Operation Southern Cross (Excalibur IC)

[The Tamerelian Empire]

Lev nodded silently as the Colour left out the window. Looking back at his wound, he frowned. It didn't really hurt that much anymore, but it was definitively messy, and his entire foresleeve was soaked in blood. He removed his Ascot from his neck and began tying it around his shoulder. The blood seeping from the wound made the red tie only redder, and he felt as if he was going to pass out from blood loss at one point. However, this was all in his head, and he finished tying it without incident, although the wet, dark red tie made a sharp contrast with his neat brown uniform.

After this, he grimly surveyed the room. Stepping carefully out of the window, he ran through the rows of houses until he met the Colour and the Lieutenant.

[The Two Jerseys]

Talbot waited as the seconds ticked by at an antagonizing slow place; there was still no sign of Vegesack. Knowing he couldn't afford to wait any longer, he reached around and removed two shells from the ammo pouch on the right rear of his webbing belt, and fed them into the magazine; grounding the buttplate of the Winchester, he slowly, quietly drew the M1917 bayonet from its scabbard on his left hip and fixed it to the muzzle of the shotgun. Chambering a shell, he leveled the Winchester at his hip as he swung around into the doorway, sweeping the shotgun side-to-side as he scanned the room; as he advanced, it became clear that the small building was deserted. Backpedaling, he moved back to the doorway before quickly turning and running over to the other building to join the rest of the flight; stopping at the doorway, he cautiously poked his head in and yelled: "Stanford! Carter! I'm coming in, hold your fire!"

[The Tiger Kingdom]

While Reide made the call up to Page, Alix cautiously stalked forward towards the lodge. It wasn't much in the way of being tall, only being two floors high, but it really was quite massive in terms of the overall land it covered. It looked like it was originally built as a genuine lodge as opposed to a residence - there were small identical balconies coming out at uniform intervals along the facade, in the manner of those built into hotel suites. Each of them struck her as ideal vantage points to put a sniper team in, but they were all empty, save for the one pair she and Doug had taken care of on the way in. No activity anywhere to be seen, aside from Excalibur operators winding their way out of the buildings and converging on the lodge.

Approaching further, she could see the road leading to the house, as well as the barbed-wire fence flanking the house proper, come into focus - the OB soldiers guarding the place hadn't even managed to shut the main gate. Still trying to parse exactly how this place was set up, she looked back at the buildings Excalibur had just fought their way through. All it occurred to her that they could be were guard barracks - outbuildings where the Jackal's bodyguards could be housed.
We literally fought our way through the most defended part of this place, where all the Stormjaers would have been concentrated...and it took us five minutes. We're good-
She took another suspicious look around.
-but that's just bizarre.

Declaring it to be a trap at first struck her as silly, but it wasn't like it hadn't happened before...

Seeing the other little knots of Excalibur personnel stalking around, Alix motioned them over.
"Rally on me!"
Overhead, she could hear the buzzing of Blue Flight's Spitfires, still keeping a watchful eye out.

Smythe was the first one over.

Having said that, the Colour Serjeant swung his leg up over the bottom of the window, keeping his whole body flush with the sill as if he were climbing over a fence or a wall - all the better to minimise profiles or silhouettes in the scopes of snipers or sights of gunners. As soon as he was outside, he dropped again to a knee against the wall and holstered his Browning before unslinging the trusty SMLE and beginning to move toward Alexandra.

"Report," Alix said. "That side of the complex is secure, I take it?"

---

Meanwhile, somewhere in the Johannesburg-Pretoria urban conurbation...

"Sir, the first reports have come in."

General van Huidebroeke took a momentary break from fanning himself (it would be an infuriatingly hot night, he could already tell) to turn to his trusty personal messenger. The heat wasn't helped by the cramped confines of the impromptu war room he was in - he'd left the luxuriant conditions of his vacation home behind to take a command post right in the heart of the action. Of course, this came at the cost of his comfort - the new facilities were both crowded and not very large to begin with, and with all the communications and electrical equipment running at full blast, and the whole place filled with OB staff and soldiers running to and fro on their direly important errands, the place quickly was turning into an overheated madhouse. In his command room alone, he had no less than four aides at the telephones or typing away madly on typewriters, with two messenger flunkies at the door, ready at a moment's notice to dash off at top speed to wherever in the twin cities they may have been needed (as well as his surly SS guest, scanning the maps intensely). If you listened carefully, over the din of typing and curt, intense telephone conversations, the descending and ascending roars of the cars and trucks outside could be heard as they constantly arrived and departed. The lighting inside was stark and grated on one's eyes, after a time.

