Operation Southern Cross (Excalibur IC)

[The Tiger Kingdom]

To Alix, the volume of fire coming in from the street was almost unbelievable. Dashing as low and quick as she could behind the gatehouse like Doug and Carter had (for all the cover its bare wood could provide from the hail of bullets), she could only occasionally muster a single blindly-aimed shot, her Enfield totally drowned out by the fusillade. Out on the tarmac, more mortar shells streaked down, one of them crashing right through one of the makeshift Quonset huts and blasting it into smithereens.

"We're spread pretty thin, Lieut!" He called back to Noble, though he was sure she couldn't hear him over the frenzy of machine guns and the dull but deafening roar of explosions in between.

Alix desperately wanted to ask what else was new, but she bit her tongue as she loosed another shot. The Lewis gun chattered, spewing lead across the streets diminishing opposing fire for a minute or so as the troopers ducked their heads back into the alleys and gutters. The way she saw it, it was a supremely simple matter - there was just one avenue of fire, through the cantonment gates. The defenders could stack up on the flanks of the gate - (as she could see Fries doing now), or they could try firing directly back at the

Suddenly, Alix realized that somebody else had just come up from behind and taken cover right next to her.
"Lieutenant!" Page (for of course it was he) yelled over the firing. "What's the situa-"
At that, a burst of Schmeisser fire pierced the slats of the gatehouse exactly an inch above his head and trailed upwards, Page jumping like he'd been shocked and wildly returning the fire around the corner on reflex.

"That answer your question?" Alix asked, her bravado betrayed by the shakiness of her voice.
Page, eyes wide as dinner plates, merely nodded.
How in God's name are we going to get out of this? he thought desperately to himself, his methedrine-enhanced confidence vanishing by the second. They've got enough people out there to swarm in here like locusts and run us right over-

A shout echoed across the scene - Fries' voice:
"You hear that?"
Cocking an ear, Page could indeed hear something: the enemy fire, for whatever reason, was beginning to slacken. It wasn't stopping entirely, but it was definitely trailing off. Page, craning his neck, couldn't see what was going on out in the street - were they moving up? Falling back?
It was impossible to tell.

Alix had an even worse view, being sandwiched in the middle of the gatehouse group. Casting her gaze about, her eyes alighted on a watchtower overlooking the entrance to the base, about twenty yards away - on approach, she'd considered trying to get up there, but she'd dismissed it as far too dangerous and exposed a position to bother. The fact that there weren't any UDF men up there (alive, anyways) seemed to confirm her judgement, but now that it wasn't so hot...

She turned to Page. "I can get up to that tower and see what's happening. Covering fire?"
Page hefted his Thompson, reloading a fresh mag (his last, he now realized).
"You got it. Just say when."
Making sure both her flanks were covered, Alix turned to ask the same of the fellow next to her -
- and realized she was face to face with Stanford.

She knew Doug didn't think much of her - hell, he probably resented the hell out of her. He'd already demonstrated that, after all.
But surely she could count on him for something as simple as this...
...couldn't she?
Paranoid fantasies flashed through her brain. Doug was a cold, dangerous man, and he knew that she knew that he broke the rules. Page didn't know. Nobody else had said anything.

Maybe it wouldn't just be bullets from in front of her that she should worry about...
No. That's crazy. Stop that. He may hate you, but he's not a moron. Just quit worrying about it and do it.
"Stanford, I'm going to go for the tower there. Covering fire?"

[Morrdh]

Once back on his feet Charlie made an effort to dash towards some cover close to the gatehouse, though he wasn't at ease with the notion of running towards the battle. But he still had his Sten gun to hand which hadn't seen much action thus far today, also the remaining two grenades jingled in his pocket. He was still surprised that his trick with the grenade earlier had worked so...well, he was half-expecting the projectile to have bounced down some drain or missed the trucks entirely. Though as he dived into cover as a hail of lead came his way, an idea formed in his head.

"Grenade!" He called out before lobbing one of the grenades, sans pin of course, as hard as he could towards the OB mob attempting to fight their way through the gatehouse. If anything the small metal object would probably give some of the thugs pause for thought as self-preservation instincts kicked in, least it would give the airfield's defenders some breathing room.

---

Kaya gasped as she came too and immediately regretted it as her body protested in pain, dust also filled her mouth causing her to spit and cough which only made the pain worse. Her mind, numbed with pain, gave glimpses of her last memory of being by the hanger and a low whistling overhead before everything went black. Though as much as she hatred how much it hurt, pain was a very good sign that she was more or less in one piece. There was no doubt that she'll have more than few cuts and bruises, but there was also the possibly that she might have cracked or even broken bones.

Regardless of what may or may not be broken she couldn't stay here, the overwhelming smell of burning and leaking fuel told her that much. She tried moving but quickly found herself trapped by some of what was once the hanger and covered by a sheet of corrugated iron that clad the upper walls of the hanger, though the latter was protecting her to a degree. With little else in the way of choices she tried calling for help.

[Kouralia]

Running with the rest of the squadron and taking up his position in the firing line, there was little that Smythe could do but work methodically and robotically again. Dropping down into cover and shouldering his rifle, the Colour took careful aim at a running figure before dropping him calmly, as if it were a figure eleven on the range. Another, and then firing at an area where a series of flashes had come from. Then, to be expected, moving slightly and just in time to avoid a spurt of dust thrown up by incoming where he'd been lying.

