Operation Southern Cross (Excalibur IC)

[Len Hyet]

Strutting across the runway towards them, bristly mustache looking bristlier than ever, shooting stick firmly in hand, and smirk in absolutely effervescent form, Major Roy Rupert Torquil Cutler (III) bore down on them like a smug tsunami, merciless in bearing and flanked by the gargoyles that polite society dictated be referred to as his "adjutants".
NOT LIKE THIS.

Flight Lieutenant Benjamin Silver, recipient of the Croix de guerre, Médaille de l'Aéronautique, the Distinguished Flying Cross, and the Military Cross, felt a tendril of icy fear slide it's way up his spine and lodge itself firmly in his gut. That voice... it was the sound of death himself come to steal souls. It was the voice of Adolf Cuntler himself. He hobbled around, and pulled himself rigidly upward into a form of salute. It wasn't parade ground ready, but then again neither was Silva. Mentally he put two and two together, got four, and realized that he would be spending this operation in the charming company of Major Cuntler.

Oh fuck me

[Kouralia]

Strutting across the runway towards them, bristly mustache looking bristlier than ever, shooting stick firmly in hand, and smirk in absolutely effervescent form, Major Roy Rupert Torquil Cutler (III) bore down on them like a smug tsunami, merciless in bearing and flanked by the gargoyles that polite society dictated be referred to as his "adjutants".
NOT LIKE THIS.

As soon as Smythe heard the call for attention, he spun on the spot to face the oncoming Officers. Stiffening and correcting every fibre in his body, the Colour Serjeant somehow managed to become even more at attention than normal, considering a ramrod-straight spine and squared, pushed back shoulders were practically the ground state of being for him. One had to wonder if he'd had to be given permission to cry after being slapped as a newborn. Despite many of the other members of the squadron harbouring murderous intent for the Senior SOE Officer, Smythe held none of these emotions. Possibly because he was enlisted and thus kept apart from bullshit by protective layers of Senior Officers, maybe because he fully supported and respected Cutler's enforcement of the more anal and uniform-related regulations; or perhaps simply because as a British army Infanteer his very being had been rendered immune to the negative aura of Ruperthood that exuded from every oxygen thief holding a Commission. After all, having to deal with incompetent officers for over two hundred years and yet still conquer, occupy and protect the largest empire the world had ever seen would surely provide the British soldier with some time-honoured techniques for resisting turning into Obadiah Hakeswill.

With snapping, precise movements, the Colour brought his rifle to the position of attention - bayonet already fixed, fortunately - though he refrained from saluting.

[Gibberan]

"SQUADRON! AT ATTENTION"

Carter turned to see who had yelled so loudly in their direction. When he saw it was a British officer, he immediately snapped his arm up into a salute, first an American one, then, after a stern glance from the officer, corrected himself into the standard palm-out British salute. The officer sneered in disapproval, but continued in his tidy stride across the runway.

His eyes glanced over the other squadronmates, all standing at attention, just as ordered, but they all, for the most part, had...a look in their eyes. Their faces betrayed their emotions as well, just by the slightest margin. Fear, Chagrin, Displeasure, Hatred...they were all very prominent in their faces, though he observed that the officer, who looked to have the rank of Major, seemed to take no notice. The Captain's face was especially glazed over. Carter leaned towards him. "Do you guys, uh...you guys know him, Cap?"

[New Terrisia]

Lamarche's Spitfire made a graceful landing, at least more graceful than he had expected. The nose art, which he had painted while the others fretted about back on the carrier, showed Napoleon atop a white horse, with a fleur-de-lis behind it. If there was one Frenchman who could inspire fear in the Germans, surely it was the old Emperor. In a few years, Lamarche thought to himself as his plane came to a stop, perhaps it'll be me.

When his plane was fully braked, and the engine off, Lamarche opened the cockpit and climbed out. "Il fait trop chaud," he muttered, feeling the hot sun burning the back of his neck. He climbed out, leaving the ground crew to their work, and walked across the airfield to find some shade and meet up with the other Blue Flight pilots.

[The Tiger Kingdom]

"SQUADRON! AT ATTENTION"

Carter turned to see who had yelled so loudly in their direction. When he saw it was a British officer, he immediately snapped his arm up into a salute, first an American one, then, after a stern glance from the officer, corrected himself into the standard palm-out British salute. The officer sneered in disapproval, but continued in his tidy stride across the runway.

His eyes glanced over the other squadronmates, all standing at attention, just as ordered, but they all, for the most part, had...a look in their eyes. Their faces betrayed their emotions as well, just by the slightest margin. Fear, Chagrin, Displeasure, Hatred...they were all very prominent in their faces, though he observed that the officer, who looked to have the rank of Major, seemed to take no notice. The Captain's face was especially glazed over. Carter leaned towards him. "Do you guys, uh...you guys know him, Cap?"

Cutler's face snapped over to focus on Carter with all the intensity and singular focus of a hyena transfixed by the fresh corpse of a wildebeest.
"SILENCE UNLESS SPOKEN TO WHILE AT ATTENTION, FLYING OFFICER!" he bellowed.
His authority unquestionably established now, the Major folded his arms and stared down the group one by one. Page, used to thi

"Christ, more like the 319th Cripple Squadron," Page distinctly heard one of the aides (Piers?) stage-whisper to the other (Gavin? No idea of last names) as he ran his eyes over Page, Kaya, and Silva's visible injuries. The latter aide positively giggled in response.
Page felt like he was gritting his teeth so hard, he was in serious danger of straining a muscle.
After completing his appraisal (for whatever it was worth), Cutler theatrically straightened up even more than he already had.
"Well then. At ease, come on. We've got a lot of work to get through, no time for tomfoolery."

The squadron followed this instruction. Thrusting his chest out in a manner that called forth unflattering comparisons to a some sort of avian mating display (like that of a turkey, for instance), Cutler began his little speech.

