Times Are'a Changing IC

[Shadowwell]

Times Are'a Changin' IC

Times Are’a Changin'
WB — IC(here) —OOC

Story So Far

The year is 1942, it has been around 8 months since Operation Barbarossa, when the Germans invaded the Soviet Union. It has been around a month since Pearl Harbor, when the Japanese destroyed nearly the entire Pacific Fleet. The Day is January 7th, one of the last days of the Siege of Moscow, and when the Japanese invaded multiple U.S. held island chains in the Pacific.

[Shadowwell]

Allied Team
En Route to Libya

The Allied Supers, had all finally arrived on the ship, it was taking them, to Libya, to reinforce a British position there. On the way to El Aghelia the team would get to know each other and such. The team was formed of many nationalities, from Americans, to the British to a Belgian man. Currently, all the members of the team were gathered in the Mess Hall of the Ship. It was large enough to seat 30 or 40 people easily, or more. Right now however, the chairs and tables were all arranged in a crescent, facing the front of the room.

Everyone would be able to get food and such, when needed, though the briefing itself was more important. In the front of the room, stood a tall man, whose appearance screamed soldier, and that is what he was. He was the Patriot, one of the U.S.’s premier Supers. He gazed at the assembled Supers before he opened his mouth and spoke. “You all are here, to help your countries, well most of you. I am Andrew West, though; you would probably know me better as the Patriot. You all have been assembled, as a team, we are going to be the unit that fights against Germany and their allies, more specifically against their Supers.”

He paused for a moment, and swept his gaze over them, once more before continuing. “It was decided that I would be made the leader, I find this acceptable, as I have some of the most experience, though we all have some amount. This gentlemen here.” Andrew paused as he gestured towards an older Englishman next to him. “Is the Colonel, he was one of the first Supers to act in combat, and he will be assisting us, and advising, as out of all of us, he has the most combat experience, for the most part.”

He paused once more, as the Colonel took a seat, before Andrew continued. “We are on our way to reinforce the British position at El Aghelia, which is a coastal town in Libya. The Brits have been fighting against the Italians and the Germans for ground in Libya for a while, Rommel hasn’t made their fight easy. When we arrive we will get a full briefing on the matter. Any Questions so far?” As he finished speaking, he gazed out at each of the supers before taking an at ease pose and waiting.

---

Soviet team
Hidden Bunker, The Front.

A tall, heavily built man, with pale, almost blue skin was pacing before a group of assembled Soviets. They were to be the force that would assist in pushing the Germans back, from the front, then they would assist elsewhere when the Germans were forced back. “It has been months since the Germans betrayed us and the Motherland. That is too long a time, for too long have they ravaged Mother Russia, for too long have they pushed us back.” The pale man, General Winter, paused briefly in his speech before continuing.

“Now, the Germans have felt the Wintry embrace of Mother Russia, and they are out there right now, frozen. They seek to run from us and the embrace of Mother Russia, but we are not going to let them do that. We overran their Panzer and destroyed them, their brethren fought against them, now we will give them the final push. We are going go and show them the err of their ways when they chose to Betray Mother Russia. Now, let’s go.” As he finished speaking he turned around and walked down a corridor, the others following him. They came out near the front line, the snow and chill gathered around General Winter, and left the others in more favorable conditions.

All around the Soviet Soldiers stood vigilant, but tired, they had been fighting nonstop to push the Germans back, if not for luck and the Soviet Supers, as well as the Pride of the Soviets, they would have fallen long ago. As the Supers came into view the soldiers all started cheering as their morale rose. They paid no heed to the cheers as they advanced. Though the German forces had been brutalized so far, they still had to hold, as long as they could. As the Supers approached the German side of the front, they fired upon the Supers with all they could.

[Nekronia]

Allied Ship

While the Patriot made his presentation, Jackie seemed distracted at the table. He was visibly fiddling with something underneath the table, and those with sharp ears would be able to hear a quiet clicking noise. Once the Patriot had finally asked if anyone had any questions, Jackie broke his concentration on whatever he was doing to finally look the Patriot in the eye. The youth was about to ask a question, but suddenly blurted out swear words under his breath as he suddenly raised one hand from under the table and started shaking it out, a tiny speck of blood coming out from just underneath a fingernail.

After having failed at multitasking two unrelated tasks, he tried just focusing on speaking: "Ugh, okay, so Mr. Patriot, two Q's for ya: One, about how long 'til we get on land? And numero dos, what are the odds a U-Boat will nail us before then? It'd be nice to know if I should put on my swimsuit or not."

Now that the brat wasn't so distracted, Jackie looked around more at his allies in detail. It seemed there were way more women on the Team than his expected number of zero. Well shit, those feminists must be making more progress than I thought. Good on 'em. Now we ALL get a shot to fly-or-die. Probably not the 'fraternizing' sort, though.