The same actions, the same state of mind as ever before - working carefully and unimaginatively, like an unskilled labourer in a daze - though very much more dangerously. Fire, move, reload; fire, move, reload - the same actions again and again, almost futilely hurled into the horde of Boer attackers.

---

In the sudden absence of inferiority left by the departure of the colonials and the commandos, Tennesley sighed and looked around. "Mr Cutler, sir, what would you like us to do?" He inquired obsequiously, "It seems doubtful that we can rely on the Squadron or the..." He shuddered slightly, "...South Africans to keep the day from getting even worse."

Cutler looked around him, still seeming bamboozled, his mouth working silently as he fumbled for something to say. His gaze crossed Tennesley's face, and he seemed to focus.
Finally, some sound emerged.
"What would...?" he said tenuously.
Then, he set his brow, and managed to force some composure into his face and voice.
"What I would like you to do, Captain," Cutler blustered, "is to get my bloody car back!"

"I, uh..." Tennesley took a half step back, "I see..." He muttered, "Very well, sir!" He said, regaining his composure slightly as he half turned away before stopping, facing the Major and saluting smartly, "I will get on that right away, sir, and I'm sure the car will be back here in no time at all." Turning aside from the Major, the Acting-Captain clapped his hands together before having the façade of cool, collected leadership destroyed as he half-ducked from the detonation of a nearby-landing mortar shell. "You chaps, the Major wants his car back... Who's with me?" He asked with false jovially to the rest of the aides.

[The Tiger Kingdom]

Two four inch shells exited mussels of two four inch guns at exactly 2,660 feet per second. The effect of high calibre ammunition, fired at a target only 467 yards away, was quite devastating to say the least. Only 52 hundredths of a second after the shells were fired; they slammed into the intended target. The bridge and main battery of the SANS Spion Kop disappeared in twin blasts and, once the initial ball of flame and smoke had dissipated, only twisted steel remained.

"Yes! Yes, Mr. Wronski! Fine shooting, my dear old chap, fine shooting!"

Riddlington exclaimed, raising his glasses to better observe the carnage his guns were wreaking on the enemy.

"Fire as you will, Mr. Wronski! Lets really show these Colonials who they're dealing with!"

Switching their gaze now to the opposite side of the ship, Singh and MacFinn watched (the former with quiet satisfaction, the latter with unabashed pride) as the Boer vessel took a full broadside from the Llamrei's batteries. The hapless tug slewed to its starboard, away from its attacker, its bridge completely blown away by the accuracy of the point-blank fire.
"It'sh shteering'sh crippled, no doubt," MacFinn exhaled happily. "and look - they haven't even got the gunsh trained on ush. What absholute-"

His assessment was rudely cut off by the SANS Spion Kop choosing that exact moment to explode and shatter in half with a reverberating boom. Squinting at the light, Singh could make out the shadows of men on the decks of the tug-turned-poor-warship diving into the water, one of them appearing to be clutching the flagship's titular flag.
Savoring the sight for a few moments longer, MacFinn now turned back to the bridge's fore. The bridge crew, roused by the alarm, was now in position and ready at their consoles. From the other side of the boat, it sounded more and more like the firefight between Smollett's Marines and whatever boarding-crew-hopefuls had been going on had reached its end, with the shoreward side coming up lacking.

"God in Heaven," a late-coming one of the bridge team muttered as he looked out onto the burning hulk in the harbor, the bow already settled on the shallow bottom, leaving the superstructure perched above the waves, "what happened?"
From his pocket, the Llamrei's Captain extracted a pipe, casually emptied a pinch of tobacco into the bowl, and lit it.

"The tug tried to push ush around..."
MacFinn said with practiced ease and confidence, the quirk of a grin on the corner of his mouth as he took a drag.
"...and we pushed him back."

He let that particular witticism sit for a moment, as was his habit.

The moment stretched on.

Then, it was back to business.
"Lieutenant Brewer, get ush out of thish damned port, fasht ash posshible. Get ush moored a few milesh offshore, so we don't have to worry about any other vishitors. Lieutenant Shingh, shee if you can raishe Rand Airport, in Johanneshburg."
Singh was already fiddling with the radio. "Who shall I ask for, sir?"
MacFinn blew out a cloud of smoke.
"I want to talk to Page about what in God'sh name ish going on here, asshuming he and hish people are shtill alive. If you can't get them right away, keep trying until you do."
"Of course, sir."

---

"COME ON, MEN! LET'S HAVE AT THEM!!!" cried Smollett almost crazedly, as he led his charging men out of the galley and towards the retreating Boers. Charging triumphantly between the tables and the bodies, it looked almost like a scene out of a movie, but it was real. They poured out thegalley door and called out down a corridor. "YER SURROUNDED, YA ORANJE SCUM! COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP OR WE'LL GIVE IT ALL TO YA!"

Halpin, his prisoner still barely restrained, called out to the charging Marines.
"Here! Over here! I got one for you!"

[Goram]

Stanford, I'm going to go for the tower there. Covering fire?

The English accent behind him came as a surprise to Stanford. So intent, he had been, on firing and reloading, he had not noticed anyone else anywhere near him. That voice though - a clipped British accent, pitch indicative of a female. At home, it could be anyone. But here, there was exactly one person it could be - Noble. Not Stanford's favourite person at that moment, but there was a war on, she was his superior officer and she wanted cover fire. Stanford held up a hand to Noble, indicating that she should wait. He fished around in his pouches, pulling out loose ammunition and feeding it into the rifle. He'd knew he'd need a full magazine for this. A bolt action rifle probably wasn't the best weapon to provide cover fire with. Ideally, he'd use something a little more automatic, with which to spray large quantities of barely aimed fire at the enemy. At this point, killing the enemy wasn't nearly as important as simply persuading him to keep his head down.

