Stairway to Heaven [IC]

[Occupied Deutschland]

Claire slid into the ad-hoc trench Jackie had made as far away as she could from Mason's position. She was annoyed at having to follow the directions of the over-organized soldier. Even if it was the right course of action, she couldn't help but be angry about doing it. However, when the alternative was getting shot, she could make an exception. Even if doing so did make it incredibly tempting to send a round into the man's back.

The waste of ammunition that doing so would be, however, argued against it. There were perfectly serviceable victims shooting at her right that moment. The demons could actually kill her, and could actually be killed themselves. The sensible and proper thing to do would be to fire back at them. Knowing that just made the temptation to jam the muzzle of her rifle into Mason's side and empty a magazine that much worse, though.

Snarling at her inability to shoot her supposed comrade in the back with any likely effect, Claire regrettably decided that the second-best choice was better than not winning anything in the game of killing. Claire slid the tab on her sight forward and then leaned over the trench.

Her shots were stress relief more than anything else, sent to make her feel better rather than do any real damage to the aerosanis--which were just as ridiculous-looking as she'd imagined they would be. She didn't see any immediate effect from the dozen or so potshots she'd taken, not that she'd be able to through iron sights at the range the sleds were still at. But it did make her feel better.

Claire ducked back into the bottom of the trench before the return-fire could endanger her own precious self and began crawling sideways so she wouldn't appear in the same spot if she repeated the action. Who would have imagined the same principles for fighting law enforcement on Earth could apply to fighting demons in Hell? There was a dramatic irony there, but Claire wasn't sure if it was entirely fair to compare the servants of Satan to policeman or such. The demons were more honest. Probably better people too. She already liked the demons in their small group more than she had any pig back on Earth.

"Anytime you wanna sound off with that Buck Rogers-y shitshow of a sniper rifle you got would be a good one, senor!" Claire yelled at Mason from her safe position below him as she readjusted the distance leaf on her rear sight.

[Reverend Norv]

Mason didn't look away from his scope, but he could feel Lycaon accelerate past him in a blast of freezing air, and then a rush of flame erupted in the far distance. A moment more, and Mason could hear the whirr and snap of bullets passing close around his head - and a crash of metal and flesh as Lycaon crashed into the trench nearby. The aerosanis were accelerating now, their heavy weapons going cyclic so that bullets chewed through the snow and ice around the trench. Thanks to Lycaon, they clearly knew exactly where the HARPers were. The dog has no idea how to follow orders. That irked Mason; it offended his sense of professional pride.

But the sniper still did not look away from his scope. "If we survive this," Mason growled out of the corner of his mouth in Lycaon's general direction, "I am going to get you an obedience trainer, whelp."

Claire ducked for cover lower in the trench next to Mason as bullets whined through the air where she had been standing a moment before. "Anytime you wanna sound off with that Buck Rogers-y shitshow of a sniper rifle you got would be a good one, senor!"

Mason's breathing was even, calm, almost gentle. "All good things come," he murmured almost too softly to be heard, "to those who wait."

The aerosanis were a kilometer away, Mason estimated. It was a perfect shot: the air was clear and cold, and there was no wind. Mason wondered briefly about the Coriolis effect - is hell a planet? - and then decided to ignore it. He gently adjusted the elevation knob on his scope, keeping track of the movement of the sleds. Nine-seventy-five meters. Nine-fifty. The sniper's finger moved to the MSR's trigger, and he flicked the safety off, his as breathing slow and even as if he were falling asleep. Nine-twenty-five. Without conscious decision, the crosshairs of Mason's scope settled over the left steering joint of the farthest-right war sled. The sniper's finger squeezed slowly, slowly, back to just before the trigger's breaking point, and his breath sighed out, and then suddenly the target was moving over totally flat ice, still as a statue in Mason's scope, and the MSR let out its supersonic bark and thumped Mason's shoulder as it fired.

The sniper paused for a heartbeat to assess the effect of his shot, working the bolt as he did so. Ordinarily, he would switch positions after each shot - but in a trench this small, that seemed unlikely to make a difference in the amount of incoming fire to which he was exposed. So instead, Mason's crosshairs glided on to the next aerosani, and after an eternal moment, the rifle barked again.