"Well now. While I hope you all had an enjoyable and relaxing little cruise down here to join me, as I said, we've got real work cut out for us. I've been in the Union for the last week, putting my nose to the grindstone, making connections, and getting things smoothed over for your arrival in order to carry out this operation. However, given that so many of you are in such poor shape, I've really had to juggle you around to make all this work. Nevertheless, I managed to pull it off. I trust your Captain has told you of all your separate roles already. But before I order you out, there are a few points I need to make sure you're aware of.

"First-" he fixed the squadron with another unblinking all-round stare, "- while you are in South Africa, you are to be on your absolute best behavior. I mean it. The situation here is extremely tense and delicate, as you may have noticed on your way in, and the last thing we need is to have any of you saying something indelicate and making our position here worse than it already is. Be respectful to your UDF fellows. Be courteous. Be polite. Work with them. Give them the benefit of the doubt. They are our allies, and we are working on their homeland. Do not forget this.

"Second, a minor administrative issue - the codename of your target has been shifted from 'Antelope' to 'Jackal'. After some thinking, I decided that the original name...well...I just thought it would look a bit silly in the history books. So, use 'Jackal' from now on when referring to the target. That's a properly threatening name, I think.

"And finally, also pertaining to the target. This is a capture-or-kill mission, make no mistake about it.
"But! Killing Jackal, I warn you, is an absolute last resort. If at all possible, he must be brought in alive. He has a potentially unique knowledge of the OB, not to even mention the Stormjaers - he may be the only man on Earth who actually knows their full strength, dispositions, and locations. If he's captured, it's very likely the entire network will fall with him like a house of cards. If he's dead, barring a miracle, those chances go down dramatically."

"Is that all understood?"
He waited all of 1.6 seconds.
"Good. Page, get yourself and the Corporal set up in that Anson double-quick. The rest of you, back to the trucks - a new driver will be in shortly, as Sergeant Coetzee will be accompanying the Captain."

What might have been an attempt at a cocky grin (but actually resembled more an evil-looking rictus of pain) crossed his face.
"That just leaves...Flight Lieutenant Silva. All right, with me, Flight Lieutenant - I've some things you can help us with while the squadron's out. Disperse, all of you, get moving!"

[Len Hyet]

"That just leaves...Flight Lieutenant Silva. All right, with me, Flight Lieutenant - I've some things you can help us with while the squadron's out. Disperse, all of you, get moving!"

Silva paled, but started hobbling along with the Major. As he did so, he shot a pleading look at Captain Page from behind Major Cuntler's back. It was truly a masterful look, that somehow managed to incorporate horrific fear, longing, pleading, and a request for a swift bullet to the skull all at the same time. The last is probably more due to Silva's mouthing of the words 'shoot me now', but none the less it was truly a look of utter despair and hopelessness.

Shouldering his BAR grimly, Silva marched onward, praying to Christ for forgiveness and mercy.

[Morrdh]

"Skipper." Kaya nodded as Page came over to the Anson. "Haven't finished checking this Faithful Annie out just yet, tis far from being a beaut."

"As fer ye," Kaya said to Coetzee. "Sit down, shut up an' keep yer hands ta yerself!"

[Goram]

"SQUADRON! AT ATTENTION!"

The word's echoed across the airfield as Stanford snapped to attention. In the back of his mind, he prayed that Smythe hadn't seen him. To say the Flying Officer was rusty when it came to ceremony and drill would have been an understatement. As Stanford mentally cursed his lack of parade ground form, he tried to work out who could possibly be shouting at them. Page was here, Noble was here and it definitely was not a South African voice. Suddenly, the answer hit him.

"Oh...it's him"

Stanford thought. In the almost six months he'd spend with Excalibur, he'd been fortunate enough to avoid meeting Cutler personally. He had heard the rumours though and the distasteful nickname that the others, notably the Americans, had bestowed upon him. Stanford had often wondered whether such disdain for the Major was warranted, but within moments of the man's arrival, those thoughts were put to rest. His brazen display towards Carter saw to that. Stanford watched the officer as he discussed some minor detail with his aides - all immaculately uniformed, perfectly blancoed with their shiny pips gleaming in the sun. What was it his father used to call this sort of officer?

"Richard? Randolf? Rupert?...Rupert."

Stanford finally settled on his father's Army nickname for that sort of officer and decided that if ever a group of people fit the bill, it was probably Major Cutler and his entourage. Stanford shot a forlorn glance towards Kaya as she disappeared towards the Anson. She would not be forced to endure the speech that seemed inevitable. The man seemed, at first impressions, to be absolutely insufferable. However Stanford couldn't help but think, as irritating as he might be, he probably knew what he was doing to be appointed to such a level of authority within Excalibur. Unpopular? With out doubt. Effective? Perhaps. Either way, however, speeches were not something Stanford enjoyed.

After what felt like an impossibly long time, Cutler dismissed the unit. Stanford climbed up into the back of the truck and turned back to see the engine of the Anson coughing into life. That was the way to go to war; not the back of a lorry. Still, nothing to be done but make the best of it. At least they'd got rid of the motor-mouth Coetzee. Stanford propped his rifle between his legs and fished around in his webbing for his pipe. As the others clambered into the back of the Bedford, Stanford said, with a sarcastic air;

"So that was the immortal Major Cutler then? He seems a pleasant fellow."

[The Tiger Kingdom]

"That just leaves...Flight Lieutenant Silva. All right, with me, Flight Lieutenant - I've some things you can help us with while the squadron's out. Disperse, all of you, get moving!"

Silva paled, but started hobbling along with the Major. As he did so, he shot a pleading look at Captain Page from behind Major Cuntler's back. It was truly a masterful look, that somehow managed to incorporate horrific fear, longing, pleading, and a request for a swift bullet to the skull all at the same time. The last is probably more due to Silva's mouthing of the words 'shoot me now', but none the less it was truly a look of utter despair and hopelessness.