The Flying Officer fed the final round into the magazine and slammed the bolt shut with an audible click. As he did so, a little voice popped up in the back of his mind

"She's going to be vulnerable, out there, you know..."

It said, chillingly

"Lots of bullets flying around out there...yours could accidentally hit her. A tragic accident of war. Unavoidable really, her own fault."

As he hefted his rifle to his shoulder, he tried to stamp down on the voice with an imaginary boot heel. Noble had been a pain so far this operation; Stanford didn't rate her command abilities at all. But Page seemed to trust her and Stanford trusted Page. If the Skipper saw something in her, then that was good enough for the more junior officer. He certainly wasn't going to murder her, to stop her reporting him. There were other, more legal ways to do that, he was sure.

"On your mark, Ms. Noble!"

He shouted at her, trying to make himself heard over the cacophony of fire.

[The Tiger Kingdom]

"On your mark, Ms. Noble!"

He shouted at her, trying to make himself heard over the cacophony of fire.

Alix steeled herself for the charge, her healthy fear of getting shot amplified mildly by having Doug being the one directly covering her back. But she had no choice but to trust the man, for better or worse. He might be worryingly undisciplined and quite possibly one to hold a grudge, but he wouldn't do anything really stupid with Page and everyone else right there...would he?

Only one way to find out.

She rocked on her heels, waiting for the right moment...right...
"...Now!"

With that, she hurled herself at top speed towards the tower. She could still hear the bullets sizzling through the air, but not enough to intercept her. Almost before she knew it, she was at the platform's ladder, scampering up it like a cocaine-crazed squirrel hooked up to a car battery. Behind her, Excalibur's shots rang out, none of them drilling her in the back, thankfully.
In seconds flat, she was safely out of the firing line, belly-down on the observation platform. Still moving quickly, she edged forwards until she was at the parapet, and then peeked over to get a view of the street below.

There was no doubt - the Boers had cleared out, and in a hurry, too. Numerous bodies could be seen splayed across the avenue, and the solid wall of fire that they'd been putting down only minutes before had completely vanished, now. The street was desolate and quiet once again.
"Looks like they're retreating!" Alix yelled down to the group below.
Page poked his head out of his spot behind the gatehouse, grimly assessing the scene and trying not to shake from the strain his body was being put through. "They're not retreating - they're probably regrouping. I don't think they were expecting any resistance here."

From further down the walls, another muffled voice called out - Fries. His voice was quivering from the excitement and fear he was no doubt going through, but there was no panic, not yet anyways. Indeed, his words seemed almost comically polite.
"I should think, then, we should ready ourselves for their next wave. Captain, given our situation, I would like to confer with you and your people as to our strategy...perhaps in the operations room in the tower, if that is acceptable?"
"Sure," Page said, rather impressed at his composure in spite of everything. "Lead the way."

"Right," Fries said, audibly taking a deep breath as he left his position. Then, with measured but intense strides, he headed for the tower, and whatever light the facilities within could shine on the situation.
"Follow me, if you'd be so kind," he uttered between clenched teeth, his calm words belied by his every muscle being strained to the limit.

[Morrdh]

The gunfire slackened off, though Charlie hadn't heard his grenade he'd flung out towards the OB thugs go off. A dud probably, something that didn't help matters much. Now it meant that a miniature UXB was sitting pretty on the street in front of the gatehouse, there was no telling whether it was a ticking time bomb or not. He could only hope that the OB were equally as wary of the disembowelment in a tin can as he was, least it become a traitor to Crown and Country by joining the arsenal of the Squadron's current foes. Still, the least Charlie could do was give a heads up to his comrade in arms. "Keep an eye on that dud, use it fer target practice if ye will fer the next wave."

[The Tiger Kingdom]

Trudging along with Fries and the squadron trailing behind, Page couldn't believe how terrible he felt all of a sudden. He was bone-tired, his head was throbbing, and every joint was to be aching and sore. It was like some kind of terrible hangover had hit him, sans the preceding night of fun.
What the hell was the deal? Was he that far out of fighting trim that he couldn't deal with the pace anymore? Was he sick? Was it his injuries?
Something rubbed against his shin as he walked (on the verge of staggering, actually) into the tower - the methedrine bottle in his pocket. It jogged his memory.
The stuff must be wearing off. God, that's a bastard of a comedown, if that's what it is...
While he didn't like the thought of propping himself up with the stuff any more than he absolutely had to, there was no question in his mind that right now, he absolutely goddamn had to. Who knows how long they'd be in this shit? He couldn't afford to be feeling this shit. Hardly being able to stand up...

But then again, popping this stuff might raise some eyebrows. It wouldn't do for the squadron to see their CO admitting weakness (more or less) right in front of them, would it?

Looking around surreptitiously, Page noticed Alix right behind him, as usual. No chance there...she'd be sure to say something, ask all sorts of questions, draw all sorts of conclusions...he'd have to get a good cover story.