[Nekronia]

Almost immediately after he had flung the grenade, Jackie was hit with a barrage of comments. Under his scarf, resident asshole Jackie Friedman was quietly cackling to himself. Even the spree-killing, rape-falsifying, drug-using crimelord called him a 'crazy dancing bastard'. Then hidden smile was wiped off by a wave of concern and nervousness relating to his context. No, it wasn't the fact that he made half the group yell at him, that warranted cackles from him. No, it wasn't the fact that there were heavily-armed vehicles charging straight at his position. It was because he suddenly realized that there was a small chance Claire understood his bizarre monologue. She didn't, no one did, but John realized he probably edged a bit too close there so he backed off. Glad his face was still covering his embarrassment at the hypothetical, he ignored the feeling and resumed being a frivolous bastard by moonwalking into the trench. Hey, if the enemies are out of range, why not have fun with it?

Mason's orders to take cover and have the melee troops prepare an ambush were well-founded and one of the best decisions. However, Jackie viewed 'take cover in the trench and attack the enemy when they're in range as they approach' to be a relatively obvious and straightforward thing not deserving of much merit. Good thinking, Mason. Shoot the enemy and don't get shot. What's your next order? Point the gun at them in order to hit them? Pulling the trigger will shoot the gun? Don't eat yellow snow? ...Oh God, Mason's the tutorial guy. UuuuuuugggGGGHHHH.

Becoming irritated with the elite sniper and feeling his stress and anger stop their recession, the teen proceeded to... sit down and relax. He rested his rear and legs on the warm, thin, metal streak left over from the thermate grenade that was rapidly cooled to tolerable temperatures by the unnaturally cold environment. Aaaah, finally. My feet've been fucking freezing out here. Okay, let's see what else I've gotta do...

Lycaon's sonic assault gave Jackie an idea, and shifted his plan slightly to adapt to this new information on the nonmundane capabilities of the party. However, this would require cooperation with his allies, most of whom didn't exactly have a high opinion of the bony brat. Jackie's scheme was going to be mostly revealed since he had to convince someone. Despite this, Jackie wasn't too worried about convincing at least one of his allies to go through with what he had in mind. Jackie began casually fiddling with his iPod and getting his slingshot loaded up with metal pellets as he started talking. "While blowing up the badguys might be all well and fun, it might be better if we keep a couple less-destroyed. We'll be able to travel much faster if we hijack some of Satan's sleighs. Also my feet are cold."

Ignoring the fact that he could have easily avoided his irritated feet had he used the more suitable boots from earlier, he continued his speech with regards towards Lexi and Lycaon, whom he presumed had sufficient ability to undertake the task given their nonhuman nature. "Hey, could one of you two stick around and throw me into one of the sleds once they get close and aren't a kilometer away or whatever? I have a fun idea." Jackie's plan combined the knowledge that the group can't hurt eachother (so getting hurled violently would be effectively harmless), the demons tend to have superhuman abilities (so they CAN hurl him violently), Jackie's weapons were almost all close-range, and there's fucking miniguns on the sleds that were shooting at the HARPers. This next step of Jackie's plan could best be summarized as a slightly less destructive but certainly more amusing version of Lycaon's sudden charge. Also with more rock n' roll. Waiting for the sleds' approach, John began silently singing in his head as he finished his preparations. ♪Are ya happy, are ya satisfied? How long can ya stand the heat? Outta the doorway, the bullets rip! To the sound of the beat! (Look out!)♪

...

GOD FUCKING DAMN IT I MISSED THE PERFECT CHANCE TO REFERENCE KILLER QUEEN EARLIER. FUCK. CLAIRE BLEW THE LYCAN'S BRAINS OUT WHO RIPPED MY ARMS OFF. UUGGHGHGHHH.

[Barapam]

Daniel fired away at the aerosanis with his MP40, and he felt alive again. This was what he knew, what he was made for. The demons crouched inside, but hopefully he ould still manage to take their sleighs out. It had been 70 years since the last time, he reflected, so he might be a little rusty, but his anger and devotion made up for some of it. At least he hoped so, and hoisted away one of his staff grenades.