Page tried to just look away from Silva, pretending as though the Lieutenant (and the horrific duty to which he was being conscripted) simply wasn't there. Silva's fate was already out of his hands - frankly, he didn't want to dwell upon what the American was up against any more than he absolutely had to.
Godspeed, you poor bastard, was the sole thought on the matter he allowed himself.

"What do you suppose they've got in store for him?" Alix asked, visibly concerned as they watched him led away.
Page pursed his lips and shook his head resignedly. "Silva's gone, Lieutenant," he said, semi-consciously gravelling his voice to sound like some tough noir detective. "Forget him."
"Who knows what'll be left of him when this is all done?"
"Let's both not think about it."

Page glanced off one towards the Anson for one final, resigned appraising. The craft hardly inspired much confidence, and he'd give anything to be back in his Spitfire, but he'd have to be satisfied with this rather less glamorous steed.
"Well, I suppose this is where we part ways."
He snapped off his best salute. "Make me proud, Lieutenant. Blue Flight, Kaya, and I will all be looking out for you guys from up above, so don't worry about anything. Just get us Ant- er, Jackal. One way or the other."
Alix swallowed hard as she returned the salute, the reality of command settling itself heavily on her shoulders once again. "Right. Good luck, Captain."
Page smiled at that. For a second, he began to feel like himself again - like he did before the events of the last two months.
"You too, Lieutenant. But you know neither of us will need it."
"Oh, really?"
"Nah. I can feel it." he shrugged casually, looking dramatically off into the distance, perfectly fitting a sudden breeze blowing through his hair. "I can feel this one's going to go right."
"Then I'll see you in a few hours."
"Give 'em hell, Alix."

---

A few moments later, Page was on the ramp up to the Anson's cabin, where he was met by Kaya.

"Skipper." Kaya nodded as Page came over to the Anson. "Haven't finished checking this Faithful Annie out just yet, tis far from being a beaut."

Page looked around the inside of the craft. It was no doubt cluttered and probably not in ideal repair (God only knew what sort of care it had been given by the Saffies), but it looked suitable enough at a glance - or, at least, not on the verge of total disintegration.
"I agree with you, Corporal, but I think we're just going to have to make do, unfortunately."

"As fer ye," Kaya said to Coetzee. "Sit down, shut up an' keep yer hands ta yerself!"

Coetzee looked like a puppy that had just been slapped.
"Erm...sorry? I don't understand. I was told I was to be the Captain's liaison for this mission. Maybe I wasn't clear enough - I'm going to be the one relaying his communications to the ground forces. I'm the...er...radioman? I think that's the term?"
His smile returned as he settled into the seat facing the radio console, and pulled the headphones on. "Don't worry, I won't mess anything up. I've done this before."

The Saffie pilot, who had already taken his seat, yelled back a response. "Don't worry, this one's a beaut. Flown 'er a thousand times, and she's never let me down."
"You're our pilot?" Page called in response.
"Yup. Name's Poorten. Flying Officer, for the record. This one -" he pointed at the man in the copilot's seat, "is Flight Sergeant Lister, and back there, we've got Flight Sergeant Voerman at the bomb controls. You three are the Aussie flight engineer, the radioman, and...Captain Robert Page?"
"Right on all counts."
The pilot turned back around. "Well then, get yourselves strapped in. We leave as soon as you're ready."

A few moments later, the distinctive BANG of the twin Cheetah engines firing to life exploded across the tarmac, and the Anson slowly began to taxi out onto the main runway.

---

Settling back into the truck with the rest of the group as the Anson took off, Alix's thoughts had already drifted towards planning for the assault, when the new driver's words (oddly, sounding perfectly English rather than Saffie) jolted her back to the here and now.
"Not to seem out of line, but I apologize to you all on behalf of my superiors for getting you stuck with Coetzee on your way in. He can be a bit...off-putting, I know."
"No bloody kidding," Alix sighed in agreement. Idly figuring she was entitled to the front passenger's seat, given that she was now Excalibur's commanding officer, she cautiously maneuvered herself into the cab. "Is he always like that, or...or..."

She unintentionally trailed off as she looked over at the new driver, trying and failing not to be entirely unprofessional. Really, though, the man was startlingly good-looking, in a way that totally caught her off guard - high cheekbones that you could probably sharpen a knife on, soulful and inquisitive eyes, and even in the uncomfortable and unflattering topography of the truck's driver's seat, he cut an absolutely smashing figure in his uniform.
The unnamed driver raised a light brown, softly arching eyebrow as he guided the truck back out onto the roads. "...Or does he occasionally transform, Jekyll and Hyde-style, into somebody with a semblance of manners?"
Alix came back to reality again. "...Um...yeah...does...that ever happen?" she tried not to stammer.

The driver gave no indication he'd noticed her odd new speaking pattern. "Not that I've ever seen. Poor fellow. It's pitiable, really. Anyway, I'm so sorry - here I am, gossiping about somebody with bad manners, and I haven't even introduced myself. Lieutenant Will Reide of the Union Defense Force, at your service. I'd shake your hand, but given that we're doing 45 kph and I don't want to risk killing us, I hope you'll pardon me on that score."

"It's no problem at all," Alix practically giggled. "I'm Flight Lieutenant Alix Noble, Special Operations Executive...commanding the Excalibur part of the ground attack, I suppose."
Reide's coolly suave demeanor was suddenly broken by his eyes bulging and a sudden, hacking cough erupting from his throat.

"Are you all right, Officer?"
He waved off her concern as he got control of himself, his voice still ragged. "Sorry. Must've been the dust. Right...Excalibur Squadron. That was the name of the unit. I'd almost forgotten. Well, Lieutenant, it looks like I'm to be your assigned liaison for the mission. I'll be helping smooth things over with the UDF, and keep you in touch with your aerial assets. I'm a trained radioman, and I've been on all of the prior raids to get this Jackal fellow, so I think I'm quite experienced, at least, in knowing what doesn't work. I think we'll work splendidly together."

