Operation Lancer IC (Attn. Excalibur Squadron)

[The Tiger Kingdom]

September 27th, 1939
RAF Command Headquarters, London, England
1:32 PM

It was another rainy autumn day in the British capital, but this one was different then most. Unlike in peacetime, the people in the streets looked up from their umbrellas not only to try to find a break in the clouds foretelling some sunshine, but also out of fear and apprehension, in case of surprise attack. Britain had been at war for 24 days now, and though there had yet been no attack on English soil, everyone knew the German Luftwaffe could strike at any moment, with potentially crippling force. Hadn't the exact same thing happened in Poland?

Captain Robert Page, lucky enough to be inside while the rain came down, had been sitting and waiting for half an hour now, waiting for Air Marshal Newall to see him. He heard he had been tapped to lead a squadron, which was indubitably a great honor, but something seemed off about this assignment. It had come with extreme swiftness, and a degree of secrecy he hadn't seen before. And to meet with the Air Marshal himself... that was decidedly not normal procedure. He looked at the clock again. Wonder if I should close my eyes for a little bit. Not for a nap or anything, just for...rest...

From an office down the hall, a door slammed, and a secretary walked out.
"The Air Marshal will see you now, Captain."

Page quickly shook himself out of his drowsy stupor, and flashed a quick smile at her.
"Thank you, miss. Which room?"
"Number 102, Captain."

Entering the office, Page saluted and stood at attention.
"Captain Robert Page, reporting for assignment, sir!"
Air Marshal Cyril Newall, standing facing the window, motioned with his hand. "Sit down, Captain."
Page quickly took the lone chair facing Newall's desk.
"Captain," Newall began, still not turning to face him. "Do you know why we've called you here?"
"Not exactly, sir," Page nervously said. 'I mean, I know I've been picked for a squadron lead position, but I've no idea of anything more specific than that. No one seemed to know, or wouldn't tell me."
Newall turned. "It's regrettable that such secrecy should be necessary, but it is necessary. Captain, you have been picked for some rather unorthodox duty. Dangerous duty. Extremely important duty. Duty that could very well change the course of the entire war effort against Germany and the Axis, potentially. "

Page frowned, trying to get his mind around this. "Why me? And what does this have to do with my squadron?"
Newall sat at his desk and pulled some dossiers out. Selecting one, he flipped through it.

"Well, you were one of our most promising pilots as a cadet. Rose up the ranks fairly quickly. You then resigned-" Newall said this last word with a detectable amount of exasperation, "-to go join the leftists down in Spain. You earned your stripes down there, and shot down at least one Condor Legion fighter pilot - the exact men forming the core of the Luftwaffe now. After being shot down due to enemy ground fire during a risky low-level strafing run in a barely functioning Soviet I-16, you survived a crash landing, and managed to escape back to Republican lines, alone, and with nothing more than a pistol. As there were no replacement aircraft for you, you decided to become a foot-slogger, and participated in several high-risk missions, including a successful bridge-demolition job that would have been a tall order for the Royal Army, let alone a few Spanish partisans and one RAF Lieutenant. Simply put, Captain Page, you're one of our most skilled and versatile pilots we've got - perfect for this job. I'll have you know that when the First Sea Lord mentioned this idea, he named you specifically as a 'top candidate'".

"And as for your squadron - well, your squadron will be composed of the best of Britain and the Allies - the bleeding edge of our forces. Your task? To take on the most important missions for our cause - missions that will require not only ace piloting skills, but guerrilla-combat savvy (that is the term your Spaniards came up with, isn't it?) as well. You will be pilots and commandos both. You can expect dangerous, complex missions. But you'll be doing good work, for good pay, and your actions may well win us this war. The squadron name is Excalibur - the organizational boys thought it fit well."
Newall smiled at this last comment. "I've already rounded up some pilot candidates, volunteers all - their dossiers are right here, along with your first mission. Now, you're not being conscripted into this either, Captain, but I do request you make up your mind quickly - time is of the essence, after all. And who knows if you'll get a chance like this again? So - what do you say?"

