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I foresee action, blood and guts.
 
It isn't... the NEST... is it?
 
Griffin.Gen That's the idea, good Sir.

Kurt_Steiner :D *whistles Patton attack theme*

Ciryandor Que? I don't get this one. :confused:

Tigey Well, I am ore a Battle of Britain fan, but it is a very awesome movie, and it was a huge source of inspiration for this.
 
Chapter 193


7th December 1941

4:32 AM

The Airfield was lying almost dormant, and the crews still manning it knew why. The powers that were had only taken it into service because the Italian Air Force base near Taranto was still under repair, and until it was fixed up the routine traffic would go through this one. No Spits or Mossies here, the field was too small for that, but what was stationed here tonight where three Dakotas that had been hastily painted in a blue colour so dark that it was almost black, with Type B roundels applied on all surfaces. The planes had no other identifying features, no registration numbers and no Squadron markings. What they did have though was their very own guard detail that had shooed everyone away once the new paint had been put on the airframes, and now rumours were flying about. But now they had all been told to stay inside the mess, everyone except for the Tower Crew who silently watched as a group of men began to board the plane. They were all dressed in Paratrooper gear, heavily armed and clad in white winter camouflage coats that also happened to be quite warm. They had received orders to ignore everything that was going on down there, and they did so, but rumours would still fly around. Even so, the two planes started up their engines and slowly began to roll.

Inside Ian was rehearsing his part in the mission again and again, and kept saying to himself that he was getting too old for this kind of work, but there was no backing out now, even though he had barely had the time to get parachute qualified and he still not trusted this particular part of his skillbase. Checking the chinstrap of his helmet for the umpteenth time this night he leaned back against the metal fuselage of the plane and wished that this ordeal would be over as soon as possible, and come to think of it he preferred going into action against the Germans, because once he was on the ground he had long-standing skills and knew what he had to do in nay given situation, even though Drake was the one who was the skilled Light Infantry leader.

Drake at the same time was confident. He had seven combat jumps under his belt and most recently he had taken part in Operation Market Garden, and he relished the chance of jumping again. He was anything but reckless once on the ground, but in the air he was what would be called an adrenaline junkie in later decades. He liked jumping, and he was looking forward to tonight's jump more than the mission itself. He looked over towards Ian and he saw that the Naval Captain was clearly uncomfortable with parachuting into enemy territory, and Drake smiled inwardly at the sight. He was thrown out of these thoughts when the engines of the plane began to roar louder and louder as the pilots asked for permission to take off. Soon the plane began to race down the runway and suddenly it lurched into the air. The pilots levelled out at the ordered altitude and he began the 'routine' of a flight at night and unescorted heading towards enemy airspace. Luckily for them the Italians lacked any sort of meaningful RDF network and so they were undetected as they made their way northwards. Ian half turned in his seat and looked out of the window, and as they coasted out near the front line he could see the flashes of Artillery fire in the distance and he was once again glad he had not followed his father into the Army and had joined the Navy instead. The entire front had ground to a halt in the weather and both sides were busy watching the epic struggle between the Canadian Expeditionary Force and the Italo-German-Soviet Force that defended the approaches to Monte Cassino. He glanced at his wristwatch in the low light of the moon, and saw that he had more than three hours before he had to jump out of the aircraft. He decided that it was a good idea to get some sleep now, because he would not get any anytime soon, and if he had learned something since that fateful day when he had been recruited for MI6 it was sleeping aboard aircraft. The two lonely British Aircraft were not alone this night, but the air activity concentrated itself on the mainland, where German, Soviet and Italian Night Fighters battled for supremacy of the night sky but none came near to the two Dakotas. They coasted in again dangerously close near Venice, but that could not be helped, because the city was still visible even under the blackout and they were to use it to navigate to their destination. No fire came from the ground and no sudden machine gun salvo slammed into their fuselages and the people within, and they remaind undisturbed for the remainder of their journey.

When Ian was shaken awoke by Drake he looked at the other Officer and asked, yelling to be understood over the roar of the engines through the already open door:

“We there already?”

“Against the chances we are even in the right place as far as I can tell.”