"I think so too," bubbled Alix.
Mustn't stare...must be proper... her brain ruminated, ...but I must say, Captain, I think one of us definitely got the better deal...

[The Tamerelian Empire]

What a dedovat, thought Lev as he climbed into the shaded back of the truck, referring to the Russian word for a cruel officer. He rested in the corner as the vehicle accelerated, throwing dust in his face. He didn't care however, he was used to it. However, he was seriously contemplating what the outcome of the mission would be.

The UDF was the main topic running through his mind. They couldn't have done that many botched missions, at least not totally without somebody pulling the strings. Maybe the people in the OB had better intelligence, or better tactics, or maybe the higher-ups in the UDF were just not as competent as they were expected to be.

Or maybe there was a mole.

Lev almost laughed out loud at his thought's absurdity. A mole? He knew better than this. The Captain would be suspicious too if something was truly going, wouldn't he? And the female Lieutenant, and the rest of them all, they would have to know something was going on. He wouldn't alone in his suspicions, he couldn't be.

He couldn't be the only one that caught on to it.

Could he?

[Kouralia]

As the rest of the Officers fell out and got onto the lorry, Smythe stood aside and couldn't help but cast a watchful eye over the surroundings - ever wary of being under the gaze of a marksman or someone else with such great mischiefs on their mind. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he waited until everyone else was on the lorry before stepping up, pulling the tailgate with him and settling in for the journey, watching the scenery go by behind them on the road.

[The Tiger Kingdom]

Meanwhile...
While the rest of the squadron departed for the final leg of their voyage, the Anson accelerated to takeoff speed and ascended into the sky. The daylight was beginning to fade, now, the city fully bathed in the orangeish glow of an antipodal summer evening. Inside the cabin, space was pretty tight - while the pilots busied themselves with the navigation and the bombaimer checked and rechecked the smoke bombs on board (more for lack of anything better to do, really), Coetzee fiddled with the radio, and Kaya went about...all the usual things that a Flight Engineer would presumably do (Page knew his way around a Merlin engine and a good deal of general maintenance skill, but beyond that, he wasn't ashamed to admit Kaya's technical knowledge entirely outstripped his. The little Australian was practically a savant). For his part, he settled in the "command chair" - which was to say, a single seat remaining from the passenger accommodations that was situated at an angle to the side window, so he could see out.

"Wow..." he heard Coetzee say, twisting around to look out the window, a transfixed grin on his face. "It sure is something, to be up this high..."
Page raised an eyebrow, a bit unsettled by the implications of just how visibly impressed Coetzee was. "Yeah...er...is...is this your first time...actually being in a plane, Sergeant?"
"Hmm? Oh. Yes, it is. Never been up this high before. I tell you, I ain't never seen anything like it."

Coetzee looked back to see Page's rather stricken expression. "Oh, don't worry. I mean, I've operated this kind of radio system before. It's just now, I'm doing it on a plane. No problem at all."
Page felt somewhat better. "...Right. Well, hopefully, your first flight will be a reasonably safe one."

The Captain shifted in his seat. "So...what exactly do you know about these OB people? I've never even heard of them before we got sent down here, and it looks like they're running roughshod over the whole country. What exactly even are they...a political party, a militia, a union...what?"
Coetzee didn't turn around. "They're real troublemakers, that's what they are. Really like raising hell, causing all kinds of problems for us. I don't know too much about what they want beyond that, if I'm honest. Not really into politics. But you can't not notice what they're up to, these days."
Page leaned forward, interested. "Like what?"

"Well," Coetzee replied lackadaisically, "on one hand, they like doing all sorts of...erm...Boer stuff. Like having speeches talking about the old wars, building statues of old famous Boer folks, telling everybody not to speak English...that kind of thing. Now, all that's legal. But then, you hear all sorts of more interesting stuff, like them stockpiling weapons, drilling all the time...there's even rumors-"
Coetzee lowered his voice almost to a whisper (relative to the engine noise).
"-of Germans in the country."

"Is that so?"

The South African nodded deeply, like he was taking Page deeply into his confidence.
"Oh, yeah. All sorts of stories. The big one for a while was parachute men - people seeing weird guys landing at night in their fields. 'Course, nobody ever found anything from 'em. But there's been another big one lately - some people out near Durban say they saw a German boat out there a few weeks ago, and people keep saying they see it every few days or so."
"What kind of German boat?"
Coetzee screwed up his eyebrows. "You know the kind...er...the big black ones, that go underwater."
"A submarine."

He nodded. "Yeah! That was the word. Yeah, a submarine. So maybe the Germans and the OB hooked up."
Page leaned back. The thought was disturbing, but not at all implausible. Nonetheless, it really didn't change the calculus of the situation any.

"I wouldn't pay the crazy stuff like that too much mind though," Coetzee admitted, chuckling, especially from around Durban. They're all crazy down there."
"Really?"
"Oh, yeah. Just for fairness' sake, there's another rumor going around Durban now, according to some of my buddies who read the papers. They say - hand to God - there's a Charou flying around Durban, setting fire to buildings and stuff."

There was a pregnant pause.
"...What?"
Coetzee grinned even more widely, if that was possible. "Yeah, I know. Some guys told me that the police have been trying to hunt down some arsonist setting a whole bunch of fires across the city. So they finally tracked down this Indian fella who they saw at the scene, cornered him in an alley - and he stuck his arms out and flew off up into the sky like a bird, just like that. He's been seen a whole bunch more times since, flitting around the city, just setting fires all over and cruising off whenever somebody sees him. Apparently, whenever he flies, he emanates some horrid noise that stops anyone chasing him in their tracks."

Page had no idea how to respond to this.

"I...wow. That's some story."
"I know. I can't make any sense out of it either. Shows you what they'll believe down there."
Coetzee was still chuckling to himself. "Guess whoever he is, if he's real, he must really hate Durban - and everyone in it."
"I...I suppose so."