Page looked at his shoes for a moment, deep in thought. This is crazy...This whole idea's crazy, the most insane thing I've heard. The risk alone...
Then he smiled to himself. But it's my kind of crazy. And God knows I can't pass this up. How could I live with myself?
He looked up. "When do we start, and where do I go?"

Newall smiled again. "Glad to hear it. You start today, and where you go is detailed in this dossier - take it with the rest of them. Your assignment is in there. Good luck and Godspeed, Captain."

As Page left, he looked at the top dossier, and saw it marked as "OPERATION LANCER - TOP SECRET - PERMISSION OF THE AIR MARSHAL REQUIRED FOR VIEWING".
Jesus, He thought, What have I got myself into...

[The Tiger Kingdom]

September 29th
RAF Manston Field
10:02 AM

Captain Page had read over Lancer's specifications as he arrived at the airfield and got set up, and the mission seemed...well, bizarre at the best, and utterly insane at the least. He couldn't deny the overall goal of the thing was good - it would be quite a coup for Britain, and one helluva poke in the eye at the Krauts. Hopefully, it would all go as well as the plans indicated it should...

The pilots had arrived at Manston yesterday, late last night. He hadn't yet met any of them, but from the dossiers he read, they seemed quite an eclectic and skilled bunch - a Grecian, an Arab prince, an Australian, a Filipino, a Frenchman, and a smattering of Brits and Americans. They were set to arrive for the briefing by 10:15, where Lancer would finally be revealed, and they could go over the plan.

[Calizorinstan]

September 29th
RAF Manston Field
10:09 AM

2nd Lt. Patrick Arnold observed the airfield as he arrived by car and wondered what this Excalibur Squadron would be all about. Stepping out of the car with his athletic, six foot two frame, he strode onto the airfield, in search for the squadron commander, Captain Robert Page so that he could report for the briefing. He observed the hangars and smile as he saw some Mark I Spits flying in the pattern. As he walked towards the operations building, where he presumed the briefing would be held, he noticed the other members of his squadron start to arrive, and thus he quickened his step.

For the briefing, he wore his Army casual khaki uniform and hat, hoping that this would be the appropriate wear. He could always change it by throwing on a flight jacket later. He was nervous about meeting the squadron commander for the first time and could only hope that he made a first impression. He happened the door to the operations room and found that Captain Page was there. He stood at attention and saluted smartly and said "Lieutenant Arnold reporting for duty Captain." He awaited the Captain's response with bated breath, and was quite keen to find out what exactly their first mission would consist of. He hoped nothing to terribly off the wall and inane, but he had a feeling he was going to be quite wrong...

[Lancearc]

Monroe had arrived somewhat early to Manston Field, having been informed to arrive by 10:25 on the 29th. He didn't like it at first, the details being very fuzzy. He was basically informed of nothing more than 'Go here to do something at this time.' He didn't like being left in the dark, as was his stubborn nature, but he went along with it, as from what he knew it sounded like a very important operation. Something he wouldn't pass up for the world. He'd made himself at home on the field quickly, and was now standing just outside the hangar beside his Spitfire that was towed so that it was just out of the shadowy interior of the structure. He moved his hand slowly, grinning as he finished the 'Z' on the design he was painting on the nose of his aircraft. "Beat the Blitz..." he muttered, setting down the large brush he had been using to paint on the artwork. He heard the radio behind him come to life once more, after a song had finished. The radio was sat on a small rolling metal table, on which other paint cans he'd previously used in the art were stacked.

"--is one of my favorites, just for you." was all he heard of the host before a tune began. He sat down against the small table, gazing down at the wristwatch he wore along with his flight suit. He had a few minutes to spare before heading off to the briefing he was supposed to be getting to, and decided that it was plenty enough time to kick back and relax before business got in the way.

[Tiltjuice]

Flight Officer Tom Clayton was equally in the dark about just what was going on. He'd been pulled off flight duty at RAF Stradishall about 3 hours ago, issued orders to report to Captain Robert Page at RAF Manston Field 'with all dispatch', and escorted to the train station by two MPs. Seeing a couple of other pilots make their way toward a building, he checked the map he'd been given. Seeing it was the operations building, he double-timed it into the building and through the hallway. Slowing down enough to make sure he didn't appear rushed, he identified Captain Page, and saluted.