[Shadowwell]

Allied Ship

While the Patriot made his presentation, Jackie seemed distracted at the table. He was visibly fiddling with something underneath the table, and those with sharp ears would be able to hear a quiet clicking noise. Once the Patriot had finally asked if anyone had any questions, Jackie broke his concentration on whatever he was doing to finally look the Patriot in the eye. The youth was about to ask a question, but suddenly blurted out swear words under his breath as he suddenly raised one hand from under the table and started shaking it out, a tiny speck of blood coming out from just underneath a fingernail.

After having failed at multitasking two unrelated tasks, he tried just focusing on speaking: "Ugh, okay, so Mr. Patriot, two Q's for ya: One, about how long 'til we get on land? And numero dos, what are the odds a U-Boat will nail us before then? It'd be nice to know if I should put on my swimsuit or not."

Now that the brat wasn't so distracted, Jackie looked around more at his allies in detail. It seemed there were way more women on the Team than his expected number of zero. Well shit, those feminists must be making more progress than I thought. Good on 'em. Now we ALL get a shot to fly-or-die. Probably not the 'fraternizing' sort, though.

Andrew straightened his posture as one of the assembled Supers asked questions. "To answer your first question, it is a matter of days, how long specifically, I know not. Now for your second question, The odds are not that low, but we are relatively protected against such things. The Super's assembled here, have enough combined power, to take out a small city, if not more. The Colonel, will be able to detect any metal object and divert them from our position if needed. I hope that answers your questions." He paused as he looked over the others before continuing. "If anyone else has questions, speak up, if not feel free to get to know one another, though some of you are already acquainted."

[Turkducken]

Allied Ship

Jean-Pierre sat at the far right of the room, back to the wall, with a coffee tin in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He took a drag from the cigarette, and sipped lightly at the coffee. "I understand the mission briefing comes later, but can we get a better understanding of what we're doing? Who's providing support? Are we getting air coverage? Are we splitting into teams? What kind of resistance are we expecting?" he paused to take another drag, "and would you please provide me a reason we're going into Africa anyway? I didn't sign up for this to play with Britain and their Empire."

[Dernland]

Allies

Maquis turned his head from side to side as the various other team-members asked a variety of questions. He worked his jaw, fidgeting with the cloth shemagh that covered his deformed face. He didn't know much about the war beyond how things were back in central France, but if the rest of the world was faring as well as they were there then things were going very badly indeed. «My God» He mumbled in his native tongue before raising his voice to be heard by the rest.

"Not to add on to my countryman's many questions, but do we know the state of the campaign in North Africa? How are the Allies faring?" English was not Maquis' first language and it showed as he stumbled through his question.

He couldn't help but silently agree with the French Soldier's remarks, but said nothing more. This was not where he wanted to fight. He couldn't see how winning a Campaign across the Mediterranean would free his country. It was a selfish thought, but Maquis didn't care.

[Shadowwell]

Allied Ship

Jean-Pierre sat at the far right of the room, back to the wall, with a coffee tin in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He took a drag from the cigarette, and sipped lightly at the coffee. "I understand the mission briefing comes later, but can we get a better understanding of what we're doing? Who's providing support? Are we getting air coverage? Are we splitting into teams? What kind of resistance are we expecting?" he paused to take another drag, "and would you please provide me a reason we're going into Africa anyway? I didn't sign up for this to play with Britain and their Empire."

Patriot gave the Frenchman a glance before he answered. "We will be assisting the British Western Desert force, against a combined German-Italian force. We will have limited air support, but there will be some Armored support. As for why we are doing this, that is because the forces in Europe are not ready for the counter attack against the Germans, and as a team, most of us here have not fought together before. This mission will allow us as a team to whet our teeth against the Axis forces." He was about to grab a drink before waiting for more questions, when the other Frenchman of the group spoke up.

Allies

Maquis turned his head from side to side as the various other team-members asked a variety of questions. He worked his jaw, fidgeting with the cloth shemagh that covered his deformed face. He didn't know much about the war beyond how things were back in central France, but if the rest of the world was faring as well as they were there then things were going very badly indeed. «My God» He mumbled in his native tongue before raising his voice to be heard by the rest.

"Not to add on to my countryman's many questions, but do we know the state of the campaign in North Africa? How are the Allies faring?" English was not Maquis' first language and it showed as he stumbled through his question.

He couldn't help but silently agree with the French Soldier's remarks, but said nothing more. This was not where he wanted to fight. He couldn't see how winning a Campaign across the Mediterranean would free his country. It was a selfish thought, but Maquis didn't care.

"I would say that it is going well, the Force we are helping bolster, has recently destroyed much of the Italian Tenth Army, the remnants of which joined the force i mentioned earlier. The situation in Europe, though being more urgent, as of yet, does not have the support that would be needed for us to act over there right now. My Country has been moving troops and such over to Britain, and hopefully soon, after we complete our objective here, we will be able to act at the more urgent areas."