The plane flew on...

---

Back on the ground...

"...So I tried to tell our CO that he had a sheet saying "I AM A FAIRY" taped to his back, but he wouldn't let me get a bloody word in edgewise-"
"Because he thought you were the one who had covered his office doorknobs in steel wool?" Alix giggled.
"Exactly!" Reide laughed at the memory. "My name was mud with him - I could've told him his pants were on fire, and he'd have told me to stop talking rubbish. So he goes marching down the ranks, cool as you like, ramrod-straight, thinking he looks like a bloody hero - and everyone in the entire training company falls to pieces laughing as soon as he gets past them. Nobody could help it! At least I could honestly say it wasn't my fault that time..."
Alix couldn't help laughing along with him. "That's quite a story, Lieutenant. Wish I'd been in a unit like that when I got trained..."

"Actually, I was a bit curious," he replied. "How...exactly were you accepted into a unit like this? I don't...I mean, I didn't want to draw any attention to your...erm..."
Alix shrugged. "Right place, right time. It's a very long story, it'd probably bore the living daylights out of you-"
"Nonsense."
"-but in essence, I was trained alone, and half on the job. It was very...improvised. So, needless to say, I don't have quite the same base of experience everyone else does."
"You must have at least one good story or two."

Alix thought for a moment. "Well, I did sucker-punch my commanding officer in the face, once."

Reide almost did a double-take. "You're bloody joking."
"Not at all. Hand-to-hand training. That part of it was really awkward for me - I'd never thrown a punch in my entire life before that, and I'd kind of written myself off as being terrible at it before I'd even tried. But Page - that's the Captain, the Excalibur squadron leader - kept needling me and pushing me to actually try and go for him, for me to really throw one and mean it, because that was what it would be like in combat. And I kept pretending to try, and he kept pushing me, and taunting me, over and over again - and finally, I just got sick of it and cracked him in the nose with everything I had."
"Wow."
"Fortunately, we were wearing gloves," Alix continued, "so I just knocked him down, but I felt absolutely terrible about it for a second or two. Then, I saw that he was smiling like a madman and realized that that was exactly what he was hoping for. He was trying to get me angry, so I'd go for it, and he could definitely tell when I had. It got a lot easier after that."
"Sounds like quite an interesting fellow."
Alix sighed. "Really, he's just the most - wait...is that the UDF company up ahead?"

Reide craned his neck. "Yes, I think you're right. That's them camped. The rally point should just be a few hundred yards up ahead."

After a few more minutes, Reide pulled the truck over. "All right, everybody out. We're all on foot from here. The assault should start..."
He checked his watch. "...within the next 45 minutes."

[Morrdh]

Kaya seated herself just behind the pilots where she could observe the various gauges on the instrument panel, also where she could glance out the window occasionally for a visual look at the engines themselves. She was focused on watching for any irregularities in the readings of the gauges and also any visible signs that either of the engines were playing up. But so far everything was going fine.

---

As the sun started to get close to the western horizon, Charlie made his way out to his waiting Spitfire as the rest of his flight prepared for their twilight mission. The heat of the day was slowly slackening off, though it was still expected to be fairly warm despite the nighttime and so Charlie still wore his RAF khaki drill tropical uniform with the necessary flight gear. Though he had his Sten gun with it's sole clip stowed away in the fighter's cockpit, he also rediscovered the pair of grenades in his jacket pocket which he was still intending to return to the armoury back aboard their ship.

[The Tiger Kingdom]

"That just leaves...Flight Lieutenant Silva. All right, with me, Flight Lieutenant - I've some things you can help us with while the squadron's out. Disperse, all of you, get moving!"

Silva paled, but started hobbling along with the Major. As he did so, he shot a pleading look at Captain Page from behind Major Cuntler's back. It was truly a masterful look, that somehow managed to incorporate horrific fear, longing, pleading, and a request for a swift bullet to the skull all at the same time. The last is probably more due to Silva's mouthing of the words 'shoot me now', but none the less it was truly a look of utter despair and hopelessness.

Shouldering his BAR grimly, Silva marched onward, praying to Christ for forgiveness and mercy.

A few moments later, the quartet, sole despondent American bringing up the rear, entered one of the Rand administration buildings. Tramping down one of the hallways, they eventually turned and entered a musty, ill-lit room full of stacks of folders and disorganized piles of papers.
"Ah, bugger," Cutler muttered as he entered the room. "Even bloody worse than I remembered. Oh well. Anyways, Lieutenant Silva, this is my office. As you can see, we've been getting some pretty heavy work out of it since we arrived here, setting all this up, and it's a buit of a mess. The native girl who normally comes in here to clean hasn't shown up for the last few days-"
"Shame about that," one of the aides muttered.
"Hm? Oh yes," Cutler replied, a look of gleeful prurient recollection slowly his face. "Couldn't speak English worth a damn, but had an arse like two melon halves...ahem. Anyways, we've got rather a rush on over in the war room, So I was hoping you could help tidy up. You know - just straighten out all these stacks of paper, alphabetize the files, sweep a little - broom's behind the door. Good? Good."
the door slammed shut behind them, leaving Silva alone with his burden.

[The Two Jerseys]

Alix sighed. "Really, he's just the most - wait...is that the UDF company up ahead?"

Reide craned his neck. "Yes, I think you're right. That's them camped. The rally point should just be a few hundred yards up ahead."

After a few more minutes, Reide pulled the truck over. "All right, everybody out. We're all on foot from here. The assault should start..."
He checked his watch. "...within the next 45 minutes."

Talbot grabbed his equipment and hopped out of the truck bed.

If he's driving us back to town, I'm staying on foot...

Taking a couple steps, he turned to face the rest of the squadron and made a sweeping motion with his arm as he pointed at the ground. "Red and White Flights, fall on on that line!" he called out, "Look sharp! Smythe, see to it!"

As the squadron scrambled to assemble, he addressed them quietly: "This lot might think twice of starting something if they think we're regulars..."