"Flight Officer Clayton, reporting, sir!"

[Kyska]

RAF Manston Field
29 September, 1939
10:22 AM, local

John Hudson- a name no one knows. He sought to change that. Hudson hoped that service in this new squadron would bring him more fame than that witch got him promoted to Warrant Officer. He was in the second wing of the squadron, presumably the next-in-line for command should the number four die.

He had on his olive green shirt and pants with an aviator's cap on. He walked over to where the briefing was being held. He entered. He saw Captain Page and saluted. "Warrant Officer Hudson reporting for duty, sir!" he said.

[Lancearc]

Monroe too had noticed that the time of the briefing drew near as he'd glanced down at the wristwatch he wore a few minutes ago. He got to his feet quickly, taking note of a group of men gathering around and saluting a man who was apparently of some importance. He figured this was the Captain Page he was supposed to report to, and patted the wing of his Spitfire before jogging over to the forming group. He slowed as he approached the group, looking a bit informal in his obviously worn flight suit, something he wore nearly all the time. He stopped, issuing a salute to the captain.

"Lieutenant Monroe Bray, reporting sir!" he said, dropping the salute sharply after he'd spoken.

[Waterlords]

The 25 year old ENS BOTMAGOT PN, a young and dedicated junior officer has finally reached RAF Manston Field. He walks briskly into the rain. His black trench coat covering his working khaki uniform and pershing cap has helped him hide his profile as a navy officer. From the start, he knows that he might be the only one serving the navy. He doesn't know if his lack of flying in a combat situation will be fully accepted by his new comrades. Nonetheless, he knows that this program will help him gain knowledge and experience necessary just in case the war will reach his beloved Philippines.
He enters the room as stated in the instruction and gave a snappy salute, "ENS BOTMAGOT PN reporting for duty sir!"

[Altito Asmoro]

"Manston Field, big."
Abdullah Harakish just arrived from London.
He asks several pilots for the room. When he found it, he enters the room and says
"Sir, reporting duty."

[Costa Fiero]

Stéphane Ogier watched as the other pilots arrived and reported in. He wasn't too obsessed with making good impressions on people. He had a job to do and wanted to do it as quickly and painlessly as possible. It was why he had failed in his application for the French Air Force a few months previously. His lack of respect for authority. It shows when you spend five years in anarchy in Catalonia. His flying experience consisted of little more than a few hours in a trainer and a few hundred hours flying a French Dewotine D.500 fighter, with which he had three kills and two probables accredited to his name.

Eventually, he left where he was sitting and walked over to the officer in charge of the place. He placed his suitcase and satchel down on the floor and spoke. "Je suis Stéphane Ogier et j'étais un lieutenant de la ancienne Armée de l'Air de la République Espangol." He didn't expect them to understand. He picked up his suitcase and walked inside.

[Carathon]

Journal of Heinz Müller

Dated September 27th 1939

First entry reads as the following -

Well it's finally happened. We declared war on Poland, and followed up on declaring war on Denmark and the Lowlands. The Polish refused to cede Danzig, a fair request might I add. Although declaring war on the poor bastards could be considered abit " overboard " if you will. Isn't much I can do about it now except fight to the best of my abilities and so I have, hoho. Twenty sorties and two aircraft shot down. The Polish with their rather sad excuse for a airforce barely put up a fight. I attempted, ( more then usual, mind you. ) to not kill the pilots. Why kill the poor sods when they're going to surrender anyways? Besides, it takes alot guts and courage to fly agasint a better equipped, better trained , better led, experienced and higher numbering foe. Suicidal courage sure - but still courage.