---

From her spot in line, Alix was distracted trying to puzzle out the best way to deal with Doug - and by extension Talbot, the two little mutineers from the raid at the house. Doug hadn't left her out to dry there when she'd asked for his help (or shot her in the back, for that matter), which, on its face, was slightly comforting...but maybe he'd just elected to bide his time. If he was trying to bump her off, right there wasn't ideal, especially with the rest of the squadron present. No question about it, she couldn't let this fester. It had to get dealt with, as soon as possible
Ann odd thought struck her: I wonder if he's thinking the same thing right now about me...?

It was like something out of one of her political theory books - how to deal with two nations who innately assumed the worst intentions about each other...
Interrupting her train of thought, in front of her, Page snapped his fingers and turned.
"Damn - it just occurred to me that I don't know how well I locked that door we're keeping our friend in. Lieutenant, lead on for a moment, follow Fries, I'll be right back."
Alix stepped aside. "I could check for you, if you-"
He was already past. "No, that's all right, I've got it. I'll be just a minute."

---

Guiltily returning to where the prisoner was stashed, he checked the door for some reason. Predictably, it was exactly as well-secured as it was a few minutes prior (as irrational as it was, he felt guilty enough over the prospect of outright lying to Alix that he felt obligated to at least do what he said he would). Quickly removing the bottle, he tapped out one of the little pills, and then to be doubly sure of their effect, he tapped out another, tossed them in, and swallowed quickly.

Maybe it was just a placebo, but it felt like effect was near instantaneous. Whatever fugue he'd fallen into was in retreat only a second or two after taking the things. Maybe the dosage was a little bit excessive, but really, now - he was a grown man, and in a case like this, it was really better to be safe than sorry, right?
With an extra spring in his step, he bounced back upstairs...

[Goram]

...Now!

Stanford rose up and squeezed the trigger. The rifle kicked back, powerfully, as the first of ten .303 calibre projectiles were forcibly blasted down the barrel and out of the muzzle. As soon as the Commando's brain registered the recoil and the rifle's crisp report; his hand slipped away from the trigger to operate the bolt. The bolt slid back smoothly, extracting the empty shell from the chamber and ejecting it from the weapon. Stanford threw the bolt back forward, stripping the next round from the magazine and plunging it into the chamber. The rifle, unlike most, cocked on the closing of the bolt. For reasons beyond the Flying Officer's caring or comprehension, this design feature made the weapon much faster to operate and fire than it's contemporaries. It wasn't unheard of for a skilled rifleman to be able to fire somewhere between 20 and 30 rounds a minute and today, this feature of the Lee-Enfield would come in rather handy.

In a matter of seconds, Stanford discharged all ten rounds into the darkness. Between his wild firing and Page's, it seemed the Commander had reached her destination without getting shot - which, all in all, was probably a good thing. Now she was shouting that all the Boer's had retreated, a statement Stanford could well believe given the way the shooting had slackened off to a few sporadic shots. Still, no one was in any doubt that they'd be back. Stanford looked up at the platform, on which Noble had lain. It looked like it probably offered a decent view - a good place for a bit of firepower, perhaps?

Cautiously, and after recharging his magazine, Stanford poked his head up. He moved quickly across the open ground, scurrying to Noble's spot on the line. With Page gone, it seemed she was temporarily in charge of things. Until today, Stanford had held Noble in high regard. Perhaps he hadn't been friendly, but was it really the job of a subordinate to be friendly with his superior? Either way, he'd held a grudging respect for her; a woman in a man's world. The deck was likely stacked against, but she seemed to be reasonably competent, at the very least. Today, however, trying to pass off her poor judgement on Talbot and himself? His opinion of the woman had dropped considerably. She'd likely try to bring them down when they got back to England in an effort to save her own skin. Still, there was little point dwelling on all that now. There was a war to win, after all.

Stanford reached a point, several feet away from Noble, without incident. He crouched down with his back to a wall. He couldn't see the Commander and nor did he wish to, to do so would mean he'd have to stick his head out and expose it to some sharp eyed sniper, but he knew she was there.

"Commander!"

No reply. Perhaps she hadn't heard him. He raised his voice slightly, chancing speaking a little louder to ensure the woman heard him.

"Ms. Noble, Ma'am! Can you hear me? We ought to get some firepower up on that platform for when these bastards come back!"

[Gibberan]

Smollett directed his men with sharp gestures towards the dark alley. "Go smoke 'em out that way. That's a dead end, so be quick about it.."

Halpin, his prisoner still barely restrained, called out to the charging Marines.
"Here! Over here! I got one for you!"

Smollett walked cautiously over to the ensign. "Good job, lad, it appears this one's the leader. A very nice catch indeed."

The men he had sent down the dark passageway came back. "No one, sah." said the lead one. "We either got them all in the galley or they went up the other way from the back...which would lead them towards the bridge."

Smollett was unfazed; it was unlikely they'd evaded all the charging soldier to go in the opposite direction, and even if they did, they wouldn't make it to the bridge before getting apprehended by the multiple sailors along the way. But, there was nothing else; they had cmpleted their orders, so the logical course of action was to head back up to the bridge for new instructions. "Up to the bridge we go, then", he said walking back into the galley, over the mess of dead or dying bodies, and, after grabbing an apple from a surprisingly-still-intact bowl, they exited triumphantly out the other side, on their guard for anything ready to pop out at them.

After a while, the group entered the bridge; they had not encountered any Boers along the way, thankfully. Snapping to a salute to the captain, he said "Got them all, Captain."

[The Two Jerseys]

Talbot finally staggered up to the firing line, having had to stop and catch his breath a couple of times on the way over; clearly, partially ejecting himself from the Ford in a high-speed crash did have after effects.