But he wouldn't have had it any other way. He'd spent forty years waiting for this night, and a little mild discomfort was hardly going to ruin anything for him. Besides, he liked the atmosphere it lent the proceedings - it felt like they were at war, now, finally. No more sitting around waiting and plotting and planning...now was the time to prove oneself.

"And what do those reports say, Lieutenant?"
The Lieutenant glanced at the sheet one final time.
"They say that your house has been attacked in force by a British commando unit. Air support is present, but numbers no less than three combat aircraft and one command aircraft. The defenders have been overwhelmed."

Huidebroeke sighed. "I expected as much. Thank you, Lieutenant, you are dismissed."
The young officer saluted and returned to his post outside, safely out of earshot.

The General turned to the SS officer. "Then it's confirmed. Your British friends are here to kill me in my bed."
The officer nodded. "Indeed. We need to act, now. We have all of them in our hands - all of them accounted for."
He clenched his fist. "We cannot afford to let any of them get away. They must all be accounted for, one way or the other."

The General cocked his head at his ally. "Are you quite all right, Colonel?"
The German cleared his throat. "Erm. Ahem. Yes...I'm fine. We've...the Schutzstaffel has invested a great deal of time and resources in this operation, Herr Huidebroeke. We cannot risk the British interfering with our operation. The plan, as it stands, is excellent, but this British team are the jokers in the deck. They must be removed, both for the sake of our story, and for the sake of the plan's success."

Huidebroeke turned back to the map. "Indeed..." he said, trying to keep a note of skepticism out of his voice. For whatever reason, he couldn't escape the feeling that the SS man was leaving something out...
Nevertheless, it changed little. He tapped the radioman on the shoulder.
"The time has come. Switch over to a wide-band transmission on the Bloulughuis frequency."
His eyes narrowed.
"I want to talk to our British friends."

[Kouralia]

Having said that, the Colour Serjeant swung his leg up over the bottom of the window, keeping his whole body flush with the sill as if he were climbing over a fence or a wall - all the better to minimise profiles or silhouettes in the scopes of snipers or sights of gunners. As soon as he was outside, he dropped again to a knee against the wall and holstered his Browning before unslinging the trusty SMLE and beginning to move toward Alexandra.

"Report," Alix said. "That side of the complex is secure, I take it?"

"Yes, ma'am." the Colour said, taking a knee by Noble. "If your building is secure, then ours is too. Flight Sikorskivitch is wounded but I believe it's minor judging by his immediate treatment and being fine to stand up and continue within seconds of sustaining it." As he waited for the others to move in on their position, and cursing their lethargy, Smythe turned and bellowed out to the two Flight Sergeants with the full majesty of a Serjeancy in the British Army behind his words. "Red! Flight!" He said, turning away from Noble toward the huts as he saw Lev scurrying over, and ammended it on the fly to include the whole assault group despite the lack of any real authority to do so. "Squadron! RE-ORG! Double time it in now, Move!"

[Grenartia]

"Report," Alix said. "That side of the complex is secure, I take it?"

"Yes, ma'am." the Colour said, taking a knee by Noble. "If your building is secure, then ours is too. Flight Sikorskivitch is wounded but I believe it's minor judging by his immediate treatment and being fine to stand up and continue within seconds of sustaining it." As he waited for the others to move in on their position, and cursing their lethargy, Smythe turned and bellowed out to the two Flight Sergeants with the full majesty of a Serjeancy in the British Army behind his words. "Red! Flight!" He said, turning away from Noble toward the huts as he saw Lev scurrying over, and ammended it on the fly to include the whole assault group despite the lack of any real authority to do so. "Squadron! RE-ORG! Double time it in now, Move!"

At this, Jimmy also came hurrying to Smythe's position.

"Sorry for not keeping up, Colour. Lev's wound looked rather serious, so I figured I'd hang back a little to make sure he didn't pass out on his way here." he said.

[Morrdh]

"Sword Ten to Blue Flight." Charlie called out over the radio. "Going high and keeping me eyes peeled."

"This seems too much o' a cakewalk...."