[The Tiger Kingdom]

Peering through the window with his binoculars, about forty minutes into the flight, Page could see it coming from a long, long way out.

The target building (actually, more like target complex, given that there were numerous huts and cabins surrounding the main house) looked out onto a truly staggering view of the veldt - uninterrupted miles of golden countryside, save for the cliff at its back and what looked like woods extending from the cliff around the southern side, marking the beginning of a series of foothills, the stark, jagged outlines of the Magaliese mountains themselves lying behind them. But in front, the only interruption to the gorgeous view was a single dirt road leading right to its door. The windows burned with the sunset.

Must be a pretty nice view from in there, Page dispassionately mused, if they can see anything at all. They'll be looking right into the sun.
He shifted his gaze over to the woods, the edge of which formed the "phase line" marking where the assault would be launched from. Ideally, Noble and That's where Excalibur and the UDF should be parked, if they're on schedule.

He checked his watch. The assault was imminent. Time to check in on the other end of this party.

"Sergeant, raise Blue Flight. Make sure they're in position and ready to attack."
Coetzee saluted, donned his headphones, and began fiddling with the various knobs and switches.
"This is Sword Lead calling Blue Flight. Do you receive, Blue Flight? What is your status?"

[Kouralia]

Alix sighed. "Really, he's just the most - wait...is that the UDF company up ahead?"

Reide craned his neck. "Yes, I think you're right. That's them camped. The rally point should just be a few hundred yards up ahead."

After a few more minutes, Reide pulled the truck over. "All right, everybody out. We're all on foot from here. The assault should start..."
He checked his watch. "...within the next 45 minutes."

Talbot grabbed his equipment and hopped out of the truck bed.

If he's driving us back to town, I'm staying on foot...

Taking a couple steps, he turned to face the rest of the squadron and made a sweeping motion with his arm as he pointed at the ground. "Red and White Flights, fall on on that line!" he called out, "Look sharp! Smythe, see to it!"

As the squadron scrambled to assemble, he addressed them quietly: "This lot might think twice of starting something if they think we're regulars..."

As he jumped down from the lorry, Smythe stood aside until called by Talbot. Despite raising an eyebrow quizzically the SNCO decided to do as bidden, and put on his best strut and shout. "Right! Fall in, Red flight in the front, White at the back!" He called out, unslinging his SMLE and taking control of it and allowing himself a small amount of delight in the bright shine of it in the sunlight. "Everyone ground arms and I want to see all of you taking on water; I'll be wanting excuses if I don't see you downing some of that, and nothing short of a signed-in-triplicate exemption from His Majesty himself will be acceptable!"

[United Kingdom of Poland]

Peering through the window with his binoculars, about forty minutes into the flight, Page could see it coming from a long, long way out.

The target building (actually, more like target complex, given that there were numerous huts and cabins surrounding the main house) looked out onto a truly staggering view of the veldt - uninterrupted miles of golden countryside, save for the cliff at its back and what looked like woods extending from the cliff around the southern side, marking the beginning of a series of foothills, the stark, jagged outlines of the Magaliese mountains themselves lying behind them. But in front, the only interruption to the gorgeous view was a single dirt road leading right to its door. The windows burned with the sunset.

Must be a pretty nice view from in there, Page dispassionately mused, if they can see anything at all. They'll be looking right into the sun.
He shifted his gaze over to the woods, the edge of which formed the "phase line" marking where the assault would be launched from. Ideally, Noble and That's where Excalibur and the UDF should be parked, if they're on schedule.

He checked his watch. The assault was imminent. Time to check in on the other end of this party.

"Sergeant, raise Blue Flight. Make sure they're in position and ready to attack."
Coetzee saluted, donned his headphones, and began fiddling with the various knobs and switches.
"This is Sword Lead calling Blue Flight. Do you receive, Blue Flight? What is your status?"

"Blue lead to Sword lead, blue flight is in position at 5,000 feet. Waiting for your signal, over'
polanski thumbed the safety for his .303 machine guns. While his Spitfire had been armed with a pair of Hispano-sueze 20mm cannons in addition to the 2 remaining .303 calibur machineguns, he was saving those on the off chance that the enemy showed up with a group of fighters, wouldn't be the first....or the second......or the third time intel screwed up in a biblical proportion. Besides 20m shells were overkill in terms of anti infantry weapons, even for nazi scum such as these guys.
"Blue lead to blue flight, we' re going split up into elements and take turns obliterating this place. Sword 10 your with me, 11 and 13 wait until we pull out of our run. That way anyone dumb enough to attempt to get back on a gun to give us a few parting shots will have to worry about two more planes raining death down upon them."

[The Tiger Kingdom]

"Blue lead to Sword lead, blue flight is in position at 5,000 feet. Waiting for your signal, over'

"Copy, Blue Lead. Stand by."
Coetzee turned back. "Blue Flight says they're in position."
Page nodded, still staring out the window. The Anson slowly began to wheel over in a shallow starboard turn, circling the target location from about a thousand feet up.
"Flip it over to the ground force."

---

About twenty minutes earlier...
With little ceremony, Alix jumped out of the truck as soon as it had rolled to a stop, her boots hitting the ground with a muted thunk. Reaching back into the cab, she retrieved her scoped Lee-Enfield and pack, withdrew her canteen, and took a long drag. Even though it was late in the day and the fierce, merciless heat of the morning had begun to subside, it was still terribly hot and humid in a way she'd scarcely ever felt in her life.

In front of them, arrayed with their equipment, was the UDF company assigned to support them. About a hundred men, by Alix's estimate, sat before them, sitting on their haunches, smoking, quietly chatting, and checking their weapons. No fires were lit - no sense giving away their positions by the smoke. Alix quickly looked away and pulled her cap down over her eyes - a little bit to help with the dying glare of the sun, but also mostly to avoid attention.