Down in the trench again, reload. What was Jackie saying? Hmm. Not a bad idea. "Go and let our demons throw you!" he screamed to the boy. "Although I'm eager to toss you myself!" The symphony of bullets, screams, and explosions played, this was Daniel's music. Almost as good as classic, old-timey tunes on accordion. And certainly much better than the modern shit Jackie was likely listening to in his little radio. He turned his head and spoke directly to the little brat.

"Look, you punk. I'll give you one of my grenades. Don't waste it." He handed it to John. It was not only to be nice or helpful, a large part of him hoped the kid would die while executing his daring plan. One competitor less, and hopefully a lot less enemy demons. Win-win.

[Nekronia]

I mean come ON! I even made that double-reference earlier with-

Daniel fired away at the aerosanis with his MP40, and he felt alive again. This was what he knew, what he was made for. The demons crouched inside, but hopefully he ould still manage to take their sleighs out. It had been 70 years since the last time, he reflected, so he might be a little rusty, but his anger and devotion made up for some of it. At least he hoped so, and hoisted away one of his staff grenades.

Down in the trench again, reload. What was Jackie saying? Hmm. Not a bad idea. "Go and let our demons throw you!" he screamed to the boy. "Although I'm eager to toss you myself!" The symphony of bullets, screams, and explosions played, this was Daniel's music. Almost as good as classic, old-timey tunes on accordion. And certainly much better than the modern shit Jackie was likely listening to in his little radio. He turned his head and spoke directly to the little brat.

"Look, you punk. I'll give you one of my grenades. Don't waste it." He handed it to John. It was not only to be nice or helpful, a large part of him hoped the kid would die while executing his daring plan. One competitor less, and hopefully a lot less enemy demons. Win-win.

Finishing up his preparations for Operation Brass Cannon Balls, Jackie put his iPod back in his pocket with the prepared song just a press away. He calmly took the retro 'nade from the Norwegian with his hand that didn't have a slingshot, and politely thanked the Nazi for the explosive gift. "Dankeschön, Kamerad~"

It was the first direct favor anyone in the group did for John (aside from Claire's self-indulgent experiment on Lycaon's brains), but don't worry about the polite thanks: Our resident shithead didn't even take a beat to start mentally ranting about Daniel's act, and it had nothing to do with the whole being eager to toss Jackie himself or calling the punk what he was. Oh, yeah, give me a grenade to use while I'm hijacking a sled without anything else near me. Yeah, reeeaaal subtle with your suggestion that I go choose my own fate. Really? No one thinks I can pull this off? Well, I should probably expect that from people who stubbornly engage in standard consensus reality's logic in the face of conflicting evidence.

The teen that was still using the warm metal streak on the floor as a seat warmer remained seated, even as the enemy approached and as he rambled in his head about the topic of consensus reality. Consensus reality is for lazy people and communists! Speaking of things conflicting consensus reality, the trickster firmly placed the explosive in his satchel and wondered if he should take off his scarf for the bizarre mission. It would be good to do so as it would remove the risk of being a background 'mook', but it would be very inconvenient to get one's own face and eyes frozen off from the wind of flying in antarctic temperatures. Decisions, decisions...

"Dankeschön, Kamerad~" is German for "Thank you very much, comrade~"

[Rupudska]

Lycaon's sonic assault gave Jackie an idea, and shifted his plan slightly to adapt to this new information on the nonmundane capabilities of the party. However, this would require cooperation with his allies, most of whom didn't exactly have a high opinion of the bony brat. Jackie's scheme was going to be mostly revealed since he had to convince someone. Despite this, Jackie wasn't too worried about convincing at least one of his allies to go through with what he had in mind. Jackie began casually fiddling with his iPod and getting his slingshot loaded up with metal pellets as he started talking. "While blowing up the badguys might be all well and fun, it might be better if we keep a couple less-destroyed. We'll be able to travel much faster if we hijack some of Satan's sleighs. Also my feet are cold."

"Call me crazy, but the nutcase is starting to make sense," Anna said as she somewhat aimlessly fired in the general direction of the path of one of the aerosanis, peppering its side but otherwise not doing much damage. It did, however, cause said aersoani's turret to turn her way and open fire. She only narrowly dodged it in time.

"Hey! Sniper guy! Think you can take the crew of at least one of those things out? Without doing too much damage to it?"