---

Up in the Anson, Kaya foudn that she had very little to actually do. The aircraft was behaving itself, all the gauges showed the right readings and the plane flew right. So she occupied part of her time by glancing out the fuselage window and listening to the South African on the radio giving reports. Nothing 'bouts Doug yet, reckon he's gots a fair go at getting through this.

[Kassaran]

"Copy that Ten, Twelve and I will keep low and give them Krauts a good and dandy shave from our own Brownies if they give the ground troops some trouble. Best of luck and good hunting."

Taking his thumb off of his transmitter, he opened up the throttle as yet again he made possibly the lowest pass yet on the estate, hearing the sound of his own engine reverberate off of the rooftops as he came in low and close. Throwing his stick to the right as soon as he had cleared two hundred meters past the house, he swung his craft around, pulling back on the stick and gently applying the left rudder to make sure the craft gained some altitude, no need to wreck his new toy because he got careless on a low pass on the estate. Looking upwards and slightly to the right, his current orientation in the air gave him an ample view of the estate from a distance, and almost for a moment, time seemed to hold still as he came about.

[Goram]

Stanford moved slowly and carefully towards the main building, eyes flitting from one window to another as he went. The last thing he wanted was to find himself staring at the black muzzle of a weapon as he progressed through the relatively open ground. From behind him, somewhere inside the cleared buildings, he heard a voice.

Stanford! Carter! I'm coming in, hold your fire!

Upon hearing the shout, the pilot dropped into a crouch and brought his rifle up to his shoulder, training it vaguely towards the main structure. Stanford half turned, keeping weapon down range and called back

"Mr. Talbot, Sir, come on through. We're out here!"

Stanford turned his eyes back to the sights of the rifle, whilst he waited for the senior man to appear. Almost subconsciously, his hand wandered to the Pattern 1907 bayonet at his belt. If there was going to be a time for the cold steel, it seemed like it was fast approaching. He drew the seventeen and a half inch blade, slotting it onto the bayonet lug with satisfying *clunk, click*. The added weight and length of the hefty bayonet made the rifle feel more unwieldy than it previously had, but none could deny the fearsome look it added to the already potent the weapon.

[The Tiger Kingdom]

Up in the air...
Coetzee turned to Page, the Captain's eyes still fixed through his binoculars on the ground below.
"Lead, Sword One reports area is clear. Ground team now moving on the main building."
"Good," Page muttered by way of response. "Let's get this thing over with."
The sergeant turned back to his console, and took a deep breath. Casually, he drew his left arm up to rest on his lap. He glanced down at his watch. It was about 2130 - the last rays of light were going, now. The ground transmission had called it exactly. It was time.

This had been a last-second arrangement. He'd prepared for months for this - for the uprising that would sweep Suid-Afrika, fighting in the vanguard against whatever weak opposition the English would send against them, to seize their whole country as their own for the first time in centuries. But at the last second, he'd been diverted, by the orders of Commando-General Huidebroeke himself, onto more important duty. Through the Ossewabrandwag's contacts, the General had gotten word of a British plan to assassinate him in his vacation lodge in the Magalieseburg - a remarkably well-formed plan, and one that he might've even fallen prey to, had he not known. There would be two elements. He was to handle the aerial element, which would contain the commander of the operation. And indeed it did - this "Captain Page" sat before Coetzee, totally distracted.

But Page wouldn't die now. Nor would his associate, the woman mechanic. That would come very soon.

Coetzee was disappointed when he heard he would have to hold off on the killing, but it made sense after it had been explained to him. The rest of the plane's crew were not as "safe" as he would've liked - of the rest of the three crewers, the pilot and the copilot were both loyalists (or at least not OB), and while the bombaimer was OB, he was known as a bit of an unreliable element (drunk, absent from meetings, etc.) - a possible free-rider. And in such cramped quarters, killing work was very risky, made even riskier by the fact that the plane itself would be in control of possibly hostile pilots.

So a new plan had been concocted. When the plane was being readied, Coetzee himself had overseen the addition of a tiny modification to one of the Anson's fuel lines. It was a small, simple device - essentially, when triggered, the thing would smash an exceedingly small capsule of sulfuric acid (obtained at considerable expense) against the fuel line. There wouldn't be an explosion (he had been assured), but it would rupture the line significantly, causing the plane to begin leaking oil - fast. The pilot would have to set the plane down, almost certainly outside of the city. The crew would be distracted trying to fix the plane. He (and the bombaimer, assuming he could be counted on) could kill Page and Waddock quickly and quietly...with neither of them aware what was going on until it was too late, safely on the ground.

