His requests were, to his surprise, actually granted. And he was even more surprised about the possible use they had for him and his 'patches'. Infiltration? They played a dangerous game here with an Axis defector such as him, defecting again would be such an easy opportunity to take. However, he had some reservations of his own about such a task and he was also sure that people with even just a shred of distrust of him...so basically the entire team...would not authorize such a mission once they were in the field. That was what he thought untill a shout ripped him straight out of his calculations.
He looked around quickly, having been momentarily disoriented by being ripped out of his thoughts so suddenly. Luckily the source of the commotion was easy to make it since he had stood up and continued shouting. It was the Arab, Syrian if he remembered correctly from the patches he had seen. He apparently felt insulted by how he had been ignored by Fleming, felt as though this was some kind of plot against him. Dietrich's lips formed a small smirk as he walked out of the room to go and get his equipment.
The equipment consisted of his uniform, his favourite walking stick, a MG-13 with a saddle drum magazine as well as 8 curved box magazines, a Swiss Revolver Model 1882/29 and about 12 bullets, 2 Model 1925 Stick Grenades and two flasks of water. He loaded a pair of magazine pouches with the curved bo magazines before slinging them over his neck so they dangled down in front of him. Then he attached a fitting holster for the revolver to his belt, loaded the revolver and stowed it away in there while letting the remaining six bullets slide into one of his pockets. He put two stick grenades into his belt and one into his boot, then he acquired two flasks of water which he hung over his shoulders. Lastly he attached the saddle drum magazine to the MG-13 and used the strap to sling the LMG over his shoulder. Picking up his walking stick he followed the rest of the team to whatever strange new room they were going to.
It was...somehow both underwhelming and overwhelming. It lacked grandeur, felt like one of the bureas of Speer and his construction lackeys. However, despite the rather industrial atmosphere, he couldn't help but feel as though something was wrong here, as though something perverted and unnatural was or had been happening here. His watchful eye kept darting around, sending stern glares at everything it focused on briefly. He ignored the arrival of some other guy after he heard his introduction. Another communist. He didn't want to have to do more with their kind than absolutely necessary. He stared at his hand, forever forced into a claw like position by the strike of a cossack saber, and tried to stretch it out a little while musing about his own beef with the communists. He had perceived their threat strongly. Strong enough to eventually resort to supporting NSdAP's radical options and helping them to rise to power.
He suppressed his smirk this time when he saw what the french Inquisitor had done to Haytham. Sometimes he wondered how much of a help the french really were to the Allies. They had been robbed of most of their strength early in the war and the little they had stemmed mostly from their oppressed colonies. Colonies whose inhabitants were all too eager to follow german promises of freedom and to take up arms against their allied oppressors. Haytham was a perfect example.
Suddenly a voice said that it was time to go. He looked at the source and saw a woman he had glared at already when they entered. Apparently she gave the orders down here. Considering that she said that they'd be going now, he guessed that they would not do so by conventional means. Time was of the essence afterall and this was anything but an underground airport. So would it be teleportation? Most likely. That's probably why his hair had been standing up ever since he had entered this room. The woman began chanting, a language he had never heard before. Still, he tried to use his alcohol infused brain to memorize atleast the sound of what she was chanting. Didn't work out too well since things always seemed to slip away from him. Below him, runes and pentacles suddenly lit up in yellow and Dietrich knew, shit was about to happen.
Above them some strange swirling maelstrom opened and Dietrich was immediately reminded of the stories he had heard as kid of sailors, dragged down deep under the water by such things on the seas. Fuck, it even sounded like something was going to draw them in and drag them down to the depths of hell. Even worse though was, that suddenly his feet stopped touching the ground. Dietrich, not used to just flying through air, especcially though to flying upwards rather than downwards, struggled and waved his arms much like a swimmer trying to get back to the ground. Yet his efforts proved to be futile and the vortex sucked him in as well and his journey began.
First he thought he was actually underwater. Had he really been sucked down to the depths of the oceans? God damned Britons and their seas! But something was off, something big was there. Then suddenly there was a bump and he was catapulted skywards, his heart not taking very well to the sudden rush of adrenaline and excitement and starting to ache in his breast. From up there he could see some three legged metal beasts lying around in some giant desert but he was really too busy holding his chest and hoping for the pain to subside rather than to stare at weird things seen during some form of magic journey. Suddenly another swerve and he fell. For a moment he considered closing his eyes but if his death was to die by falling onto a desert from unmeasurable heights then so be it...just that it wasn't like that. It was fairly dark where he was falling towards but it looked like the ground wasn't that far away and there was some sort of lump readied there.
They landed rather roughly on a nest of hay, barely enough to slow their fall enough so they didn't hurt themselves. Somewhere behind him he could hear the soft thump of something very big and heavy being let down in the hay and when he turned around he saw what was most likely the grossly upgraded Universal Carrier they had taken with them. Hopefully nobody had been underneath it. It was terrible for the troop morale to start a mission with a casualty. As for casualties, they had gotten damn close to making him one. His heart was still thumping in his chest as though it wanted to work at ten times the speed it usually did and his ribcage, lungs and heart hurt from this. Never, if it could be in any way avoided, would he travel like this again. Fuck it, he'd ask for transfer into the command center and get back there by ship or aircraft but never again with this hellish thing.
Speaking about journey, shouldn't there be someone, anyone, expecting them here? The nest of hay definitely indicated so so why was it so quiet and dark? Suddenly floodlights were put on and illuminated them while also outlining a feminine silhouette. One of them darted up and pointed their handgun at the silhouette. Dietrich just shook his head while looking at this display. If this was an enemy ambush then they were dead, plain and simple. No need in jumping and pointing guns at silhouettes. But the light got brighter and revealed the silhouette to be a Tommy. Atleast judging by the uniform. However, when she started to speak, labelling the jumpy lady as a Miss Heim and herself as their SoE aide, Naomi Bittermann, he got the feeling that she was not even close to being a real Brit. Maybe german if he got the accent correctly. Another smirk crawled across his face as he though: Or not if she's a jew and Hitler is to be believed.
Anyway, the young lady pulled a lever, opening the gate of what looked like a hangar. After the darkness, the sudden bath in floodlight had not been easy on Dietrich's eyes so he had not seen it before. Now he did though. So they were in Cairo on an airfield. He saw larger bombers of the American B-25 type, saw the british Spitfires which had given Göring and his peers so many headaches in the west and saw the new american fighters, the P-40s. Everything looked like they were preparing for a major offensive and this Naomi confirmed it, saying that they'd be going to war soon. And then the whole introduction she had probably practiced several times was ruined by aheavy french truck stopping behind her and covering her with dust.
Dietrich stared at the truck as though he was seeing a ghost. It bore a drawing not unlike some of the drawings he had seen from his captors back a year ago. Oh please don't tell me that I'll have to endure all of those fools again... , he thought just for his hopes to be utterly smashed as Lieutenant Hughes appeared. He facepalmed, forgetting the pain in his chest for a moment, and just wanted to sink into the ground. Alas, god was not this merciful with him. He was playing a very cruel game with him. With a moan he slowly got up from the nest of hay, using his walking stick as support. He then checked wether all of his equipment was still there and undamaged before trotting over to the others, his the tip of his stick giving off a metallic click whenever he set it on the ground. He stayed quiet, not wanting to draw the attention of these LRDG retards again.