Clutching his aching ribs with his free hand, he charged the last few steps to the fence before taking a dive to land on his back; planting the stock of his shotgun in the dirt to pull himself up to a sitting position with his back to the fence, he turned to see Carter positioned a few feet away from him.

"Carter, report! Where's Stanford?"

[The Tiger Kingdom]

"Ms. Noble, Ma'am! Can you hear me? We ought to get some firepower up on that platform for when these bastards come back!"

Alix, distracted by Page's sudden need to go check on the prisoner for some reason, turned back to survey the platform. Two things struck her immediately - the fact that it was clearly exposed to outside fire, and that they didn't have any heavy weapons to bring to bear on it anyways, beyond perhaps Silva's BAR - and given how thin on the ground the squadron was now, the idea of splitting the group up further wasn't an appealing one.
"I'll talk to Page about it as soon as Fries is done dragging us wherever he's trying to, Flying Officer. Maybe these gents have some machine-guns stashed away somewhere that they can post up there."

---

Back in Durban...

Smollett directed his men with sharp gestures towards the dark alley. "Go smoke 'em out that way. That's a dead end, so be quick about it.."

Halpin, his prisoner still barely restrained, called out to the charging Marines.
"Here! Over here! I got one for you!"

Smollett walked cautiously over to the ensign. "Good job, lad, it appears this one's the leader. A very nice catch indeed."

Two of the Marines were kind enough to haul off Halpin's prisoner (still reeling from the impact his head had made on the steps - it looked to have actually dented the metal) and helped him to his feet. Not knowing what else to do, he followed them upstairs - if only to make sure he got credit for bagging the Boer boarder.

---

Upstairs...

The Llamrei was decidedly in motion now - Rasmussen and his engineers had worked a wonder in getting the unwieldy ship fired up so quickly. The searchlight now cut and the dock cleared of hostiles, the ship swung out in reverse as fast as possible, the distant light of fires burning deeper in the city now visible from the decks and the bridge.
"How far out should we go, sir?" the nav officer asked dispassionately as he scanned the bay for potential obstructions (aside from the burning, half-submerged split carcass of the Boer Navy's flagship sitting several hundred yards off the starboard side).
"About a mile, Lieutenant - jusht enough to keep ush out of their range, but for ush to be able to hit them if we want to. Any progressh talking to Johann-"

He was interrupted by the arrival of Smollett's Marines onto the scene.

Snapping to a salute, he said "Got them all, Captain."

MacFinn returned the salute, looking behind Smollett to the prisoner behind.
"Well done, Commander. I shee you've brought me an ashpiring pirate. How delightful. I'm sure he'll be a great source of information."

The prisoner blinked heavily, and over a period of about five seconds, a thought penetrated his brain.
"You're...you're not Spanish...", he spoke in halting English.
MacFinn raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, but laddie, that'sh where you're wrong. You gaze upon Capitan Hector Emilio Juan Ramirez Shalamanca himshelf, and hish motley but loyal crew. Mere tradersh of the shea, at your shervice."
He doffed his cap, and on the way back up, drew his pistol and shoved it into the prisoner's chest.
"No, but sherioushly," he breathed to the terrified boarder, "you're in shome deep, deep shit, lad."

The pose was held for a moment before MacFinn broke it off.
"Shomebody get him to the brig - I'll join him preshently."

[Grenartia]

"I'm no doctor, but he might be in shock or something, ma'am. I might have to carry him to the infirmary if he is incapacitated." Jimmy said, walking up beside Noble.

"Gahhh" Silva groaned. His leg was still weak from being in a cast for some weeks, and he'd been a tad slower than normal, slow enough to avoid being caught under the hangar when it was hit. He'd been close enough however to be knocked flat on his ass, and hit hard against the ground. The American tried to sit up, and winced. He was covered in small abrasions and bruises, but he was alive.
"The hangar" He grunted, and tried to stand up again, this time making it to his feet unsteadily.
"Shit they got the Spits!"

"You worry too much, Jimmy," Alix said hastily, "it'll take more than that to knock Lieutenant Silva here out. Right, Lieutenant?"
With Silva now clearly back in the land of the conscious and the errant trio confirmed to be in fighting trim (more or less), Alix didn't wait to be contradicted - she promptly reversed course and headed to follow the diminishing forms of Fries and his platoon as they headed towards the firing, the squadron hot on her heels.

Ahead, it was a frenzy of light and noise as bullets ripped the air, the distinctive sputtering rips of German Schmeissers dominating the exchange while the weaker pops of the Enfields and Mauser rifles could only fill the gaps in between. Alix could see Fries already huddled against the gatehouse for protection with whatever defense forces had managed to coalesce scattered around the fenceline - the street beyond looked to be filled with OB firing inwards. They looked to be pretty close to the gate...
"Excalibur!" Alix cried. "Take cover here and hold this position! Drive them back!"

Jimmy nodded his head in acknowledgement of Noble's statement, before following her and the rest of the squadron off towards the focal point of the firefight. Had this been less urgent, he probably would've said something like, "Yes, ma'am. Like I said, I'm no doctor. And I do try to be fairly cautious." Or something like that.

When they got there, Thibodeaux got down behind some cover, and started laying down some fire. The loyal UDF were putting up a decent fight, Jimmy had to hand it to them.

"On your mark, Ms. Noble!"

He shouted at her, trying to make himself heard over the cacophony of fire.