The time had come. The radio trigger for the device was nestled in his pocket, a delicate instrument that the SS had been kind enough to provide. His right hand crept into his pocket, and lightly flicked the switch.
A few feet below, the capsule smashed open, and the acid began eating into the pipes. It would just be a matter of minutes...

---

"Report," Alix said. "That side of the complex is secure, I take it?"

"Yes, ma'am." the Colour said, taking a knee by Noble. "If your building is secure, then ours is too. Flight Sikorskivitch is wounded but I believe it's minor judging by his immediate treatment and being fine to stand up and continue within seconds of sustaining it." As he waited for the others to move in on their position, and cursing their lethargy, Smythe turned and bellowed out to the two Flight Sergeants with the full majesty of a Serjeancy in the British Army behind his words. "Red! Flight!" He said, turning away from Noble toward the huts as he saw Lev scurrying over, and ammended it on the fly to include the whole assault group despite the lack of any real authority to do so. "Squadron! RE-ORG! Double time it in now, Move!"

After Smythe's welcome encouraging, the rest of the squadron quickly formed up. Alix took one more glance around to make sure there weren't any last stragglers. All she could hear was the continuing crack of timbers from the shattered MG nest, the wind, and the distant crackle of Reid's radio. A minute later, the South African Lieutenant returned.
"All right. White Flight, I want you to dig in here and wait for the UDF to come up and relieve us. Red Flight, with me - we're going to go through every inch of this place until we find Jackal. Lieutenant Reide, I want you to stay with White, call up the UDF and get them moving to secure this position."
Reide looked a bit disappointed. "Right away."

Alix steeled herself and turned back towards the building. Leaning against the wall, she tested the doorknob - it was unlocked. She slowly pushed it open...

[The Tamerelian Empire]

Lev was jolted into attention by the Colour's sharp yell, even though they were equivalent rank, he didn't want to make a fuss of it now, especially not now. His sudden straightening made his shoulder hurt, and he winced, though he tried to distract attention away from his bloody arm by tinkering with his rifle's charger clip. When Noble started speaking, he looked up, he admittedly wasn't paying much attention until she siad, "Red Flight, with me - we're going to go through every inch of this place until we find Jackal."

His eyes widened, ever so slightly, but noticeable. This is it, he thought. This is what the whole thing has been has been leading up to. He tried comforting himself, the ordeal was almost over, but, in the back of his mind, the feeling remained that something was going to go wrong. In an attempt to shake it away, he said, "Lieutenant, if I may, where do you think Jackal is going to be...well, hiding?"

[Morrdh]

Finding the sky otherwise empty Charlie glanced back down at the compound, banking his Spitfire round as he did so. Sighing, he flipped he radio switch and called out. "Sword Ten to Flight. Anyone got any cards?"

[The Two Jerseys]

"Mr. Talbot, Sir, come on through. We're out here!"

Hearing this, Talbot jogged through the cleared building and out the back door, kneeling beside Stanford with his Winchester at the ready. "Report. Either of you two see Vegesack anywhere?" he asked as his eyes scanned the area.

[Kouralia]

Readying himself, Smythe applied the safety and slung his rifle across his back as they approached the house. Despite the reach theory and all other bayonet-related things, there was one weapon he'd like to have in his hand as they moved from room to room in a potentially trapped and defended building - and that was a short one. Maybe some day, hopefully, someone would provide Her Majesty's Armed Forces a close ranged, compact weapon that didn't need its bolt to be racked with every shot, which could take a bayonet like a man and also would have rifle furnishings. As things stood, a .303 bolt-action rifle wasn't the best thing to be traipsing around in FISH and CHIPS with, so he was just going to have to hold his browning and make do. As he followed Flight Lieutenant Noble up toward the building, he slid a magazine from his Browning and fitted a new one, unsure as he was about how many rounds he'd put into the colonial fascists in that hut back earlier.

As soon as Alexandra went through the door, the Colour Serjeant followed, snapping his pistol up as he stepped into the room and moved aside from the door, sweeping his sights from left to right across the room to check for any sneaky Stormjaegers. There were none, and Smythe called that back to anyone who wasn't yet through the door so they wouldn't accidently shoot anyone. Instead, the room was... 'unfurnished', as an estate agent might have termed it. The lights were out and truly no-one was home. Small miscoloured marks on the floor showed where a coat-stand had stood for years, and where Smythe now placed his feet. The unmistakable rectangle of a picture frame was marked out in a marginally differently coloured hue on the walls. It was as if... Well, as if the person who lived there had packed up and left, and it couldn't be coincidence that just as another raid reached his location, he was nowhere to be seen.