Ian rose and looked outside, and sure enough there were mountains on each side of the aircraft. He sighed and firmly told himself that there was no sense in delaying and hooked up his parachute line in the second position after Drake, because in the Royal Parachute Corps the Officers were always the first out of the plane and on the ground. Ian steeled himself against the sudden rush of air and the lurching in his insides and before he knew it was his turn. He quickly gave his soul to the lord and thought of his wive and child before jumping out. The prop blast was as massive as he remembered and he fell free for a few seconds before he was janked upwards by his parachute. He looked up and saw the greyish-blue tent of the low visibility SAS parachute over his head. Around him he saw that the other parachutes had also opened and were slowly descending into the night. Once the ground came closer, he steeled himself for the inevitable, and at exactly 7:48 AM he struggled upright in the snow and picked up the Sten he carried from the ground and unwrapped it from it's waterproof oilskin. Thirteen yards away from him Drake was doing the same as the men of the other patrols descended around him, and as he looked around he realized that it was first very very cold and secondly very quiet, with the radial engines of the Dakota already receeeding into the distance, climbing and turning back towards allied held Italy. Ian took of his helmet, stuffed it into his backpack and replaced it with his Royal Marines beret before making his way over to Drake who had already donned his red Paratrooper beret with the SAS badge on it in spite of the cold. In a low voice he asked:

“Everyone here, Drake?”

Drake nodded. “Aye, Colonel.” Ian was wearing Marine Fatigues with the rank insignia of a Colonel to avoid confusion.

The Captain turned and soon the British were assembled. They carried most of their equipment on their bodies, but the supply container dropped with them had already been looted and now they had a wireless backpack, grenades and all the usual tidbits that a unit operating behind enemy lines might need. They spent the next ten minutes burying their parachutes in the snow in the treeline at the edge of the clearing and when they formed up, Ian was thanking the gods that none of the men had been blown out of the landing area or, god forbid, crashed into the creek that was not very deep but very very cold. Without words they formed into a skirmish line and began to move through the trees. Ian was not that well versed in Light Infantry tactics, but he knew enough to take his place in the line, three men down from Drake. If memory served correctly they would reach the road in a few minutes at best, and there they would cross as fast as possible, trying to leave as little of a trail as possible. He walked towards the road and subconsciously flipped off the safety on his weapon and opened the pistol holster on his hip where he carried his trusty FN Semi- Automatic which had even been made in actual Belgium before the war.

When they reached the line of trees a few yards away from the snowdrifts at the side of the road, the group lowered itself down to the ground and worked their way closer to the edge. The road was empty and by the looks of it had been cleared recently because the light snowfall that had begun shortly after their landing had not yet covered the tarmac again. No Germans were in sight, but that didn't mean that there weren't any sentries. They had time, and therefore Drake sent out scouts that checked the road in both directions for half a mile. Upon returning the British now knew that there were no Germans nearby and the British crossed the road, their tracks covered by the last man. Once on the other side they again fanned out into a skirmish line and began to move towards the hill where the manor house still lay silent, it's windows blacked out.

When the SAS patrols reached the winding road that led up the hill, Ian glanced at his watch again and when he quickly calculated in his head he found that they had roughly four hours left to assault the house, extract and make their way to the airfield, secure it and survive until the third Dakota arrived.

“It's a stupid plan, it's a stupid plan..” he kept whispering to himself as Drake divided the twelve British Paras in two groups that each covered a side of the road, because it had turned out that the hill was too steep to scale directly, so were forced to use the road in the open.

“Down!” came the order


They all dashed into the trees at the side of the road and watched as a lorry raced past. Ian looked, but all he could see was that it seemed empty from his angle which was a sort of relief, because it meant that the Germans were not shipping in reinforcements. When the lorry was past they resumed their walk, hoping that they had not been seen. Soon they reached the half-way checkpoint, and Ian saw through the trees that the guardhouse was a small hut large enough for two or three poor souls that had to guard the road in this weather. Drake carried a silencer for his Sten, as did all the other British troopers, and after he had worked his way to the door of the small hut he knocked. The German soldier that opened the door didn't even have the chance to cry out, he was dead before he hit the ground. The other two inside went down just as silently. When Ian walked inside, he could see that there was a steaming cup of coffee on a small oven in a corner, a field telephone on a desk, a weapons rack with three Mauser K98k Rifles and a few chairs, other than that the room was bare. Ian looked at Drake who was re-loading his Sten and soon the British were moving again. When they reached the perimeter of the open area around the house they were glad to discover that there was no fence and after a good half hour of observation, they saw that there were only three soldiers patrolling the area. Ian stayed behind and watched in amazement as once again Drake and the Pole from his patrol moved out.