[Cainesland]

Millard sat in a seat near the centre most table of the crescent, where he would be right infant of the Patriot and the Colonel. He had his Journal and Headdress placed side by side on the table in front of him, and had occupied an at ease stance at his seat. While the Patriot spoke and the others asked questions he paid close attention so as understand what was going to happen. He thought it was interesting that they would be going to fight Rommel in North Africa to help weaken Germany, improve their own strength and teamwork, and pave the way for further advances into Germany. It was for this reason that he also found it odd that the Frenchman around him had vocalized being against this as it seemed counter to what one would think. He did however see that it could be an issue of personal survival or perhaps a remnant of the French-British Rivalry that existed years ago.

Millard raised his hand, which others would see as an empty sleeve raising up, and waited to be recognized by his new Commanding Officer. When he was recognized he began to speak. "As we are going to be fighting against the Germans, will there be any radio equipment available on the way to Libya with which to Intercept their communications sir? And besides myself Sir, how many of us are capable of communicating with any German prisoners of war we obtain during the capture of the city?".

[Shadowwell]

Millard sat in a seat near the centre most table of the crescent, where he would be right infant of the Patriot and the Colonel. He had his Journal and Headdress placed side by side on the table in front of him, and had occupied an at ease stance at his seat. While the Patriot spoke and the others asked questions he paid close attention so as understand what was going to happen. He thought it was interesting that they would be going to fight Rommel in North Africa to help weaken Germany, improve their own strength and teamwork, and pave the way for further advances into Germany. It was for this reason that he also found it odd that the Frenchman around him had vocalized being against this as it seemed counter to what one would think. He did however see that it could be an issue of personal survival or perhaps a remnant of the French-British Rivalry that existed years ago.

Millard raised his hand, which others would see as an empty sleeve raising up, and waited to be recognized by his new Commanding Officer. When he was recognized he began to speak. "As we are going to be fighting against the Germans, will there be any radio equipment available on the way to Libya with which to Intercept their communications sir? And besides myself Sir, how many of us are capable of communicating with any German prisoners of war we obtain during the capture of the city?".

Patriot nodded before answering. "There is a communications room below us, you should be able to visit it later. As for your other question, besides yourself, there are one or two others. The force we are meeting up with, will have at least one such individual as well." He paused to address the group as a whole. "Remember, we are going to assist with the defense at the line, foremost, and a retreat if it is needed, Axis has too many cards up their sleeves, especially when it comes to those like us. Do not be reckless, such an act could get you or others killed."

[Turkducken]

Millard sat in a seat near the centre most table of the crescent, where he would be right infant of the Patriot and the Colonel. He had his Journal and Headdress placed side by side on the table in front of him, and had occupied an at ease stance at his seat. While the Patriot spoke and the others asked questions he paid close attention so as understand what was going to happen. He thought it was interesting that they would be going to fight Rommel in North Africa to help weaken Germany, improve their own strength and teamwork, and pave the way for further advances into Germany. It was for this reason that he also found it odd that the Frenchman around him had vocalized being against this as it seemed counter to what one would think. He did however see that it could be an issue of personal survival or perhaps a remnant of the French-British Rivalry that existed years ago.

Millard raised his hand, which others would see as an empty sleeve raising up, and waited to be recognized by his new Commanding Officer. When he was recognized he began to speak. "As we are going to be fighting against the Germans, will there be any radio equipment available on the way to Libya with which to Intercept their communications sir? And besides myself Sir, how many of us are capable of communicating with any German prisoners of war we obtain during the capture of the city?".

"Morceaux allemands de merde." Jean-Pierre murmured and spat on the ground, "We don't need to talk to the Krauts to win, we just need to bag enough bodies, you'll learn this soon enough boy." He generally looked disgusted, before taking a larger gulp and a harder drag.

He looked at the American, "Are weapons procure on site Capitaine? Or do we have an arsenal on this bateau?"

He turned to face the rag covered man, and spoke to him in their native tongue, "And as for you my 'countryman'. I have no country, I fight for the liberation of the Workers, not for our 'Noble Country'. Just don't get in my way and we'll liberate the French people."

[Cainesland]

"Thank you Sir" Millard said as his CO answered him. It was nice that the POW answer was something other than give no quarter, or there will be no POWs. He listened to the CO and then opened the Journal to write inside.

January 5th 1942, 10am, Millard O'Connor

The commanding officer has alerted us to our mission. To defend a coastal town in Libya against Rommel. It sound like it will be tough to hold the line, but we should manage. There will be plenty of support and we should all survive as long as we don't get our selves killed. Fortunately there will be radio equipment to get a scoop on Rommel, and there will be a few people that speak German when we arrive so anyone captured shouldn't be totally lost. Unfortunately that also means very few of us can communicate with our captors if we are caught. I noticed that there the team is very diverse with Americans, Frenchmen (Who dislike not fighting for France, and speaking to Germans), and my countrymen. Presumably we each have a purpose for being here. Presumably mine is my invisibility. That was why I was chosen for the Secret intelligence Service after all. Unless it has to do with my experience with German or radios I am unsure why else I would be taken out of the Abwehr to come here, leaving my gear there under the guise of a leave of absence. I will be going to speak with my teammates now. Regardless, I look forward to the rest of the trip, maybe we will have some boiled beef and carrots .