Stepping purposefully forwards, Smythe threw open a door into another room, bringing the Browning up and slowly advancing through it before lowering his weapon again. "This room's empty too... It would appear that asking people who've joined the UDF if they're Stormjaegers doesn't really work that well." Smythe said as he came back into the hall.

[The Tiger Kingdom]

His eyes widened, ever so slightly, but noticeable. This is it, he thought. This is what the whole thing has been has been leading up to. He tried comforting himself, the ordeal was almost over, but, in the back of his mind, the feeling remained that something was going to go wrong. In an attempt to shake it away, he said, "Lieutenant, if I may, where do you think Jackal is going to be...well, hiding?"

"No bloody idea," Alix hissed as the door swung open, "so be on your guard."
As the door swung open, she re-slung her Enfield and produced her Colt. Seeing the inside was dark and unlit, she produced a torch in her off-hand and flicked it on. Carefully, she lead the way inside.

She played her light cautiously over the vast anteroom that greeted them. It looked like it should have been a living room - there was a fireplace in the corner - but it was difficult to tell, due to the odd fact that the room was entirely bereft of any sort of furnishings at all. There was no furniture, nothing adorning the walls, even the lights looked like they had been stripped out. Squinting at the walls through the torch's bright light, she could see dust imprints on the wall, in what looked to be the shape of picture-frames, and on the floor in the (rather irregular-looking) imprint of a rug...but if they had ever been there, they were all gone now. The entire building, aside from their shuffling footsteps, was as silent as a tomb. Silently moving on, she slowly crept through one of the adjoining hallways, and played her light through each of them in turn. All of them were the same - dark, bare, and almost entirely stripped. It was uncanny.

Every hair on the back of her neck was standing up. There was no doubt - there was something very, very wrong here. This was supposed to be the decadent hunting lodge of an OB bigwig, but here it was, totally abandoned. They'd been called down here to the other side of the damn planet for nothing.
...Or to be killed.

Stepping purposefully forwards, Smythe threw open a door into another room, bringing the Browning up and slowly advancing through it before lowering his weapon again. "This room's empty too... It would appear that asking people who've joined the UDF if they're Stormjaegers doesn't really work that well." Smythe said as he came back into the hall.

Motherfucking UDF cocksuckers pissed this down their fucking legs, Alix thought to herself, allowing herself the kind of verbal leeway to swear like a wounded sailor within the confines of her mind that she never would in reality.
"Well, shoot," she said. "That battalion is going to have some bloody explaining to do when they-"

Somewhere within the house, an indistinct noise suddenly interrupted her, causing her to involuntarily snap her head and body around to find its source so quickly she nearly popped a ligament. Her hands were so tense she nearly put a bullet through one of the walls. She could feel her heart pounding like a jackhammer.
The noise continued as the squadron listened, ears pricked. It sounded like an odd hissing or buzzing, far off at the other end of the house.
"So," Alix breathed. "At least now we have something to investigate. Follow me..."

[Gibberan]

"Mr. Talbot, Sir, come on through. We're out here!"

Hearing this, Talbot jogged through the cleared building and out the back door, kneeling beside Stanford with his Winchester at the ready. "Report. Either of you two see Vegesack anywhere?" he asked as his eyes scanned the area.

"Haven't seen him at all," said Carter. "He wasn't with us, I didn't even see him on the plane. He's probably in one of the other—"

He was suddenly cut off by a piercing shout from far off, by the West Buildings "D'you guys hear that? That's Smythe. He wants the squadron to report; it's probably on Ms. Noble's orders. We'd better get over there, it's most likely to start the initial assault." he said as he motioned towards the two others

[The Two Jerseys]

"Haven't seen him at all," said Carter. "He wasn't with us, I didn't even see him on the plane. He's probably in one of the other—"

He was suddenly cut off by a piercing shout from far off, by the West Buildings "D'you guys hear that? That's Smythe. He wants the squadron to report; it's probably on Ms. Noble's orders. We'd better get over there, it's most likely to start the initial assault." he said as he motioned towards the two others

"Right, we'll sort him out later. Come on, let's go!" he replied, waving the flight forward and leading them to the door at a jog.