Reide strolled over from his side, radio gear slung over his shoulder, and waved casually to the few soldiers who stared over at them. "Hey there, fellows. You ready to get this over with and go home?"
A few of them murmured agreement.
"Well, just be sure to be right on our tails if we call you. Almost done here!"

He beckoned Alix and the group to follow him into the bush. Alix pointedly looked in the opposite direction of the group until they'd safely passed. Talbot and Smythe barked out order as they did so, putting on a nice show for the UDFers.
"All right," Reide said offhandedly as they stood at the edge of the forest. "From here on, we're roughing it. It's about twenty minutes' walk from here to the edge of the forest. We'll be able to see the target from there. There could be all sorts of nasty stuff in here - snakes, mostly. Good thing you're all wearing boots, but keep an eye on low-hanging branches, because boomslangs and other rotters like to hang there and get you in the neck or arm if they can. Oh, and also, there might be leopards and things like that. So keep your eyes and ears seriously sharp."

He turned to Alix. "You ready, ma'am?"
Alix steeled herself. "Ready as I'll ever be, I think. Everyone form up and keep quiet unless absolutely necessary. Single file, in squadron order."
She gestured forward. "Lead the way, Lieutenant Reide."

---

For what seemed like an hour, the squadron plodded through the dense woods. The trees were so thick and leafy that it seemed at times like the world had suddenly plunged into full-on night, only broken by tiny slivers of orange sunlight coming through the trees as if from an even greater distance than they normally did, diffused through the leaves and falling on the leaf and branch-strewn ground like shards of colored glass.

Keeping a tense eye out for mambas, cobras, boomslangs, the distinct black bulk of a leopard gazing down from a bough at the forest floor, with golden eye glistening and fangs bared in search of prey, and any other prospective dangerous beasts, Alix found herself far more tormented by all the insect life. The air around them positively swarmed with bugs, some of them in sizes that made her start to shudder if she thought about it for too long. Added in to the fact she felt as though she were sweating like a pig, and the novelty of being in the heart of Africa was swiftly wearing off. Reide, in the lead, seemed much more at ease here, navigating the jungle without a map like he'd been born in it.

Finally, the squadron emerged, blinking, back into the sunlight. before them was the expected veldt plain - and on the distance, sitting on a small rise before the cliff, was the Bloulughuis.
At this point, the radio mounted on Reide's back crackled. "Ground Force, this is Sword Lead. Do you receive? What is your status?"
Reide pulled out the transmitter on the Wireless No. 18. "Lead, this is Ground Force. We're in position, right on the line. Ready to receive orders."

---

"They're all ready, sir."

Page took one final look at the target. There was no sign of enemy activity.
"Looks like that's it, then."
He pulled the binoculars away from his eyes, checked his watch, and heaved a sigh.
"Its time. Tell all elements to go. Let's get this Jackal fucker, right here, right now."
"Understood, sir."

More buzzes and crackles as the Coetzee went about his business.
"All elements, Southern Cross is a go, I repeat, Southern Cross is a go. You are now clear to move on the objectives..."

[Len Hyet]

Silva paled, but started hobbling along with the Major. As he did so, he shot a pleading look at Captain Page from behind Major Cuntler's back. It was truly a masterful look, that somehow managed to incorporate horrific fear, longing, pleading, and a request for a swift bullet to the skull all at the same time. The last is probably more due to Silva's mouthing of the words 'shoot me now', but none the less it was truly a look of utter despair and hopelessness.

Shouldering his BAR grimly, Silva marched onward, praying to Christ for forgiveness and mercy.

A few moments later, the quartet, sole despondent American bringing up the rear, entered one of the Rand administration buildings. Tramping down one of the hallways, they eventually turned and entered a musty, ill-lit room full of stacks of folders and disorganized piles of papers.
"Ah, bugger," Cutler muttered as he entered the room. "Even bloody worse than I remembered. Oh well. Anyways, Lieutenant Silva, this is my office. As you can see, we've been getting some pretty heavy work out of it since we arrived here, setting all this up, and it's a buit of a mess. The native girl who normally comes in here to clean hasn't shown up for the last few days-"
"Shame about that," one of the aides muttered.
"Hm? Oh yes," Cutler replied, a look of gleeful prurient recollection slowly his face. "Couldn't speak English worth a damn, but had an arse like two melon halves...ahem. Anyways, we've got rather a rush on over in the war room, So I was hoping you could help tidy up. You know - just straighten out all these stacks of paper, alphabetize the files, sweep a little - broom's behind the door. Good? Good."
the door slammed shut behind them, leaving Silva alone with his burden.

Silva half raised his arm to object, before the door slammed in his face. He sneered at the wooden portal, muttering under his breath.

"Ugly lecherous sack of bones sonofawhore. Assigning the man with the broken leg to clean up your damn office, goddamn sonofabitch. Woman probably didn't show up because you kept ogling her behind you spawn of satan."

Continuing to mutter under his breath, Silva leaned his Browning Automatic Rifle against the desk, keeping it well within reach, and began shifting a few papers around. The work dragged tediously on, as Cutler seemed to be incapable of keeping his work in even a modicum of order. Silva found a few files from what appeared to be 1937, mixed with a pair of files from 1940. He heaved one stack that seemed relatively in order into a filing cabinet, uncovering a small portable radio that had been hidden beneath the piles of disorderly files. Silva looked at it in surprise, and flipped it on experimentally. A small plaque at the top read "RECEIVER N^o 18 MKIII SER. N^o 10232". Silva got nothing but static for a minute, before finding a card stuck to the side of the radio with the codes and frequencies for various transmissions. One of them was marked, in a hardly legible scrawl, "op so cross, freq 14.2". With a shrug, Silva turned to 14.2, just in time to hear Coetzee say "Southern Cross is a go".

[Kouralia]

"All elements, Southern Cross is a go, I repeat, Southern Cross is a go. You are now clear to move on the objectives..."