With his entry recorded he closed the journal and took the Patriots advice. He got up to get to know the others, making sure to put his headdress back on as he got up. Looking around the room he saw the Frenchman who spat on the floor. <I have been been talking to the "Krauts" for the past 2 years in Germany, giving you information and sabotaging the Krauts. Sometimes it pays to talk things out> he considered saying, but reconsidered. The colonel might not have told them he was in Germany, or the SIS, so it might not be wise to let that out lest everyone distrust him from the start. <And when the rules of war dictate we take prisoners, or we need directions, what do you suppose we do? Shoot them> he continued in his thoughts. The man looked disgusted, and had a foul tongue, but had the floor with the CO so he turned to walk away. As he turned he noticed the man abandon the CO and insult another french soldier. This man could probably sit on a bucket of ice cream and tell him what flavour it was. It didn't look good that they were barely a day in and already people weren't getting along.

[Nekronia]

"[...]And besides myself Sir, how many of us are capable of communicating with any German prisoners of war we obtain during the capture of the city?".

With the Patriot's statement of there being other Germanphones, Jackie lazily gave a quick wave at the invisible man to add onto the Patriot's remark, before speaking in an equally lazy tone, "Ja, ich bin einer von denen. Ich spreche Deutsch... aber nicht Italienisch."

"Morceaux allemands de merde." Jean-Pierre murmured and spat on the ground, "We don't need to talk to the Krauts to win, we just need to bag enough bodies, you'll learn this soon enough boy." He generally looked disgusted, before taking a larger gulp and a harder drag.

He looked at the American, "Are weapons procure on site Capitaine? Or do we have an arsenal on this bateau?"

He turned to face the rag covered man, and spoke to him in their native tongue, "And as for you my 'countryman'. I have no country, I fight for the liberation of the Workers, not for our 'Noble Country'. Just don't get in my way and we'll liberate the French people."

After trying to show off nonchalantly, the yankee simply had to get a look over at the bickering Frenchmen. John only knew a bit of French, but he understood enough of the conversation to be judgmental. The capitalism-supporter quietly muttered "Français en sus" under his breath as he leaned back in his chair, scratching at his jawline beard. He pondered on how to respond to the situation: Hm, should I call this baguette-sucker out on being a commie, or try to call him out on the talking-to-krauts bit? Ah, decisions, decisions.

The youth decided on keeping the first card up his sleeve for now, and went for door number two. "Well, if we can talk to the jackboots, we can squeeze their bosses' locations and other info outta 'em. Stab our way up the chain of command n' all that, maybe learn where to drop some bombs. Simple but effective strategy. You'll learn this soon enough, boy."

"Ja, ich bin einer von denen. Ich spreche Deutsch... aber nicht Italienisch.": "Yeah, I am one of them [the people who can speak German]. I speak German... but not Italian."

"Français en sus.": "French, in addition."

[Turkducken]

"Morceaux allemands de merde." Jean-Pierre murmured and spat on the ground, "We don't need to talk to the Krauts to win, we just need to bag enough bodies, you'll learn this soon enough boy." He generally looked disgusted, before taking a larger gulp and a harder drag.

He looked at the American, "Are weapons procure on site Capitaine? Or do we have an arsenal on this bateau?"

He turned to face the rag covered man, and spoke to him in their native tongue, "And as for you my 'countryman'. I have no country, I fight for the liberation of the Workers, not for our 'Noble Country'. Just don't get in my way and we'll liberate the French people."

After trying to show off nonchalantly, the yankee simply had to get a look over at the bickering Frenchmen. John only knew a bit of French, but he understood enough of the conversation to be judgmental. The capitalism-supporter quietly muttered "Français en sus" under his breath as he leaned back in his chair, scratching at his jawline beard. He pondered on how to respond to the situation: Hm, should I call this baguette-sucker out on being a commie, or try to call him out on the talking-to-krauts bit? Ah, decisions, decisions.

The youth decided on keeping the first card up his sleeve for now, and went for door number two. "Well, if we can talk to the jackboots, we can squeeze their bosses' locations and other info outta 'em. Stab our way up the chain of command n' all that, maybe learn where to drop some bombs. Simple but effective strategy. You'll learn this soon enough, boy."

"Ja, ich bin einer von denen. Ich spreche Deutsch... aber nicht Italienisch.": "Yeah, I am one of them [the people who can speak German]. I speak German... but not Italian."

"Français en sus.": "French, in addition."