Halting the flight at the doorway, he heard Red Flight moving around inside and poked his head in. "White calling Red, we're at the entrance. Do you need support?"

[Goram]

Right, we'll sort him out later. Come on, let's go!

"Quite"

Stanford mused

"Let's not keep the good Serjeant waiting"

The Flying Officer watched the other two men jog past him, before following up as tail end charlie. As he jogged towards the compound, Stanford glanced upwards for a second - just long enough to catch a glimpse of the last rays of sunlight reflecting off the wings the lumbering Anson. The machine looked curiously low, but Stanford wrote this anomaly off simply thinking that the Skipper wanted a closer look at the action.

A couple of minutes later, White flight found themselves pulling guard duty for Red flight as they made the assault into the building. Stanford crouched against the wall, gripping rifle tight, whilst his eyes scanned the growing darkness. All of a sudden, they settled on the ruined machine gun nest, perhaps two dozen yards distant. From the ruin, the muzzle of what appeared to be an MG34 could be seen. Stanford cautiously made his way over to it, peering into the sandbag nest. He was greeted by a scene of unimaginable carnage, courtesy of their air support. The Anson's small bomb and Blue flight's machine gun fire had torn apart sandbags and men alike. The OB troopers unfortunate enough to be caught in the maelstrom of fire were almost unidentifiable now. Fortunately for Stanford their weapon was intact. He lay his rifle against the outer wall and took a firm grip of the machine gun's barrel. He gave it a solid tug, ripping the weapon's pistol grip from the dead man's hand. With the weapon freed, the RAF officer carefully extracted the piece and placed it next to the rifle. Then, he reached back in, much further inside this time, to the point where he had to virtually lie prostrate across the crumbling sand bag wall. With some difficulty, he fumbled with several boxes of 7.92mm and one long belt of the same Mauser ammunition. At a guess, Stanford would have said he had retrieved approximately four or five hundred rounds. As he extricated himself from the position, swaddled in the belt of perhaps one hundred and fifty rounds, he retrieved his rifle and the machine gun, before making his pack horse esque way back to the flight.

Upon returning to White flight, only a minute or two after leaving, he lay the machine gun down on it's bipod and dumped the ammunition next to it.

"Sorry chaps"

He said

"I supposed we could use the firepower and, ah, I don't think those South African fellows will be need it."

[United Kingdom of Poland]

Polanski's mind was racing at this point. This had been way to easy. Granted Excalibur was the best of the best and they were facing a bunch of old farmers still reminicing on the good old days of the 1890's, but this was to much of a cake walk. He had expect some what more resistance from these guys, or were the past few missions making him paranoid? He was snapped back into reality by Charlie's easy to use joke line. His response was out of his mouth before his brain had finished proccessing it.

Finding the sky otherwise empty Charlie glanced back down at the compound, banking his Spitfire round as he did so. Sighing, he flipped he radio switch and called out. "Sword Ten to Flight. Anyone got any cards?"

"Go fish yourself"

[Kassaran]

Polanski's mind was racing at this point. This had been way to easy. Granted Excalibur was the best of the best and they were facing a bunch of old farmers still reminicing on the good old days of the 1890's, but this was to much of a cake walk. He had expect some what more resistance from these guys, or were the past few missions making him paranoid? He was snapped back into reality by Charlie's easy to use joke line. His response was out of his mouth before his brain had finished proccessing it.

Finding the sky otherwise empty Charlie glanced back down at the compound, banking his Spitfire round as he did so. Sighing, he flipped he radio switch and called out. "Sword Ten to Flight. Anyone got any cards?"

"Go fish yourself"

Jonah himself was leveling out as the joke from Charlie broke the silence and he laughed as Polanski gave a jovial reply in his thick Polish accent, in fact, he might even have said it Polish back. Chiming in, he spoke," Sorry to call it boys, but looks like this was just a big bluff. I think we got the wrong house here, either that or we've got shuffled into a stacked game. And the game isn't in our favor..."

[Morrdh]

Polanski's mind was racing at this point. This had been way to easy. Granted Excalibur was the best of the best and they were facing a bunch of old farmers still reminicing on the good old days of the 1890's, but this was to much of a cake walk. He had expect some what more resistance from these guys, or were the past few missions making him paranoid? He was snapped back into reality by Charlie's easy to use joke line. His response was out of his mouth before his brain had finished proccessing it.