Drake worked his way to the back of the Lorry they had seen earlier. It was parked about half-way between the edge of the wooded area and the house and just between him and one of the sentries. He drew his knife and and glanced around the corner. The sentry was clad in the uniform of the German Alpenkorps, their Mountain Troops and the elite of the Wehrmacht. Right now he had stopped and was shielding one of his hands with the other, presumably to light a smoke. None of the other sentries were in sight and between the sentry and the house a large shed blocked direct view. Drake silently crept up behind the unfortunate German and then, with one swift movement, clasped his hand over the mouth of the sentry and rammed his knife into his back between the rips. The blade pierced the soldier's heart and he was dead instantly. Drake grabbed him below the ankles and dragged him behind the lorry and then hid the body under it. Looking around he could already see that his men had taken out the other sentries, because if they hadn't, they wouldn't come running over the open area around the house like this. As he dashed towards the door, he could see that Ian had his Sten at the ready. Unfortunately this was the only entry into the manor house, because all the others had been blocked with masonry as Drake found out after a quick check. When he came back to Ian the Naval Captain was looking around with a not too pleased look on his face.

“It's too easy. If I were them, I would have had at least a squad on moving patrols, not just three blokes freezing their arses off.”


Drake agreed and told Ian as much, but both men agreed that there was nothing they could do. He did just wish though that they could see what was on the other side of that door. There was no other way to find out but to get inside and look, and to do that they had to make noise. Three of the SAS troopers made themselves ready and Drake fired a short burst from his Sten into the heavy lock on the door. The door held, but the lock seemed to be heavily damaged. Drake gave it a good kick, the door slammed open and four fragmentation Grenades flew in. They exploded with dull thuds, and the British efforts were rewarded by yells and groans of wounded and dying men. The British rushed in firing their weapons from the hip, and when the smoke cleared, Ian could see at least five Germans lying on the ground and over the furniture in various stages of mutilation and none alive. The SAS men immediately split up in groups of two, and Ian, pairing up with Drake, worked his way deeper into the building. Ian opened a door and immediately pressed himself back against the wall, because behind an overturned table several Germans had hunkered down and were peppering the area with fire from at least two MP-40s. Ian and Drake returned fire with long bursts from their Stens, but they had arrived at a stalemate. Ian looked at Drake and Drake just nodded. Ian didn't have them, but Drake had, and so two more grenade explosions thundered through the great hall. Ian and Drake ran inside and took cover behind two of the great Columns that were supporting the high roof and the upper storey of the house. No more fire came from the desk, but now six more men came rushing from the doors on the second floor and ran down the two wide stairs at the sides of the hall, firing madly with everything from MP 40s to Lugers. The bullets smashed into the marble columns, but these guarded the British well, and now the Germans had been caught in the open. Both Ian and Drake opened fire, and a wild gunfight ensued. Caught without cover, one German was cut down immediately when three bullets from Ian's Sten caught him square in the chest. Seeing their comrade fall, the others retreated back up the stairs, loosing two more, one killed when his chin and skull were shattered by a round and the other when one round caught him in the stomach, penetrating his liver and shattering his spine. The two British looked at each other as around them the sounds of battle in the expansive house became louder and louder as the Special Air Service raced through the rooms like a hurricane in storm season. It was not one-sided though, one man from 56 Patrol was killed, several more slightly wounded. Meanwhile the two ranking Officers cautiously climbed the left staircase upwards until they reached the wounded man. He was desparately trying to keep his innards in his body. Ian took mercy and fired a single round from his pistol before following Drake to the nearby door. This one was thick and heavy and much to their surprise – unlocked.

While Ian covered their backs, Drake unbuckled his jump helmet from his belt and held it into the slit between the door and the frame. Instantly this gesture was replied to with gunfire. Drake took cover behind the door which proved to be bullet proof and emptied his magazine into the room. When the smoke cleared he opened the door and looked at the dead bodies in the room. Suddenly the door behind him and Ian opened. Before Ian could fire they saw that it were Sobczak and Little who was having a bandage around his arm. “Rest of the building is cleared, Sir.”

“Losses?” “One of ours, a lot of them.” Sobczak replied.

“Good.” Drake nodded. “Pack up the stuff in there and search the building again.”

Ian took a quick survey of what they had captured, mostly papers that someone in London would analyze, but also several machines, among them what appeared to be the German Naval Encryption Machine, the Enigma. Together with the codebooks someone would most certainly make use of that.

“Ehrm Captain.... there is something you and the Colonel should look at.”

Ian was puzzled. He re-loaded his Sten and followed the two men into the basement of the house.