[/quote]
"Pah." Jean-Pierre piratically spat out the sound of dismissal, "You haven't fought the Nazis gosse, let alone feel the savagery of the Huns in battle. Once you've lost your virginité in battle, we'll see if you disagree with me. Tuer ou être Tué." with that he ended the conversation, his eyes glazing over, and emotion leaving his face.

[Nekronia]

After trying to show off nonchalantly, the yankee simply had to get a look over at the bickering Frenchmen. John only knew a bit of French, but he understood enough of the conversation to be judgmental. The capitalism-supporter quietly muttered "Français en sus" under his breath as he leaned back in his chair, scratching at his jawline beard. He pondered on how to respond to the situation: Hm, should I call this baguette-sucker out on being a commie, or try to call him out on the talking-to-krauts bit? Ah, decisions, decisions.

The youth decided on keeping the first card up his sleeve for now, and went for door number two. "Well, if we can talk to the jackboots, we can squeeze their bosses' locations and other info outta 'em. Stab our way up the chain of command n' all that, maybe learn where to drop some bombs. Simple but effective strategy. You'll learn this soon enough, boy."

"Ja, ich bin einer von denen. Ich spreche Deutsch... aber nicht Italienisch.": "Yeah, I am one of them [the people who can speak German]. I speak German... but not Italian."

"Français en sus.": "French, in addition."

"Pah." Jean-Pierre piratically spat out the sound of dismissal, "You haven't fought the Nazis gosse, let alone feel the savagery of the Huns in battle. Once you've lost your virginité in battle, we'll see if you disagree with me. Tuer ou être Tué." with that he ended the conversation, his eyes glazing over, and emotion leaving his face.

Jean-Pierre was dead on the mark for the kid, but this just wouldn't do for Jackie. He threw his hat back into the ring and tried to keep the argument going.

"I mean, if you cut an arm and a head off instead of an arm and a leg, that's pretty dandy. But if you want to go the long way around and be responsible for stepping on ten ants instead of nine ants and a buck, be my guest. We'll all get to stomp some ants, not everyone's bagged a stag. I'll kill both myself, you'll see. Just because I have yet to lose my virginity doesn't mean the time ain't comin' soon. And believe me, I'm randy, and Rommel is looking damn fine."

Jackie conveniently ignored the fact he still had too much human empathy to actually shoot someone in cold blood properly, but he didn't believe that himself.

[Dernland]

"Pah." Jean-Pierre piratically spat out the sound of dismissal, "You haven't fought the Nazis gosse, let alone feel the savagery of the Huns in battle. Once you've lost your virginité in battle, we'll see if you disagree with me. Tuer ou être Tué." with that he ended the conversation, his eyes glazing over, and emotion leaving his face.

Maquis shrugged at the now growing argument. This Frenchman seemed to be quite standoffish, especially among allies. The comment about Worker Liberation both intrigued and worried him. It wasn't unusual to find a Communist among the working class in France even after the ban, he'd known quite a few personally before the war. However if this soldier was going to jeopardize the mission or the safety of the Team for petty dreams of socialist paradise, then that was a real danger.

«Torture worked well enough in the Resistance.» Maquis said in French. He turned to the younger man, an American, and continued in English. "Though it is not simple." Maquis had tortured a few men before. The first man lied. The second broke completely when Maquis showed him his own battle-scars. The fear of things beyond death could snap even some of the strongest of spines. He fixed the American with an unwavering gaze from beneath his shemagh. "You will change your tune when you meet a foe. Make sure you're ready." He wasn't sure if this young man had seen combat or not, he couldn't really understand the mix of strange words and euphemisms that had been thrown around.

[Greater Dmanian]

Allied Team
En Route to Libya
Bradley Stokes

Stokes sat down with a plate of food, he had for obvious reasons decided not to attend the briefing suited up and instead wore standard British Army Batteldress instead along with a greatcoat. Adjusting his posture he shrugged off the bulky garment and took stock of those in the room with him before listening to The Patriot. He took a few bites, only listening initially to the exchange.
When the Frenchman finally spoke up he scowled as he spoke, finally he forcefully lowered his cutlery before twisting in his seat to voice his response,

"Oh pipe down you bloody Frog, if you've not the stomach to "play" with the Allies then bugger off back to Vichy with the rest of your spineless people. Worse you didn't even have the balls to stay and fight either ey." he said scathingly.

He shook his head before returning to his food, taking a small sip from a glass of water. He could tolerate working with the powered ones, arrogant Frenchmen would not get a free pass; especially since they'd been out of the war for nearly 2 years. To be honest he had not been looking forward to returning to the heat of north Africa, his last trip had not ended well and the German's had been putting up a good fight. More familiar faces would be lost to the endless sands before this was over, a lump in his throat forming as he thought back to his old comrades.