As for myself I scored five aerial victories in total without being shot down once. That makes me an ace! A couple of dozen more and I'll be able to start painting my plane red! May the veteran Tommies and Frogs quiver in their boots when they withness Heinz Muller descend from the heavens and rain hell in his blood red plane as was done years ago. Unless they find out my name and all the bowel-releasing fear is turned into laughter when someone nick names me " Red Mu Mu. " or something equally ridiculous. Considering all my random ranting it seems it was a good idea to buy extra pen and paper. Besides if worse comes to worse I can use the journal as toliet paper and jab people in the eye with the pens. Or better yet throw them at unsuspecting Tommies from my cockpit! Pure genius. - Heinz Müller


There is a small illustration at the bottom of the page. It shows British commonwealth soldiers rolling on the ground in pain, pens lodged in their eyes as a British Captain shakes his fist menacely at a Messerschmitt Bf 109 screaming " Damn you Red Mu Mu! Damn you to HELL! "

[Cosgravia]

Lt. James McArvon had been in London for 3 days when he got the call to report to Manston Field. During his time in London, he'd seen the sights, got drunk a lot and met up with a nice Irish brunette named Lucy. By the time he reached Manston Field, many of his comrades had arrived. He walked in and saluted Captain Paige.
"Luitenant James McArvon, 235 City of Edinburgh Squadron reporting for duty sir!"

[The Tiger Kingdom]

(OOC: I'll just RP it like everyone's here.)
Captain Page cleared his throat, and stood at the lectern in the front. Beside him was a map, with a shroud covering it. Opening the dossier in front of him, he began:

"Alright, as everyone is here, the briefing begins now. The doors are locked until we're done, as this plan cannot be divulged openly. First, good morning to all of you who have been picked for Excalibur Squadron. As you may have guessed, this is not a conventional RAF squadron - only the best of the best get tapped for this job. You have been picked because all of you have shown excellent talent in both aerial and ground combat skills - both of which will be vital for our missions.
"Unfortunately, we are going to have very little time to settle in. Our first mission is extremely time-sensitive, and we will set off on it tomorrow at 0600, to commence Operation Lancer."
At this, Page removed the shroud from the map, revealing it:



"Operation Lancer is going to be a deep-infiltration POW rescue, into the general area of what used to be the free city of Danzig. As you may know, since the rapid conquest of Poland, many Polish soldiers have been spilling out into bordering countries, such as Romania. His Majesty's government believe - and the French government agrees with us - that these men could potentially be extremely valuable to the war effort. From all accounts, they fought like heroes, even when completely outclassed in terms of equipment. They're also the only Allied soldiers at this point who've faced German forces- and Soviet forces, should it come to that. With their experience and spirit, and with our equipment and organization, they could be a war-winning force in any potential German ground battle."

"However, we've seen very little emerge from Poland in terms of potential leaders of these men. We need Polish generals for Polish soldiers, otherwise, we fear they wouldn't respect our leadership. As such, no Free Polish Army can be created with any legitimacy without some sort of Free Polish leadership. We've got one possibility in the works: A general named Wladyslaw Sikorski."

Page removed a photo from the dossier, and held it up for all to see:

"This man was a veteran of the Polish military for 30 years, a veteran of the Polish-Soviet war, and has been a luminary of what little modernization the Polish army got before it was trampled underfoot. This man could be a great leader for a Free Polish Army. Only one problem: he's in a POW camp in the Danzig area. Specifically near the village indicated here, called Stutthof."
Page circled the village, then continued talking as he sketched out the plan.



"So here's the setup: we'll be inserted via a submarine onto the Polish shore. We'll secure transport, enemy disguises, and hopefully some enemy weapons to ensure the ruse looks as best it can. Then, we'll hit the camp, cause some chaos, hopefully start a camp breakout, and get Sikorski out. Then, we'll head about 20 miles west - we'll definitely need transport for this - and get to a small airfield, located here, at the village of Langfuhr."
Page held up another picture:


"According to local informants, a German transport squadron has moved into the airfield, since they took Danzig. We'll hijack an airplane - ideally a Ju 52, if someone can fly it, if not, we'll just have to steal a pilot or something - get Sikorski aboard, and then punch it across the Baltic. Ideally, we'll land, or parachute down, somewhere near the city of Malmo, in Sweden. We'll try to keep undercover, and get to a British Consulate or Embassy to get safe passage back. We leave for Portsmouth to meet up with HMS Trident - that'll be our insertion sub, so we'll have a few days to get acclimated to each other while onboard. We'll be carrying an armory's worth of weapons, equipment, and whatever else we'll need onboard the boat. "

Page turned away from the map, and faced the squadron.
"Now that that's all explained, are there any questions?"