Finding the sky otherwise empty Charlie glanced back down at the compound, banking his Spitfire round as he did so. Sighing, he flipped he radio switch and called out. "Sword Ten to Flight. Anyone got any cards?"

"Go fish yourself"

"Sorry, I'm not well versed in Polish." Charlie replied as a smile spread across his lips. "For the uneducated amongst us could you please translate?"

[United Kingdom of Poland]

Polanski's mind was racing at this point. This had been way to easy. Granted Excalibur was the best of the best and they were facing a bunch of old farmers still reminicing on the good old days of the 1890's, but this was to much of a cake walk. He had expect some what more resistance from these guys, or were the past few missions making him paranoid? He was snapped back into reality by Charlie's easy to use joke line. His response was out of his mouth before his brain had finished proccessing it.

"Go fish yourself"

"Sorry, I'm not well versed in Polish." Charlie replied as a smile spread across his lips. "For the uneducated amongst us could you please translate?"

Matt didn't even realize he had been speaking Polish the whoe time. "I said Go Fish Yourself"

[Gibberan]

Carter nodded at Stanford, but his eyes were focused on the heavy, long MG-34, mounted on it's tall, thin but sturdy bipods. He'd read about these guns, and he absolutely loved them. With a rate of fire of up to 800 to 900 rounds per minute, this was one of the best guns the Germans had to offer...

The Germans? This was a German gun, he realized, in the hands of the OB. How did the Nazis play into all this, really?

His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing about it, instead commenting, "Say, where did Blue Flight and Page and Kaya's Anson go? I don't see 'em anywhere."

[Goram]

Stanford knelt by the space age looking gun, making sure to keep his loaded Enfield to hand, just in case. Like the rest of the Excaliburs, he had undergone some degree of training with enemy weapons and he felt reasonably competent in the operation of this one. He lifted the receiver's cover, loaded the first round of a fresh belt into the feed tray, closed the cover and racked the bolt. The weapon made a satisfying metallic clunk as the first of the Mauser rounds was shoved into the chamber by the bolt. Stanford swung the hefty weapon up off the ground, before propping it's bipod against a wall, perhaps a yard or two away. If they needed to fight, the low stone would not be the best cover, but it would probably be all that was available to the Flight.

Say, where did Blue Flight and Page and Kaya's Anson go? I don't see 'em anywhere.

Stanford looked up at the mention of the girl's name.

"Not sure, old boy. But I saw the Anson headed West"

He pointed towards the glow of the setting sun on the horizon

"Looked to be low, getting lower if I were to hazard a guess. Perhaps the Skipper wanted a better view."

[Kassaran]

Coming in low over the house again, Jonah banked steep right past the roof tops. He'd of course been expecting to have a wingman, but he couldn't help but show off some low-altitude acrobatics while he was at it. Down here in the South African wilderness, Nazi's would never stand a chance. The lions would laugh at their racial superiority complex and eat them right up like the overweight back-wood hicks they were just like the Boers. He had no sympathy for the Dutch men and boys on the ground, they had gotten exactly what they had been asking for. Justice.

Looking out of the cockpit as he came in low, he cast his gaze in the direction he knew Excalibur was at, but still was lying low. Already the top cover had likely been diverted, he'd heard it come over the radio that the Anson had apparently taken damage, but he wasn't certain how critically it had been hit. [i]More than likely these daft fools of Afrikaners hadn't been maintaining the parts as well as they should have, but he knew pilots from South Africa were competent due to the dangers, and he was certain that as fallible as this Major Cutler fellow was, he'd still likely get good pilots regardless of the skill preference he'd desired.

Bringing his nose up again, he almost seemed to do a pirouette in mid air with his Spitfire, sitting just off and to the East, catching the last few glints of sunlight flashing off of his wings like the flashing of a falling star before he pulled the craft over inverted and promptly leveled out to begin circling.

[Kouralia]

The noise continued as the squadron listened, ears pricked. It sounded like an odd hissing or buzzing, far off at the other end of the house.
"So," Alix breathed. "At least now we have something to investigate. Follow me..."

Smythe nodded, following on after Flight Lieutenant Noble to investigate the source of the sound. As he did so, he half turned and whispered to the remaining NCOs in his flight. "Okay guys, stick together in case this is a trap - there's no need to split up and look for clues."