[Cainesland]

It seemed people had gathered around the man of the white flag that had insulted him. Most of them didn't take to kindly to the idea of attacking a member of the team or insinuating a disbelief in the cause they were fighting for. One in particular, an American, also spoke German but like him no Italian and a little French. He decided to introduce himself to the man. He approached him and said "It's good to see someone else who can talk to the Germans". He extended his hand to the American. In case it wasn't obvious by the name tag sewn into his tunic he continued. "I'm O'Connor". Introducing himself by last name because his first name hadn't been as important since he joined the Military 3 years ago. While not directly stated, one of the more obvious indications to the American of what Millard was doing since the wars start could be found on his headdress cap badge, with the words "Intelligence Corps" cast on the cap badge.

[Turkducken]

Allied Team
En Route to Libya
Bradley Stokes

Stokes sat down with a plate of food, he had for obvious reasons decided not to attend the briefing suited up and instead wore standard British Army Batteldress instead along with a greatcoat. Adjusting his posture he shrugged off the bulky garment and took stock of those in the room with him before listening to The Patriot. He took a few bites, only listening initially to the exchange.
When the Frenchman finally spoke up he scowled as he spoke, finally he forcefully lowered his cutlery before twisting in his seat to voice his response,

"Oh pipe down you bloody Frog, if you've not the stomach to "play" with the Allies then bugger off back to Vichy with the rest of your spineless people. Worse you didn't even have the balls to stay and fight either ey." he said scathingly.

He shook his head before returning to his food, taking a small sip from a glass of water. He could tolerate working with the powered ones, arrogant Frenchmen would not get a free pass; especially since they'd been out of the war for nearly 2 years. To be honest he had not been looking forward to returning to the heat of north Africa, his last trip had not ended well and the German's had been putting up a good fight. More familiar faces would be lost to the endless sands before this was over, a lump in his throat forming as he thought back to his old comrades.

Upon hearing the Britishman speak to him he snapped out of his trance. Jean found himself enraged at the implications of what he was saying, "The balls? You are saying I did not have the balls comrade?" He rose from his seat, standing over the Brit as he ate, "Mon amie, you do not know who you are talking to. I suggest you apologize or else things will get ugly. Comprendre?" A white hot anger was forming inside of his heart, he held the now empty coffee tin in a clenched fist. The metal splintered and would surely have been cutting his hand if not for his powers.

[Greater Dmanian]

Upon hearing the Britishman speak to him he snapped out of his trance. Jean found himself enraged at the implications of what he was saying, "The balls? You are saying I did not have the balls comrade?" He rose from his seat, standing over the Brit as he ate, "Mon amie, you do not know who you are talking to. I suggest you apologize or else things will get ugly. Comprendre?" A white hot anger was forming inside of his heart, he held the now empty coffee tin in a clenched fist. The metal splintered and would surely have been cutting his hand if not for his powers.

Bradley Stokes

Stokes carried on eating stoically as the Frenchman bore down on him, his left hand rested on his thigh ready to dart for the knife he kept stashed in his boot. He took another sip of water before speaking, hearing the sound of metal breaking apart. He spoke up in a steady voice, "Tell you what Comrade when our Superiors are finished we can continue this on a more even footing, I'm not fool enough to fight you on your terms. Though if I need a few ration tins opened I'll make sure to ask you first."

Finally he turned to look at the fuming Frenchman, his eyes briefly darting to the remains of the coffee tin, "The only thing I'm sorry about is the waste of a good brew tin". He peered into his eyes noticing a familiar look,

"You've fought haven't you?" he queried his voice slightly lower, "Maybe you're made of tougher stuff than your fellows, we'll see." he turned back to his food, he kept his hand on his lap but his posture relaxed slightly.

[Nekronia]

«Torture worked well enough in the Resistance.» Maquis said in French. He turned to the younger man, an American, and continued in English. "Though it is not simple." Maquis had tortured a few men before. The first man lied. The second broke completely when Maquis showed him his own battle-scars. The fear of things beyond death could snap even some of the strongest of spines. He fixed the American with an unwavering gaze from beneath his shemagh. "You will change your tune when you meet a foe. Make sure you're ready." He wasn't sure if this young man had seen combat or not, he couldn't really understand the mix of strange words and euphemisms that had been thrown around.

Jackie in turn couldn't understand the bit Maquis said in French due to unreliable skill in the language. Did Maquis suggest torturing the Resistance well? Working well in the Resistance is torture? Well torture works in the Resistance? None of the options seemed to fit much better than the others. Damn language barrier.

He pretended to have understood and just rolled with the comprehended English part. Jackie met Maquis's eyes and responded with a simple and confident "We'll see about that."

The youth was confident in his ability to meet war like a movie or comic book hero, as many eager young recruits tend to be. Reality differs from fiction, but they wasn't so separated in Jackie's mind.