When they began to descend the narrow wooden staircase, gunfire was heard and became louder and louder. In the basement, behind heavy wooden doors that showed signs of attention by at least a few grenades six British Soldiers were nestled behind make-shift barricades made out of wine barrels, tables and chairs and traded fire with a bunch of Germans that defended the mouth of a hallway. Ian and Drake took cover beside them and Drake yelled to make himself heard over the appalling racket.

“WHAT'S THE SITUATION?”

“A COUPLE OF GERRIES ARE HOLED UP THERE, CAPTAIN! NO IDEA WHY!”

The Battle continued and Drake was painfully aware that they were running out of time, because they had to pack everything up that they could carry and still had to get to the airfield and secure it. Then however one of the Germans made a mistake and tried to dash over to the other side where two more barely had enough cover. He was of course killed and his bullet riddled body was distracting the Germans just enough to have them not notice that one last grenade was flying through the air. The firing died down and the living rose to their feet while the dead stayed where they were. Behind the two Germans was a second door that was made out of wood and looked somewhat flimsy.

“This bloody door goes right into the mountain.” Ian said as he and Drake went forward to inspect it.

“What ever it is, we have to take a look at it. Listen Colonel, would you like to go back up and..”

“Bugger procedure, Captain. I came this far and won't bloody stop now.”

“As you wish, Sir.”

Ian didn't like pulling rank, but he wanted to go to the very end of this. Drake just nodded and kicked in the door. Both men looked inside and found a tunnel lined with doors on each side. Ian's torch was barely lighting the other end, but he could see that there was a left-hand corner. The doors were open and as the two men slowly made their way to downwards they saw that it were prison cells, obviously empty. At the corner they found a dead German who had probably shot himself earlier or who had been killed by a straight bullet before his comrades had managed to close the door. The tunnel was forming a rough U shape and soon they found themselves going backwards in a sense. Here too the doors were open, all except one. Ian motioned for Drake to halt and ran back towards the body and sure enough he had a key ring in one of his hand and a Walther PPK in the other. Ian pocketed the Gun and held the keys in his hand. He and Drake walked over to the cell and while Drake gave cover, Ian unlocked the door. He lighted the inside with his torch and saw that on the cot on the corner a figure was huddled.

“Are you all right? British Army!”

Next Ian was struggling to stand upright and breathe, because what he heard had to be coming from the grave. With a slight Western American accent diluted by years in Britain the voice answered:

“Ian? Is that you?”

[Notes: Do you like me now?]
 
[Notes: Do you like me now?]

Not a jot.

Ok. 7th December 1941. You had to have a good surprise to that day, hadn't you? :mad:



:D:D:D


Mmmh... To whom the voice may belong...

a lost family member?

a lost love?

a lost talking farting eating pizza dog? :D

So many possibilities...
 
:eek: :eek: :eek: :eek: :eek: :eek: :eek:

That was unexpected. :D
 
So he's back, but there is one huge flaw in your scene. I just saw a Mythbusters where they showed that blindly firing around a corner achieves nothing. Hence the guys in the Engima room shouldn't have been hit - that's Hollywood magic. :D
 
Kurt_Steiner Yup. It's a special date and something had to happen, even if it's not war deciding. ( or is it? :D )

Thomas Kenobi Hehe. Gald to know I had you fooled.

humancalculator See above.

ColossusCrusher Yup, he's back.

As for Mytbusters, if it's a cubicle scarcely larger than your average small bathroom, then hitting something is unavoidable.
 
cough*comicbookdeath*cough.

Well, you didn't specify the room's size. ;)
 
Yeah. I was toying with putting in more hints, but then decided not to since I am not too good at that sort of stuff. :)
 
Sometimes I have to ask myself why a certain person in my family is a bloody paranoid maniac and thinks I don't have anything better to do than screwing him over. You can't even sit on the toilet without him almost kicking in the door because of nothing at all and totally out of the blue, with him claiming I was always making everything dirty on purpose just so that he would be forced to clean up. [/end rant]
 
Sometimes I have to ask myself why a certain person in my family is a bloody paranoid maniac and thinks I don't have anything better to do than screwing him over. You can't even sit on the toilet without him almost kicking in the door because of nothing at all and totally out of the blue, with him claiming I was always making everything dirty on purpose just so that he would be forced to clean up. [/end rant]
Your brother troubling you again, trek? >.>
 
Your brother troubling you again, trek? >.>

Aye. I think my parents are _this_ short of either tossing him out or forcing him to get help.