Alix steeled herself for the charge, her healthy fear of getting shot amplified mildly by having Doug being the one directly covering her back. But she had no choice but to trust the man, for better or worse. He might be worryingly undisciplined and quite possibly one to hold a grudge, but he wouldn't do anything really stupid with Page and everyone else right there...would he?

Only one way to find out.

She rocked on her heels, waiting for the right moment...right...
"...Now!"

With that, she hurled herself at top speed towards the tower. She could still hear the bullets sizzling through the air, but not enough to intercept her. Almost before she knew it, she was at the platform's ladder, scampering up it like a cocaine-crazed squirrel hooked up to a car battery. Behind her, Excalibur's shots rang out, none of them drilling her in the back, thankfully.
In seconds flat, she was safely out of the firing line, belly-down on the observation platform. Still moving quickly, she edged forwards until she was at the parapet, and then peeked over to get a view of the street below.

There was no doubt - the Boers had cleared out, and in a hurry, too. Numerous bodies could be seen splayed across the avenue, and the solid wall of fire that they'd been putting down only minutes before had completely vanished, now. The street was desolate and quiet once again.
"Looks like they're retreating!" Alix yelled down to the group below.
Page poked his head out of his spot behind the gatehouse, grimly assessing the scene and trying not to shake from the strain his body was being put through. "They're not retreating - they're probably regrouping. I don't think they were expecting any resistance here."

From further down the walls, another muffled voice called out - Fries. His voice was quivering from the excitement and fear he was no doubt going through, but there was no panic, not yet anyways. Indeed, his words seemed almost comically polite.
"I should think, then, we should ready ourselves for their next wave. Captain, given our situation, I would like to confer with you and your people as to our strategy...perhaps in the operations room in the tower, if that is acceptable?"
"Sure," Page said, rather impressed at his composure in spite of everything. "Lead the way."

"Right," Fries said, audibly taking a deep breath as he left his position. Then, with measured but intense strides, he headed for the tower, and whatever light the facilities within could shine on the situation.
"Follow me, if you'd be so kind," he uttered between clenched teeth, his calm words belied by his every muscle being strained to the limit.

With that, Jimmy headed along with the rest of the group, keeping his eyes peeled for any possible signs of an OB straggler or sniper. Just because the heavy shooting stopped, didn't mean there wasn't some lone wolf out there with a good eye and some ammo left.

Alix, distracted by Page's sudden need to go check on the prisoner for some reason, turned back to survey the platform. Two things struck her immediately - the fact that it was clearly exposed to outside fire, and that they didn't have any heavy weapons to bring to bear on it anyways, beyond perhaps Silva's BAR - and given how thin on the ground the squadron was now, the idea of splitting the group up further wasn't an appealing one.
"I'll talk to Page about it as soon as Fries is done dragging us wherever he's trying to, Flying Officer. Maybe these gents have some machine-guns stashed away somewhere that they can post up there."

"I wonder why they didn't have any up there in the first place." Jimmy asked aloud.

[United Kingdom of Poland]

Matt had positioned himself with the rest of the group down near the platform. He took the brief time to check both his weapons and himself. Pistol with magazines-check. Full body...well minus a few holes somehow still relatively there. MG ammo. Well he still had a couple of belts left, so he should be good. Trust in UDF-somewhat improved do to the fact that the ones here weren't shooting him on sight, but still very much lacking. Hatred for this god forsaken colony/country, he honestly couldn't remember which one it was, still very much alive. Just another day in paradise he thought to himself.

[Gibberan]

Talbot finally staggered up to the firing line, having had to stop and catch his breath a couple of times on the way over; clearly, partially ejecting himself from the Ford in a high-speed crash did have after effects.

Clutching his aching ribs with his free hand, he charged the last few steps to the fence before taking a dive to land on his back; planting the stock of his shotgun in the dirt to pull himself up to a sitting position with his back to the fence, he turned to see Carter positioned a few feet away from him.

"Carter, report! Where's Stanford?"

Carter tried to get up to face Talbot, but winced and clenched his arm. After a few moments, he pointed to the gatehouse nearby.
"He's over there, inside; Ms. Noble's in there too, I think. Why, you need him?"

He paused for a second, and then cautiously slowly rose up from the ground, trying both to not to attract the attention of any Boers still firing on them and to not hurt his arm more that it already was. "I'll come with you;" he said, examining the row of dead and wounded soldiers lined up against the fence. "Not much we can do here, anyways."

[The Tiger Kingdom]

Jogging back to the group, Page was already feeling the effect of the pills on his body - the tiredness and the aches were melting away by the second. He could hear the sounds of battle reverberating across the tarmac to his ears - an eerie noise, and yet...an exciting one as well.
Truth be told, he didn't have much of a plan for how to deal with the OB, but he knew that whatever they had to do, it had to involve getting rid of Huidebroeke somehow. If the intelligence estimates were right (and they were SOE, not UDF, so he didn't have any concrete reason to distrust them yet), he was the OB's man through and through - maybe the one person in their whole organization who held all the military strings in his hands. This was a secretive paramilitary group of street fighters, not a full-on army, no matter if they liked to play dress-up in uniforms or not...a group of gangs all under one banner, a bottom-up rather than top-down kind of organization.

Page's mind flashed back to all those musty old history books sitting either in his rooms aboard the Llamrei or in his office back in Tempsford as he tried to parse together a coherent solution.