It seemed people had gathered around the man of the white flag that had insulted him. Most of them didn't take to kindly to the idea of attacking a member of the team or insinuating a disbelief in the cause they were fighting for. One in particular, an American, also spoke German but like him no Italian and a little French. He decided to introduce himself to the man. He approached him and said "It's good to see someone else who can talk to the Germans". He extended his hand to the American. In case it wasn't obvious by the name tag sewn into his tunic he continued. "I'm O'Connor". Introducing himself by last name because his first name hadn't been as important since he joined the Military 3 years ago. While not directly stated, one of the more obvious indications to the American of what Millard was doing since the wars start could be found on his headdress cap badge, with the words "Intelligence Corps" cast on the cap badge.

The Yankee shifted his gaze over to the floating set of clothes next to himself, and assumed that the extended arm and greeting meant an invisible handshake. Jackie reached out in turn and tried to shake the Ghost's hand, but couldn't quite get the angle right, bumping into the back of the hand, the fingertips, and so on. After a few seconds of awkwardness, Jackie just used his powers to force Millard's hand to stretch out the fingers and thumb straighter, and used the more obvious position to grab the hand firmly as he released control of it and shook it normally.

"Uh, likewise. Learned it for books and opera and stuff, but, y'know, PoW's are a good side bonus."

Jackie conveniently left out that the real reason was mostly to be a contrarian teen with the anti-German sentiment left over from the Great War.

"Name's Jackie. I zap nerves and stuff. You turn invisible, I guess? Or are stuck invisible?"

Now, the kid wasn't very experienced in the military, and as a result didn't really know what the 'Intelligence Corps' would actually do. Spy? Scout? Something for figuring stuff out.

"...So, uh, do... can you turn your clothes invisible too, or do you stand outside people's windows naked, or...?"

Jackie scratched his beard in thought, putting about as much tact into the discussion as a hurled brick.

Upon hearing the Britishman speak to him he snapped out of his trance. Jean found himself enraged at the implications of what he was saying, "The balls? You are saying I did not have the balls comrade?" He rose from his seat, standing over the Brit as he ate, "Mon amie, you do not know who you are talking to. I suggest you apologize or else things will get ugly. Comprendre?" A white hot anger was forming inside of his heart, he held the now empty coffee tin in a clenched fist. The metal splintered and would surely have been cutting his hand if not for his powers.

But as the ghostly gentleman was taking Jackie's attention away from the thousand-yard-stare Frenchman, a Brit's remarks managed to reignite the French communist while simultaneously remaining at least vaguely peaceful for the moment. Unfortunately, the Yankee had no such caution. Jackie kept looking between the friendly man he had shaken hands with and the superhuman who looked like he was one straw away from going on a murderous rampage. The mental debate between being a pal and being an instigator was visible on his face. It didn't take long for the devil on his shoulder to win.

John shifted attention over to Jean: "It'll get ugly? What, will your ma walk in 'cause of the ruckus?"

Jackie conveniently ignored the display of superhuman strength and durability lying shattered around Jean's hand.

[Anowa]

Allied Team
En Route to Libya
January 7th, 1942 // The Start of a Journey

Orange eyes peered at the bickering from across the room, a sigh escaped her lips as she continued to flick the zippo she had on hand on and off. 'Why is it the children always fight?' She thought to herself. Her gaze did however notice that most were wearing army BDUs, sans for a few, namely a man in the corner wearing a Kippah. He was silently shaking his head as well. The Jewish man then decided that it was the time for him to step in.

"Gentlemen, I'm sure that your schmeckles are all equally grand, but instead, perhaps we should focus on how we can work together. We all have powers here, yet none of us know what each other can do. For the betterment of the team's synergy and for a greater chance of perhaps knowing each other, perhaps we should take the time to introduce ourselves, and explain our powers. I'll start, my name is Benoni Shimshelewitz, most call me Ben, my handle is..." a pause as the man took a breath, "Jew Jitsu. As you can probably tell by that, I'm well versed in a number of martial arts, including som rather obscure ones."

Elsa continued to fiddle with her lighter, she'd wait for someone else to introduce themselves before taking her turn... either that or go last, might be the best to let everyone else go so attention wasn't drawn to her too much.

[Cainesland]

Allied Team
En Route to Libya
January 7th, 1942 // The Start of a Journey

Orange eyes peered at the bickering from across the room, a sigh escaped her lips as she continued to flick the zippo she had on hand on and off. 'Why is it the children always fight?' She thought to herself. Her gaze did however notice that most were wearing army BDUs, sans for a few, namely a man in the corner wearing a Kippah. He was silently shaking his head as well. The Jewish man then decided that it was the time for him to step in.

"Gentlemen, I'm sure that your schmeckles are all equally grand, but instead, perhaps we should focus on how we can work together. We all have powers here, yet none of us know what each other can do. For the betterment of the team's synergy and for a greater chance of perhaps knowing each other, perhaps we should take the time to introduce ourselves, and explain our powers. I'll start, my name is Benoni Shimshelewitz, most call me Ben, my handle is..." a pause as the man took a breath, "Jew Jitsu. As you can probably tell by that, I'm well versed in a number of martial arts, including som rather obscure ones."