Despite the inherent problems of being smartly attired in uniform that shouldn't really be used for fighting under the best of circumstances, let alone for fighting in the sweltering heat of Africa, Smythe was silent and professionally complaint-less as he made his way through the woods with the rest of the squadron. As they made their way to the treeline, Smythe took a knee in the shade and the cover from view of the Blooghuss or whatever it was called until the order came in from Page to move out. As he waited, the SNCO gently reached up and removed the bayonet from his rifle, wiping the flats of the blade against his trouser leg to remove any bugs or other dirt before he sheathed it - not wanting the glint symptomatic of a Good Soldier^TM to give away their position. A similar precaution to one Smythe had taken on the cliff-top raid operation.

Taking another sip from his water bottle, the SNCO just put it away when the orders came down from Page, and he glanced to Ms Noble to see how they were going to advance before he moved off.

[The Tiger Kingdom]

"Copy, Lead. We'll have this place in a snap."
Reide hung up the transmitter and brought his P14 Rifle to bear.

"All right, the game's afoot. Looks like it's on you now, Flight Lieutenant."
Alix scanned up and down the line, checking one last time to make sure that everybody was in position. She took a deep breath, and turned to the target ahead, scanning the topography and reconciling it with the maps she'd studied on the voyage over, conforming the rough battle plan she'd sketched out in her head with the target now confronting her.

"Okay. All of you, keep low and move to the slope. We'll take cover up against it, and then see if we can line up a shot from there. Six-foot spacing. Come on."

Her leading the way, the group began to slowly creep across the veldt, the golden vegetation gently rustling as they passed through it. Alix's eyes were absolutely peeled on the buildings for any sign of activity.
Closer and closer they crept, low to the ground -
And then something glinted from the veranda of the main building that hadn't been there a moment before.

Alix flung herself to the ground, and seeing that her head hadn't been blown off by a sniper, slowly reached for her field glasses. Putting them to her eyes, she could see that the glint had been from an enemy pair of binoculars - two OB riflemen, standing on the veranda, looking off and pointing into the distance.
Looks like they noticed the Anson.
She reached for her Enfield, and carefully, deliberately, lined up a shot on the one standing to the right.
"Two ahead, on the balcony," she whispered. "I've got the right one - anybody have a line on the left?"

[Goram]

Stanford crouched low on the assault line, after the seemingly endless trek through the tracks of virtually impassable jungle. Following Symthe's lead, the Flying Officer unclipped the long bayonet from the end of his rifle and sheathed it on his belt. The blade had been somewhat useful for hacking through the undergrowth (though a machete might have been better suited), but now the glint of light on the long blade could give away their position. He took his half full canteen and took deep drink. The water was as hot as tea, but the liquid was welcome - it had certainly not been cool work as the squadron moved through the jungle. In the distance, he could see the objective. It seemed simple enough, but that was an awfully large expanse of relatively open ground to cover before they got there - if anyone saw them as they crossed the veldt, there would be hell to pay.

Stanford holstered his canteen as the "Go" order was transmitted. Almost without thinking, his hand strayed to the Browning which sat snugly in the hand made leather holster on his hip. He inspected the pistol in his hand, before drawing back the slide and releasing it. The weapon made a series of mechanical clicks as the bolt moved back and forth, collecting one of the thirteen 9mm rounds and depositing it in the chamber. Stanford replaced the weapon, before working the bolt on the Enfield to make the weapon ready. He had not moved though the jungle with a round in the chamber, for fear of an accidental discharge which could easily have alerted the OB to the impending assault.

The assault team moved fast and low, hugging the ground. Suddenly, at a distance of no more than 50 yards, Noble flung herself to the ground and the rest of the unit followed suit. Two men appeared to have alighted and were scoping an aircraft, presumably the Anson, with a pair of binoculars.

I've got the right one - anybody have a line on the left?

Noble whispered. Stanford crawled forward a yard or two, in order to draw relatively level with the Flight Lieutenant. He shouldered his weapon and aligned the sights with the man on the left, taking the utmost care. This was not a shot that he could afford to miss.

"I've got him. On your mark."

Stanford hissed.

[The Tiger Kingdom]

I've got the right one - anybody have a line on the left?

Noble whispered. Stanford crawled forward a yard or two, in order to draw relatively level with the Flight Lieutenant. He shouldered his weapon and aligned the sights with the man on the left, taking the utmost care. This was not a shot that he could afford to miss.

"I've got him. On your mark."

Stanford hissed.

Alix breathed out like she'd been taught. Just like back on the range, the scope steadied.
"3...2...1...fire."

The veldt plain, silent save for the gentle rustling of the grass in the wind, exploded with the noise of the twin blasts. Alix saw her target collapse below her sight line onto the veranda, the shot landing perfectly. For a second, the sound reverberated - and then the sound of an alarm screamed out across the plain. It was quickly joined by confused, inaccurate/random rifle fire coming from the complex, as well as what sounded like several Germans yelling angrily while also choking to death on a loaf of thick bread - probably Afrikaans.
"Well, so much for subtlety."

With that, she removed one of her smoke grenades, pulled the pin, and tossed it over the rim of the rise. It quickly detonated, and, with a hiss, began emitting heavy, white smoke, shrouding the scene. Rising to her knee, she motioned the group forward, over the top.

"That's it - everyone, close and engage! Red Flight, take the western buildings, White takes the eastern ones, and we'll meet up at the main building once it's clear! Reide, with Red!"

The group split, charging into the smoke, intermittent rifle fire still cracking out...

[Morrdh]

The sun was getting close to the horizon when Blue Flight arrived over the target, the ground assault already underway as can be seen by the flashes of gunfire and the smoke. Though Charlie kept an eye on the sky itself, wary of some Jerry fighters suddenly appearing out from behind a cloud. He couldn't help but feel that it seemed that it had been almost too easy, from the look of things they'd caught the OB unawares and Blue Flight had complete mastery of the skies.

Surely he was just being paranoid?