When the last war came around, how had the British fought? With huge armies crashing gracelessly around the landscape like a shot elephant through the brush.
How had the Boers fought? With militias...small bands of local men who knew the land like the back of their weathered hands, who could blend into the population or landscape one moment, and attack the British columns out of nowhere the next, fighting at the times and places of their choosing, controlling the engagement every step of the way...just like now. That way, they could face ten-to-one odds, and keep fighting nearly forever. Only this time, given how weak loyalist forces seemed to be here, the odds were far more in their favor.
How had the British won?

The answer wasn't good. Concentration camps to keep the population away from the militias, cut the Boers off from their precious farms and their massive families...and the sheer, costly, bloody grind of time and superior numbers. It was an ugly, inglorious thing, even by the brutal standards of war. Not much of a precedent to follow there, obviously (although the thought of camping up all these traitors and their families again warmed his heart).

But where had the Boers been weak...?
His mind flashed through the possibilities - and was then interrupted by an odd cry coming from the collapsed hangar.

Regardless of what may or may not be broken she couldn't stay here, the overwhelming smell of burning and leaking fuel told her that much. She tried moving but quickly found herself trapped by some of what was once the hanger and covered by a sheet of corrugated iron that clad the upper walls of the hanger, though the latter was protecting her to a degree. With little else in the way of choices she tried calling for help.

Changing course, Page ran over to see the diminutive Corporal trying to free herself from the shattered wreckage of the hangar.
"Kaya! Hold on just a moment, let me help-"
Taking hold of some of the metal pinning her down, he pulled up with all his strength, budging it a little.
"...You think you can...make it out?" he asked, his voice tight.

[Kouralia]

With the clear lull in the fighting, Smythe took the opportunity to crawl aside slightly, bringing himself up onto his elbow and scrabbling for the water bottle with one hand. He wasn't entirely sure of how much he'd put down range into or around the attacking traitors, but fighting had always and would always be thirsty work. Spotting Carter and Talbot by the fence, the Colour slowly made his way toward them until he felt it safe enough to call out without alerting every angry colonial in the area as to their conversation. "Sirs, are you okay there?" He called, genuine concern in his voice at Talbot's condition as the 'Would-Be-A-Captain-In-The-Superior-Service' Officer wasn't in the best of conditions.

---

Hmm...

Tennesley sighed, rubbing the side of his head as he walked through the airbase in what passed for the purposeful stride of someone important with something to do. He'd had much practice at that at Harrow, and even his most aimless wanderings looked like the intent-laden steps of an over-important official. There was one problem though - he had his orders, and those were to get the car back. Between the Acting-Captain and his quarry though were a multitude of angry colonial fools - and Rupert was not going to consider 'being brutally stabbed to death by some wannabe-fascist-elite-stormtrooper goons' as an option. That left him with only one other course of action, really... As he hurried toward a relatively abandoned corner of the base, the aide stopped for breath, leaning against a lorry parked by some barracks. Empty and devoid of life, they would be the best place to lie low until the battle was won - at which point he would just need some quick wits to explain himself and, if he was good, gain some positive reflection on his service record.

"Perfect..." He muttered, a sly grin on his face as he glanced around before heading off toward one barrack block, picked at random.

[Morrdh]

Changing course, Page ran over to see the diminutive Corporal trying to free herself from the shattered wreckage of the hangar.
"Kaya! Hold on just a moment, let me help-"
Taking hold of some of the metal pinning her down, he pulled up with all his strength, budging it a little.
"...You think you can...make it out?" he asked, his voice tight.

"G'day skip, nice o' ya to lob in." Came Kaya's reply. "Ain't gonna grizzle buts it'll be an absolute bonzer if ye get us out!"

She gave a yelp of pain as the lump of metal that pinned her in place was lifted up a notch, though she took the opportunity to scramble free from the wreckage of the hanger. Once free she tried getting to her feet, though the sharp pain in her ankle soon put paid to that idea as she sank back to the ground gasping in pain.

[The Tiger Kingdom]

Once free she tried getting to her feet, though the sharp pain in her ankle soon put paid to that idea as she sank back to the ground gasping in pain.

"Whoah, hey, careful there," Page exclaimed, catching her as she toppled back down. This was slightly flustering - he was no medical expert, but if she couldn't walk...
Oh dear...what to do now...
Only one thing for it.
At least she was by far the smallest ES squad member.
Should be no problem.

"Okay," Page said, "I can support you, if you've still got one foot to walk with - else, I'll have to carry you. You think you can put your arm around my neck and make a go of it?"

[Morrdh]

Kaya was turning the air blue with a few choice curse words and cried. "Tis the same bloody ankle I broke in Highwire!"

"Rotten blood luck tis is!" She added as she gasped again in pain. "Either way, gonna need a hand up skip."

---

Back on the Llamrei

There was a meow and some purring that announced the arrival of Nelson amongst the feet of the Llamrei's officers as he brushed against their legs and left red smears. Much of the feline's white fur was now stained red and there was the sickly smell of blood, though thankfully not the cat's for he seemed perfectly fine aside from a literal blood bath.

[The Two Jerseys]

Talbot finally staggered up to the firing line, having had to stop and catch his breath a couple of times on the way over; clearly, partially ejecting himself from the Ford in a high-speed crash did have after effects.

Clutching his aching ribs with his free hand, he charged the last few steps to the fence before taking a dive to land on his back; planting the stock of his shotgun in the dirt to pull himself up to a sitting position with his back to the fence, he turned to see Carter positioned a few feet away from him.