Elsa continued to fiddle with her lighter, she'd wait for someone else to introduce themselves before taking her turn... either that or go last, might be the best to let everyone else go so attention wasn't drawn to her too much.

Millard thought it was cool that the American liked Opera as well, but his ability along with the demonstration on his hand was offputting. On the one hand the man could force the enemy to drop their weapons or cure himself of a broken spinal cord by manually moving his legs with his mind, but he could also force his teammates into harms way if he so desired.

Millard was about to respond to Jackie when he took off, not giving Millard the chance to say he is always invisible or that standing nude outside windows isn't usually in his agenda, or even that his clothes dont turn invisible with him, as displayed by his uniform being visible. But it wasn't long before a fight nearly broke out between an American and a Frenchman. The fight didn't last long before a martial artist walked up introducing himself and asking for the team to make introductions.

Millard grabbed his Journal and walked forward from the quiet spot on the outside of the fight zone where he could see the bickering to an area nearer the man with Asianic skills. It wasn't entirely clear if the man was very skilled through practice or if martial arts was a natural gift like his own invisibility.

Given this was meant to be a group introduction he tried to face everyone and then began."Hello. My name is Millard O'Conner, but considering the circumstances you can call me O'Conner. My sign is Gentleman Ghost. I've been fighting in the war since it started in September of 1939, with the last 2 years being spent performing operations in the heart of German occupied Europe. My power is self evident, I'm invisible, and have been for maybe 6 years now. It comes with it's advantages and disadvantages, like any other power, but for our purpose it comes in handy for stealth operations and bad hair days. That said, it is terrible for trying to get wounds patched up, and for using facial expressions." He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. He had mentioned his name, some brief history, his call sign, his power, some of the pros and cons of his power, was there anything more to say, just one more thing. "I look forward to working with each of you going forward". As he concluded he looked to see if Gargantua and Patagrual (a nickname for the the 2 French men) would go next or one of the americans.

[Turkducken]

Bradley Stokes

Stokes carried on eating stoically as the Frenchman bore down on him, his left hand rested on his thigh ready to dart for the knife he kept stashed in his boot. He took another sip of water before speaking, hearing the sound of metal breaking apart. He spoke up in a steady voice, "Tell you what Comrade when our Superiors are finished we can continue this on a more even footing, I'm not fool enough to fight you on your terms. Though if I need a few ration tins opened I'll make sure to ask you first."

Finally he turned to look at the fuming Frenchman, his eyes briefly darting to the remains of the coffee tin, "The only thing I'm sorry about is the waste of a good brew tin". He peered into his eyes noticing a familiar look,

"You've fought haven't you?" he queried, his voice slightly lower, "Maybe you're made of tougher stuff than your fellows...we'll see." he turned back to his food, he kept his hand on his lap but his posture relaxed slightly.

"Longer than you've been alive frère." he said quietly, a sadness returning to his eyes. With the anger in his heart fading, he gave it a minor outlet, chucking the crushed tin lightly at the youngest nuisance. "Va niquer ta mère." with that he gave him a pardoning up yours sign, and returned back to his corner. " My name is Jean-Pierre Chevalier Dutoit, if you can not say it just call me 'John'." he addressed the room of people as his mind retreated into his thoughts, "If that's too personal for you call me Bastille. I'm good at killing things, and you can't hurt me." his face turned stoic, with an intense sadness forming in his eyes.

[Greater Dmanian]

Bradley Stokes

Wordlessly watching the Frenchman leave he waited until he had sat down again and spoke before Bradley decided to introduce himself with his ice breaker, "Corporal Bradley Stokes at your service. Apparently they call me Ironclad, guess steelclad doesn't have the same ring to it but anyway this isn't my first visit to the dustier regions of the Empire." he paused almost considering wherever to add on to it, "Don't make the mistake of underestimating Rommel, too many good men have died because of that." he finally said in a reverent voice.

He took a sip of water as he recalled the endless stretches of sand swamped tanks, the scorching sun itself darkened by pillars of smoke and oil fires that filled the horizon. He felt a chill run down his spine even as his shirt began to cling to his back.

[Dernland]

Maquis had abandoned the conversation a while ago, retreating to a corner by himself. Most of the others had gotten food for themselves, but he'd foregone that luxury for months. There was no need to eat, not anymore. It wouldn't hurt him of course, but there was no point in it. He couldn't savor the meal. One by one several people stood and introduced themselves, starting with O'Conner, the invisible man, then Jean-Pierre, or Bastille, as he was designated. Maquis didn't want to introduce himself, wasn't necessary. He rubbed his chin, or what was left of it, through the cloth. Still, it would do him good to build a sense of camaraderie with the others. As the Ironclad man sat down Maquis stood, clearing his throat.

"I am Maquis." He said emphatically. "I cannot die." There was a hint of sadness in his voice that spoke volumes beyond the curt introduction. Without another word he returned to his seat.