[Occupied Deutschland]

..."While blowing up the badguys might be all well and fun, it might be better if we keep a couple less-destroyed. We'll be able to travel much faster if we hijack some of Satan's sleighs. Also my feet are cold."

Ignoring the fact that he could have easily avoided his irritated feet had he used the more suitable boots from earlier, he continued his speech with regards towards Lexi and Lycaon, whom he presumed had sufficient ability to undertake the task given their nonhuman nature. "Hey, could one of you two stick around and throw me into one of the sleds once they get close and aren't a kilometer away or whatever? I have a fun idea." ...

Claire raised an eyebrow as she replaced a half-empty magazine in her rifle. "Let me get this straight. You want to get thrown onto a passing sled going who-knows how fast, full of psychotic demons intent on re-killing you...So you can take it over like some kind of pirate?" Claire's voice dripped with sarcasm and disdain.

Then she smiled.

"Damn, I knew you were going to be fun to have around, but I didn't expect it to pay off this quick!" Claire yelled, giggling slightly at just how ridiculously entertaining the plan was. It was the kind of melodramatic over-the-top kind of shit that would never work in the real world. Of course, the same could be said of many things that had happened in the real world, and besides that, they weren’t in the ‘real world’ as she recognized it. They were breaking out from Hell with explicit permission from On-High to shoot as many demons as they wanted to on the way out. Breaking out from Hell seemed like an appropriate time for risky stunts. What was the worst that could happen? They die again and have to put up with Hell’s bullshit for another however-many years? Or maybe they’d just poof into nonexistence. Who knew. Who cared? Claire had been prepared for the latter for her whole life on earth, and the former wasn’t all that worrying anymore. More pain, whoop-de-fucking-shit. She wasn’t some psychopath who could deal it but not take it.

Claire absently wondered just what demons themselves could feel. If they could dish it out but not ‘take it’, as it were. If Lycaon was any example, they could take offense to things and get mad. Perhaps they could be surprised, then? Tossing Jackie at them seemed like an easy way of figuring that one out, and if they could be surprised, maybe they could also be afraid. It was so much more stimulating to kill people who could feel fear. It gave one so many more interesting routes to take towards their goal.

And if demons could feel fear…Well, what was so different between them and angels?

“This I gotta see.”

[Reverend Norv]

Crosshairs over an engine vent. Lead the target. No-mind. Breath comes in, breath goes out - Mason's rifle cracked again, sending a bullet speeding downrange. Without a glance at his target, the sniper ducked back into the trench and shifted positions, working his rifle's bolt as he did so.

At the same time, Mason listened with half an ear to the plan being developed around him. Apparently, Jackie was going to be hurled at one of the sleds in an attempt to hijack it. That was a truly, truly horrible idea, if for no other reason than that in a collision between a bony teenager moving at a hundred kilometers per hour and an armored snowmobile moving at a hundred kilometers per hour, the snowmobile was guaranteed to win. But Mason did not particularly mind Jackie's ignorance of physics. The kid was going to be dead weight anyway. Let him get splattered all over an aerosani. The rest of us will move the faster for it.

Mason chose a new firing position at the far left end of the trench and arose. A bullet whined by his head; the sniper lined up a shot at the side armor of an aerosani just thirty meters away - close enough for a .338 round to have a good chance of penetrating - and fired. Then he ducked back into the trench as another burst of minigun fire roared over his head.

The one part of Jackie's plan that Mason could appreciate was the idea of hijacking one or more of the enemy sleds. We'll be able to move across country much faster that way. And since there's no natural cover in this landscape, our only safety is in speed: we have to outrun whoever's searching for us.

Given that Jackie's own plan seemed unlikely to result in anything but a red smear on the armor of one of the war-sleds, Mason realized that he was going to have to acquire one of the aerosanis for himself. Anna - the confrontational woman who had argued with the Nazis - seemed to have the same idea.

"Hey!" she shouted. "Sniper guy! Think you can take the crew of at least one of those things out? Without doing too much damage to it?"

"Call me Mason," the American growled. "Or Asim. Your choice." He hurried down the trench. "I'll give it a shot." A brief smile flickered over Mason's face as he realized his own unintentional pun.