"Carter, report! Where's Stanford?"

Carter tried to get up to face Talbot, but winced and clenched his arm. After a few moments, he pointed to the gatehouse nearby.
"He's over there, inside; Ms. Noble's in there too, I think. Why, you need him?"

He paused for a second, and then cautiously slowly rose up from the ground, trying both to not to attract the attention of any Boers still firing on them and to not hurt his arm more that it already was. "I'll come with you;" he said, examining the row of dead and wounded soldiers lined up against the fence. "Not much we can do here, anyways."

Talbot glanced at Carter's damaged rifle and bloodied arm. "No," he nodded in agreement, "I doubt we'd be able to hold on very long either." He flicked his head in the direction of the gatehouse. "Get going, I'll follow behind."

With the clear lull in the fighting, Smythe took the opportunity to crawl aside slightly, bringing himself up onto his elbow and scrabbling for the water bottle with one hand. He wasn't entirely sure of how much he'd put down range into or around the attacking traitors, but fighting had always and would always be thirsty work. Spotting Carter and Talbot by the fence, the Colour slowly made his way toward them until he felt it safe enough to call out without alerting every angry colonial in the area as to their conversation. "Sirs, are you okay there?" He called, genuine concern in his voice at Talbot's condition as the 'Would-Be-A-Captain-In-The-Superior-Service' Officer wasn't in the best of conditions.

"Smythe," he called back, "we're falling in with the squadron. You follow Carter, I'm right behind you!"

He grasped his ribs again, the act of shouting causing some obvious discomfort.

[The Tiger Kingdom]

Kaya was turning the air blue with a few choice curse words and cried. "Tis the same bloody ankle I broke in Highwire!"

"Rotten blood luck tis is!" She added as she gasped again in pain. "Either way, gonna need a hand up skip."

"All right, all right, I got you," Page grunted as he helped her up, giving her his hand and propping her up as she struggled to find her footing. "You think you can make it like this?"

[Goram]

snip.

[Kouralia]

"Smythe," he called back, "we're falling in with the squadron. You follow Carter, I'm right behind you!"

He grasped his ribs again, the act of shouting causing some obvious discomfort.

"Yessir!" Smythe said, raising his rifle toward the direction of the hostiles and lying on his belt buckle. "I've got you covered, Mr Carter, sir!" He called out, waiting for the Officer to move so he could follow on behind.

---

As the angry Stormjaers tried their luck unfruitfully on the perimeter of the bas, inside its semi-protective confines, Acting-Captain Tennesley pushed the ajar door of the billet open and slipped inside. A furtive glance to make sure he hadn't been seen before he shut the door and leaned against it, sighing in relief now that he was out of the firing line and away from the angry locals. Turning around he looked through the gloom at the contents of the building - beds, bags, lockers and some boots left sticking out from behind a soldier box. He sighed, shaking his head at the untidy nature of the room before stopping, heart frozen in shock.

"What bloody idio..." He began, giving the broken window in the door to the duty officer's room at the end of the building a death-inspiring glare. Some imbecilic bod had evidently been playing football or messing around with some damnable horseplay, and had broken it - leaving it ajar and likely in a shocking state inside. With nary a thought for his own safety, Tennesley shook his head at the folly of the lower classes, striding down the centre aisle of the room, his mind whirling as he tried to work out if he could slip the broken window into his panoply of reasons for being in there that didn't include the Saxon word for 'I surrender' - 'Craven'.

[The Tiger Kingdom]

As Page walked Kaya back to the rest of the group as gently and carefully as he could, what she'd said about her ankle ran through his mind. She'd now probably broken bones twice in combat for Excalibur, on top of enduring a plane crash and whatever other sundry injuries had come her way - pretty far and away beyond the call of duty for any lass who'd signed up to be a mechanic. She was a tiny slip of a thing, really, but she'd never once backed down or tried to take the easy way out when she'd come along on all of Excalibur's crazy missions. Looking down at her with concern as she swore, sweated, and stumbled forwards, never uttering a word of complaint, he felt the most profound rush of affection for the diminutive Aussie. Not in a romantic way, of course - true, she was cute as a button, smart as a whip, and clearly tough as nails, but all that did was set off every long-dormant "little sister" synapse in his brain.
It probably helped that she was about four feet tall in boots.
And what was more, from what little he'd manage to intuit, her and Stanford already had...something...going on. He wasn't quite sure what, but he had a feeling.

A pang of jealousy went through him at the thought, and he didn't have to think too hard about the source.

If they wanted to, Doug and Kaya could have...that sort of relationship. It'd probably be against some rules, and if they got caught, they'd get some pretty rough treatment from Royce and Cutler...but Excalibur probably had enough sway to keep it at a slap on the wrist. They were too valuable to lose, and they probably knew too much to move anywhere else, anyways.

But I can't do that.

A flyer and a mechanic moved in different spheres. Romantic entanglements could be dangerous on an emotional standpoint if somebody got killed, obviously, but there was no true risk beyond that. But given how ES had male and female flyers serving together...if those entanglements cropped up there... it didn't take much imagination for all sorts of potentially ugly power dynamics to enter the situation - and even if they didn't, the potential for them to be there was almost as bad as them actually coming into play.

A pained murmur from Kaya brought him back to reality and reminded him that other people that he was responsible for had far more important problems to deal with.
"Feeling any better yet, Corporal? Or should we move on over to the infirmary?"