[Costa Fiero]

Stéphane watched as the captain outline the plan. Certainly, he'd seen some rather incompetent tactical planning but this was the worst he'd seen. Worse than when the Republican government in Spain did nothing to prevent Franco's forces from reinforcing themselves with troops from Morocco. He was puzzled. He didn't know whether the captain was serious or whether he was just having him on. He began to speak.
"We're airmen, not commandos," he said in faintly accented English. "Why exactly have we been chosen for this mission? I want to fly among the clouds above, not crawl in the mud like a common soldier. I don't even know how to use a weapon."

[Cosgravia]

"Och, quit yer whinin' ya eejit!" cried James, looking directly at the Frenchman, "I'd had nae ground trainin' before I went tae Spain tae fly for the Nationalists, and I still managed tae lead a raid on a Republican airfield tae nick some planes. All we have tae dae after we raid the camp is hightail it doon tae the airfield at high speed, before the Krauts can get their act back thegither. If we can crash through the gate then run tae the nearest 52, I'll fly us tae Sweden before the Kraut guards no whit hit 'em." James looked at his comrades for some kind of response.

[Waterlords]

ENS BOTMAGOT PN a tapped his hardcore side on this mission. Rubbing his chin, he see that the rescue mission is high risk and must avoid being compromised while on their way inside the camp. His training since he was a cadet, it is always good to have a recon team to look for any possible entrance of the group.
He raised his hand to get the attention of Captain Page.
"Uhhmm.. Approximately,., How strong are the enemy? Also, can you give us information on possible enemy camps near the area that may serve as their reinforcement? Having a master diver badge and trained in jungle warfare. I believe I have enough skill to be one of the recon team. I can work alone or with group if there will be anyone who also wants to volunteer."

[Altito Asmoro]

"Botmagon, that is a very good plan. A very good one. May I join your recon team?" asks Abdullah. He walked closer to see the map.
"Sir, what do you think? Do you agree with Botmagon's plan?" asks Abdullah.

[Waterlords]

"Sure, my comrade. I cannot guarantee our lives in this mission but I can say that this is necessary for the benefit of the whole. If we will be compromised, we will be the first to die and the whole mission might be blown. But still, I admire your courage my Arab friend."
Botmagot is happy to know that he is not alone in the recon team. They just need the approval of Capt Page and the team to continue.

OOC: Ensign (ENS) is not my name, it is a rank in the navy equivalent to 2nd Lieutenant.

[Altito Asmoro]

"Sure, sure, my comrade. Any time you need, comrade," said Abdullah. He opens his suitcase and checks the equipments. A silver knife, a Nagant M1895 revolver, and a Short Magazine Lee-Enfield.

OOC: Abdullah is bring his own weapons.

[Cosgravia]

"Well, a recon team is all well and good, but it wastes time that could be spent preparing for the mission. We could just attain that information from local informants" replied James

[Calizorinstan]

"I have no questions, it just sounds really far fetched, but great for our side if we can pull this off." Pat stated, indeed thinking it was crazy and it seemed like stuff of legends. He never thought that he would be participating in a real life secret spy, prisoner rescue mission.

[Lancearc]

"Good. Gives time for the paint on my plane to dry if I don't hav'ta fly it for a while. I don't have any questions that anyone else hasn't asked already sir. I've decent ground combat training, so this shouldn't prove too much of'a challenge." Monroe said, gazing down at the map. It seemed fairly insane that they thought this squadron of fighter pilots could pull this off, but apparantly they were 'the best of the best.' And he knew that was true for him, as was his somewhat arrogant nature.

[Tiltjuice]

"Well, y'know, sir, I'd have to agree with Botmagot's idea of a recon mission. But I think it'd also help if transport could be secured beforehand, like. There's more risk getting transport after the raid, when the Jerries' blood will be up, as I see it, sir," Tom chimed in.

[Cosgravia]

"I didnae mean Germans, I meant Poles!" exclaimed James. Clearly, while they the best of the best, his comrades were not the brightest...

[Lancearc]

"At any rate he's right about the recon mission, sir." Monroe commented, gazing up from his examination of the map to now towards Captain Page. "But just how desperate is the war if we're relying on something like this?" he muttered nearly inaudibly, glancing back down at the map.