And then Mason took a deep breath and stood up in the trench. He could hear his heart beat, calm and steady and regular and seemingly very far away. The stillness within enfolded him, embracing him like the wings of a great bird. There was no fear, no nervousness, no sense of obligation or urgency. A bullet cracked by Mason's cheek, and he felt himself blink once. He knew that in the next five seconds he would kill, or die. Maybe he would do both. And the difference between those three possible futures seemed inconsequential.

Mason raised his MSR, and braced the bipod in the snow. An aerosani spotted him and turned toward the trench. Its minigun spat death, a line of tracers marching through the air toward Mason's head. The war-sled itself accelerated directly toward the sniper. There was one gap in the vehicle's front armor: a long, narrow rectangle of some kind of armored glass. The viewport. Mason's crosshairs settled over that rectangle; the sniper felt his breath rasp in and out, turning to ice in the freezing air. The tracers chewed their way toward him, just a meter away now. On the other side of the aerosani's viewport, Mason could swear that he could see a pair of eyes.

The crosshairs of Mason's scope were centered directly over the viewport. The sniper let out a breath, and he was almost surprised when his rifle thumped back into his shoulder. Moving rapidly, Mason worked the bolt and fired again, aiming once again for the viewport. And then he dropped flat to the bottom of the trench as the line of tracers reached him at last, sending shattered ice cascading down over the sniper. Mason crawled a few meters down the trench, and then cautiously arose, glancing around so as to gauge the effects of his shooting.

[Malshan]

Ignoring the fact that he could have easily avoided his irritated feet had he used the more suitable boots from earlier, he continued his speech with regards towards Lexi and Lycaon, whom he presumed had sufficient ability to undertake the task given their nonhuman nature. "Hey, could one of you two stick around and throw me into one of the sleds once they get close and aren't a kilometer away or whatever? I have a fun idea."

Lycaon dug himself out of the crater and stood amidst the flying specks of metal, howling defiantly at the remaining aerosanis and growling a bit as a few bullets scraped a few scraps of fur off from a few unarmored portions of his body. When Jackie stated his plan, Lycaon's visage immediately broke into a facsimile of a human smile.

Trotting over to where Jackie was standing, Lycaon sniffed the air around him, grimacing at the potent stench of humanity clinging to the child. His bones cracked and popped as they re-arranged themselves to allow the wolfman to stand. As he did so, the armor melded around him, transforming into a full armor set covering his chest, arms, legs, and neck, leaving his head exposed. A fine helmet settled down onto his head, covering his long muzzle.

Grimacing a bit, Lycaon hefted Jackie upwards, adopting the stance of a seasoned warrior well familiar with a javelin. He drew Jackie back and, compensating for the distinctly un-aerodynamic form of the human, quickly hop-skipped and launched Jackie out toward the approaching aerosanis, having selected the rear-most one as the target.

Jackie flew true, heading directly for the approaching aerosani's driver's viewport. Provided that he didn't bounce off....

[Nekronia]

Claire raised an eyebrow as she replaced a half-empty magazine in her rifle. "Let me get this straight. You want to get thrown onto a passing sled going who-knows how fast, full of psychotic demons intent on re-killing you...So you can take it over like some kind of pirate?" Claire's voice dripped with sarcasm and disdain.

Then she smiled.

"Damn, I knew you were going to be fun to have around, but I didn't expect it to pay off this quick!" Claire yelled, giggling slightly at just how ridiculously entertaining the plan was.
[...]“This I gotta see.”

Jackie turned and smiled warmly again at the spree-killing druglord, satisfied with her response. 'Senpai noticed me!' Uguu weeb-chan, nyaaaaan~ Good ol' Claire, always there to cheer Jackie u-

Grimacing a bit, Lycaon hefted Jackie upwards, adopting the stance of a seasoned warrior well familiar with a javelin. He drew Jackie back and, compensating for the distinctly un-aerodynamic form of the human, quickly hop-skipped and launched Jackie out toward the approaching aerosanis, having selected the rear-most one as the target.

Jackie flew true, heading directly for the approaching aerosani's driver's viewport. Provided that he didn't bounce off....

Good ol' Lycaon, always there to horribly maim Jackie.

