pulled the collar of his shirt down. Revealing the aforementioned Iron Cross and the number "31" sitting right over his heart.

"I for one think returning and saying that what they did was alright is more evil than turning traitor." He continued as he let go of the shirt collar, covering the tattoo again. "You can think otherwise, just don't expect me to help you." Siegfried said as he grabbed his jacket and walked out of the Quonset Hut.
Siegfried paused outside the building before heading for the barracks where his stuff had been stored.

The British soldier paused for a moment, watching as the German strode away. "Cheery bloke," he muttered, shaking his head. Striding over to the door, he paused and turned to the Canadian. "Nice to see another soldier. Infantry?" he asked, lighting a cigarette of his own and leaning against the hut.

The technician paused for a moment, taken aback by Sergio's appearance, then nodded hesitantly. "We've checked it all. Double-checked it, in fact." He wipes his brow with a cloth, then jerks a thumb at the glider. "If you can find anything wrong with 'er, I'll quit the airforce and join the infantry." Sergio, however, wasn't convinced. Working his way around the glider, the satyr scrutinised every rivet and panel. He finally found what he was looking for at the front of the aircraft. The Horsa glider relied in a tow rope and a large bomber to transport it anywhere, and by the looks of it, the cable's connection was loose. If left unattended, the glider could potentially detach well short of the landing zone. Concerned, Sergio turned around to look for the technician only to feel a fist collide with his head. Staggering, the satyr caught sight of three heavy-set paratroopers arrayed before him. One was massaging his fist and smirking.
"We've seen weirdos like you before. And we don't like 'em," the man drawled, taking a step forward. Before Sergio could react, the man drove his fist into the satyr's gut, and Sergio doubled over in pain. Laughing, the paratrooper stepped back and spat on the ground. "Freaks like you killed a lot of my buddies in Arnhem. I think it's time we got a little payback." Grinning, the three soldiers stepped forward...

Akira's possessions had been left much like those of the others - his weapons were nowhere to be seen, but his other possessions had been stored neatly away. A set of camouflage fatigues were set out neatly on the bed, ready for the scientist to put on should he choose to do so. As Akira rummaged through the bags, the door swung open and Siegfried entered, striding over to his own gear. Like everyone else, his weapons had been taken and a set of fatigues left for him - these fatigues were noticeably too small for the burly German, who snorted in disgust before pushing them aside.

Jonathan had watched the team's satyr exit the building and make his way over to the glider, he himself had been leaning against the barrack's outer wall. Right up to the point when he saw three paratroopers bear down on the poor guy. With a few quick movements, Jon conjured one of the larger wrenches from his toolbox before striding over to the beatdown (which really couldn't be called a fight). Upon arrival he tapped one of the troopers on his shoulder, wrench firmly locked in his other hand and kept out of sight, just in case. "Excuse me, but what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

The paratrooper turned with a sneer, swinging a haymaker at Jonathan who barely managed to dodge. The three men turned, their attention shifting to the American. "What's your problem?" the ringleader asked, spitting again. "You friends with the freak? We'll see about that." The other paratroopers had started to gather around now, watching the fight with expressions ranging from enjoyment to disgust. A small ring was gradually formed from the bodies of the troops, the spectators content to watch. The three paratroopers fronted up to Jonathan. "C'mon, Yank. Show us what you've got," the ringleader drawled, smirking at the American.

Siegfried grabbed his StG46 mag pouches, gas mask canister, holster for his M1911, he flips his M40 feldgrau field jacket over his shoulder and left the barracks. Outside a curious scene was forming, the British paratroopers were forming a ring around someone... the American from what Siegfried could see over the heads of those involved.

Siegfried started to walk over to see what the hubbub was about, then he saw someone doubled over behind the nose of the glider, his face hardened as he realized it was the satyr from the mission briefing earlier. Siegfried kept walking toward the ring of soldiers, dropped his gear on the tarmac and peeled his jacket off.
"Eh! Ihr Arschlöcher! Wie wärs mit nen ehrlichen Kampf!" Siegfried shouted as he dropped his jacket to the paved runway and pulled his shirt off, which he also dropped.

At this point the soldiers had turned to face the source of the shouting.
Siegfried clenched his right hand into a fist and slammed it into his open left hand three times, communicating his intents clearly.

Jonathan used the distraction to make his way to the satyr, whom he handed his backpack, suggesting him to hold on to it for a while whilst helping him up. "You get out of here, this may get ugly." After helping the satyr up and sending him the other way, Jon turned around again, still holding his wrench, and looked to what exactly was going on now again, whilst preparing himself for the very real possibility of a serious brawl.