Immediately after take-off, John pushed a button on the prepared iPod in his pocket, leading to the bony projectile blaring music obligatory for any such insane endeavor. Jackie-ass twisted his body around and pulled back his slingshot, the air resistance on the pocket being a slight boost. His mid-air maneuver intentionally resulted in him now going to collide with the target sled with his legs and rear instead of his face, as the damage was going to be negated while being stunned and losing control of the slingshot would not.

"YIPPEE KI-YAY!"

The war sled eventually noticed the thin blur rapidly speeding towards it, and opened fire shortly before the impact, but with the only landed hit being a grazing shot to the face before impact, it failed to stop the missile. CRUNCH!

... Okay that wasn't exactly as planned. Jackie managed to severely dent the vehicle, break the viewport, slam two of the demonic passengers onto their backs, and get himself bounced forwards off of the vehicle. Regarding his blood staining the ice and vehicle, his loudly-crunching bones and flesh in the lower third of his body, being grazed, and the fact he was hurling through the air infront of a hostile armed vehicle. OW FUCKING GOD DAMN IT WHY DOES THIS EVEN- Oh, wait, right. Hurtling to my death. I should probably do something. Okay, at this speed it's just like skydiving except more kill-y and anime-y. Adjust aerodynamics to manipulate wind resistance, shift body to achieve, note sled speed, aaaand...!

The airborne asshole changed position in mid-air in order to use his body as a parachute. Or a sail. In any case, he angled his body to match his velocity to the sled. From a person standing still, they were both still moving around fast. From the sled's perspective, there was some human floating for a moment infront of the sled like he was trying to sit down or something. Taking advantage of the bizarre, unexpected moment of surprise and stunning, Jackie released the blessed payload and sprayed the surprised demons infront of him with the slingshot. He gently readjusted his posture, straightening up, and fell into the hijacked vehicle with an anticlimactic thud as his newly-regenerated legs made contact with the speed-matched sled. "Y'all just got shanghai'd, bitches~!"

Jackie glanced around at what he did. He just killed several people. It was the first time he had ever seen someone he had killed, and even then it was always some sort of proxy murder or otherwise distanced killing without carrying out the deed himself. It very different. Very, very different. He didn't feel guilty for what he did, as he felt completely justified (They're just bits of data in a machine, and they were trying to kill him, and conflict is sacred, and so on), but he certainly didn't feel comfortable with actually killing someone. One of the mortally wounded yuki-onna twitched, interrupting the killer's approaching overload and prompting a quickdraw of his sawn-off shotgun and pulling the trigger for the salt-loaded barrel to stun and wound the demon. "Oooooh, SOD OFF!" In this instant, he had proved his earlier monologue about shells in sawed-off shotguns to be incorrect. Given that he isn't a gun-nut, it is understandable that he was unaware of the choke that is located in the tip of shotguns to intentionally limit shot spread. This would have little effect on his bolo rounds, however his shotgun would be less accurate for a reason he mentally stated earlier: recoil. The same recoil that made the weak show-off accidentally hit himself in the face with the shotgun due to not being prepared for it. At least he blasted multiple people in the sled with the salt, though.

The bruised trickster rubbed his face before putting a fresh rocksalt shell in the handcannon, and resumed looking at his work. Blood everywhere, scratches everywhere, it was a mess. It was... it was very something. Feeling a major anxiety attack trying to get into position to strangle him, he made a decision to distract himself from his messy deed so he could remain productive and not be a wreck in the middle of the fight. Of course, being Jackie, he did it in a way that would seem counterproductive and ridiculous. He raised his hands so they were at shoulder level, as though to surrender. "Hola, me llamo Piscina de la Muerte!" He brought his hands together as though to pray, then made a circle with his right hand. He stuffed his right hand into the circle, and seemingly pulled out his military knife out of nowhere. After his cliche ace-up-the-sleeve trick, he proceeded to distract himself from the anxiety of killing several people by venting his pent-up stress and frustration from earlier events (several years in a phobia-centered mental prison, a tenure in Hell, and frustration with comrades will build that up, y'know) on the bodies in a method akin to using a punching bag. A few moments of getting himself covered in blood again and quintuple-checking everything in a several meter radius was dead, he was sufficiently distracted from the killing with grave-desecration and was a bit tired. He put his knife back up his sleeve and stumbled over to the unmanned controls.


"...Maaaaaybe I should have figured out how I'm supposed to drive one of these things before commandeering one... is this the 'W' key...? I think this is the 'W' key. Dammit, where's tutorial guy when you need him? OKAY NOPE THAT'S THE 'S' KEY. Uuuh... okay THAT is 'W', now that is 'A', and that is 'D'. Alright, now..." The monologuing asshole began flooring it towards the trench in the back of the aerosanis' formation as before, crouching down to avoid being seen to attempt to make it seem like the intruder was dealt with and the formation (and 'crouch down to avoid fire' tactic) was resumed. It was also for the corpses to absorb incoming bullets if the cheap trick failed to hold water. Cover is useful!

...Fuck, what do I do now? Uhhh... dammit, I hate this itchy rash, it's killing me. John tried to formulate a plan of action that did not include throwing an unarmored sled at a half-dozen vehicles mounted with machineguns.

"Hola, me llamo Piscina de la Muerte!": Spanish for "Hello, my name is Pool of the Death!"


"shanghai'd": It's technically English, but it's a pun that relies on multiple dialects.

[Barapam]

"Dankeschön, Kamerad~"

Daniel just grunted in response and continued to defend himself against the enemy. Or rather, he would have, unless something half buried down in the trench caught his eyes' attention. It looked like a Molotov cocktail, but upon further inspection it became clear that it was in fact a bottle of Chilean red wine: "Casillero del Diablo". Another stupid pun.

Usually Daniel didn't like wine, but there was nothing usual about this situation. And hey, at least it was alcohol. He took his gloves off and screwed off the cork. He deserved a drink after all he'd been through, in life as well as the afterlife. Bullets and grenades rained over the trench, but for him there was only the devil in the bottle. Nothing else existed in that moment.

Either his tolerance had decreased during his long entrapment in the ice or the wine was a lot stronger than the 13 % the etiquette said. Either way he soon felt the sweet buzz of slight intoxication. He gradually got vaguely aware of his surroundings again. Perhaps it was time to take action once more.

The wine bottle went down his backpack and he picked up his weapons once more. In an act of what one could mistake for altruism he provided cover fire for Jackie as he stabbed the already dead Yuki-onnas. He had missed to witness Lycaon throw him away when he drank, but it seemed to have worked. Maybe there was hope for the boy after all, he thought with a grim smile. The SS soldier felt his Scandinavian blood boil in his veins, and was taken by a wild berserker joy as the bullets flew from both allies and foes. He began to sing.

"På vikingtokt til fremmed land, dro menn av nordisk ætt! På kongeskip sto mann ved mann, av Hirden kamp beredt. Til Island og Grønland og Hjaltland! Gikk ferden på langskip mot vest! I Frankrike, Irland og England, var nordmannen ubuden gjest.

Ja, fienden de måtte vike! Selv paven han tapte sin makt! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Ja, for til vern om det stornorske riket, stod trofaste Hirdmenn på vakt!

Så reiser vi en Hird på ny, av Vidkun Quislings menn. Og her i gamle Oslo by, står Vikingkorpset frem.

Se baunene lyser fra fjellet! Bærer bud om den nye tid! Og baunenes lys skal fortelle, om hirdmenn som fylkes til strid!

Ja, fienden atter skal vike, og pampene tape sin makt!
Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!
Ja, for til vern om det stornorske riket,
stod trofaste Hirdmenn på vakt!"

For a short while he almost believed he was back with his friends in his old SS unit, and the fjells around them looked more beautiful than ever, covered in blood as they were.

On Viking raids to foreign lands, went men of Nordic heritage! On kingships stood man by man, of the Hird battle ready! To Iceland and Greenland and Shetland! Went the voyage on longships towards West! In France, Ireland and England, was the Norseman an uninvited guest.

Yes, the enemy had to give away! Even the Pope lost his power! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! As the protection of the Great Norwegian Kingdom, stood faithful Hird men on guard!

So we raise an Hird again, of Vidkun Quisling's men. And here in old Oslo city, stands the Viking corps up.

See the beacons light from the mountains! Bear news of the era! And the light of the beacons shall tell, about Hird men who readies for battle.

Yes, the enemy once more shall give away, even the bosses(derogatory) loose their power!
Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!
As the protection of the Great Norwegian Kingdom,
Stood faithful Hird men on guard!