Freak walked away to go argue with a mechanic. Fine by Hastings, an improvement actually. No eyesore to catch his attention every time he looked that way. Nice. The place was taken by the pompous-ass Brit from inside, who was lighting up right next to him. Hastings was perfectly game for a smoke in silence, but apparently this uptight asshole wasn't.

"Nice to see another soldier. Infantry?" The Canadian grunted an 'mhm' to the man, eyes glancing up and down the uniform for any signs of rank, his eyes unfamiliar with any writing. "Barber too." He took a long puff from the cigarette and lifted from his mouth with two fingers, smoke blowing from his mouth as he spoke. "'Least, was 'fore this bullshit plan came up." Was this guy involved in planning it? Whatever. He had no good impressions he needed to make, or he figured he needed to make.

Across the tarmac, a fight was breaking out between some paratroopers and some of the folks from Morgan's team. He personally had no interest in helping out, but he pointed to the bunch with the two fingers that held his cigarette.

"Horny, Yankee and the Nazi faggot are brawling it up over there." He didn't know if it meant anything to this guy, but might as well bring it up...

Sergio gritted his teeth as he put the backpack on the ground.
"I appreciate your concern," the satyr said levelly, "and I think you could use all the help you can get." Sergio placed himself alongside the humans who came to help him. "This is every bit my fight as it is yours."
Then, before the paratroopers could think of a plan, or worse, another snide remark, Sergio charged at one, his head down, horns aimed directly at the gut. It was little more than a quick step and thrust, but Sergio hoped it would connect and leave its mark.


((I'm assuming we're doing this much like Muffy's D 'n' D RP? Every attack / action is based on a dice roll, so we should only express our intent to attack?
And I'm also assuming the three OPI operatives are in close proximity to the paratroopers, so Sergio could reach one with little more than a step.))

Distracted for a moment by the arrival of Siegfried, the paratroopers shifted their focus for a brief, fatal moment. As Sergio charged, his intended victim barely had a moment to recognise the peril he was in before the satyr was upon him. A shouted warning from one of the onlookers attracted the man's attention, and he let out a cry just as the satyr's horn pierced his stomach. The crowd went deadly silent as the man staggered back, clasping at his stomach. To Sergio's horror, the man's uniform quickly turned crimson, and the airborne infantryman turned white and fell to the ground. Stunned, the other two attackers quickly rallied.

"Freak! You've killed him!" the ringleader shouted, reaching for the pistol at his belt. "You've fucking killed Ray!" Bringing the pistol to bear, he released the safety catch, levelling the pistol squarely at the satyr's chest...

((So we've got one guy lying on the ground bleeding to death, one guy with a gun aimed at Sergio and one guy standing there. There's a ring of paratroopers watching the fight, Siegfried is currently stuck outside the ring of onlookers, and Jonathan has a wrench and is inside the ring. Siegfried is too far away to reach the man in time to stop him shooting; Jonathan might be able to make it, but then again, he could be too far away. There's a few routes you guys can take at the moment, but I'll leave it to you. Just try not to kill all your allies ))

Akira breathed a sight of relief as the German left. That guy scared the crap out of him. Even though he remembered his training from back when he was in the Japanese military, that German guy could, as a friend back home in America put it, would, "Slap him all the way to next Tuesday." Akira put on the fatigue with his lab-coat over it and packed up his bag, again realizing his katana was missing. The feeling of dread returned. Nothing good ever happened to him when his katana was out of his reach. Then he heard noises coming from outside. Quickly stuffing the remaining loose items into his bag, Akira slung his bag on his shoulder and ran out to find the source of the sounds. The quickly enlarging group of paratroopers and engineers clued him in as to where the sounds emanated from. As Akira reached the edge of the crowd, the crowd went silent. "You've fucking killed Ray!" Something was wrong. The word had spread that the screaming paratrooper pulled his gun. Thinking extremely quickly, Akira grabbed the nearest gun off a paratrooper and fired it in the air.

The good doctor saw the fight break out and escalate before his very eyes. He would need to intervene if both the wounded trooper and Sergio were to survive. "Put ze gun down, Trottel!!! Do it now! Ve do not vant this to escalate any further!" shouted Thorsten as he pushed aside the ring of paratroopers. "I might be able to help your comrade. Stand aside!" The trooper with the gun looked on with suspicion as Thorsten knelt next to the trooper and, feeling the energy of the staff course through his veins, gently waved his hand over the pale soldier's wound. A white flash of white emanated from the puncture and, in an instant, it was healed. The soldier lay on the ground, perplexed at what was taking place around him. "You are alright?" asked Thorsten in a supportive tone. The soldier nodded and was helped up by the other paratroopers. Thorsten turned to the trooper with the gun and looked at him with an ominous glare.