Play@YSDC

2 March, 1945. RAF Hawkinge, near Dover.

Spring is not far away, but at least for today, it still feels like winter. The air is cold, freezing you down to the bones. The sun is just starting to send golden rays over the horizon, cutting through the subtle mist wrapping its tendrils around the airbase. It's not enough to warm you right now, and as rain is expected later today, things can only get worse. Fortunately, you won't be here by the time it starts raining. Unfortunately, you are headed towards a place even more cold and hostile than this one.

It's early morning, but that doesn't mean much in an airbase as big as this one - planes are coming and going practically at every hour, and there are people and vehicles moving around as you make your way towards your target. You were ordered to reach Hangar 7, a large building carefully camouflaged inside a little forest of trees. The Battle of Britain is long over, and it's unlikely the Luftwaffe will ever be able to send large flights over Britain again, but some habit are hard to die.
A Douglas C47 stands at rest in front of the hangar, probably waiting for you. Sturdy, reliable, and capable of covering half-Europe and back without refueling, the C47 is the most commonly viewed transport aircraft in the Allied air force. If there's a plane you could feel safe traveling on through half the world, this is probably it. You don't know yet if you're traveling alone, or with some of your comrades in this unusual mission to the far southern edge of civilization. But you'll know soon enough.

Captain Oliver Carpenter is the first to arrive at the airfield. As a member of the SAS, he is familiar with the C47, though for most of his missions he hasn't needed its range. This one is different. He had hoped to be in at the death when Germany falls, which shouldn't be too much longer, but he has to go where he is sent. The South Atlantic might not seem like an important front at this stage of the war, but he does realize that a lot of top Nazis, maybe even Hitler himself, will attempt to flee before the end comes. South America, by way of Spain, is the logical place for them to go. The last thing he wants is for any of the rats to escape. This abandoned base could be waiting for them to move right back into it.

Amadeus Galishoff walks into the hangar after Captain Carpenter. He pulls his overcoat tighter around himself. "So zat's ze tin can zat'll take us to ze bottom of the world, huh?" He looks uncertainly at the aircraft. "Hope the insulation is decent at least." Amadeus shivers at the thought of what awaits on this mission.

"The C47 is a highly reliable aircraft," says Oliver. "It will get us where we need to go in one piece, and we won't freeze to death." He reaches out a hand. "Captain Oliver Carpenter, medical officer."

Amadeus hesitates before shaking the captain's hand. Might as well be civil during this operation. "Doctor Amadeus Galishoff, parapsychologist," his handshake is quick and limp. "So, you'll be ze man I see if I come down wiff da sniffles." He walks past Oliver to get a closer look at the plane. He quickly realizes he doesn't have any clue what he's looking at but plays it off as if inspecting the minutest of details.

"Flown in vun of zeez before, Captain?"

"The sniffles, or, God forbid, acute lead poisoning," says Oliver, returning the handshake. "I've flown in more than one C47 before. I'm in an airborne unit, so I fly more than most."

"Acute? Ac..." Amadeus begins to chuckle as he gets the joke. The giggle quickly escalates to a guffaw. "Zough, captain, I have ze distinct feeling zis trip vill stretch ze bounds of your medical expertise." His laugh after this quote is unsettling.

"That wouldn't surprise me," says Oliver with a ready smile, "especially considering I haven't yet completed my medical education. The war got in the way of that, but I fully intend to resume my studies once it's over. Most of my medical expertise comes from practical experience in the field."

A US Army jeep roars up to the C47 and Stogie Callahan jumps out of the passenger side. He waves absently at the driver and the jeep roars away again. Stogie wanders over to Oliver and Amadeus. Stogie is a short, nuggety looking guy in full US Airborne battle dress and kit, with a rifle slung over his back and an unlit cigar in his mouth.

In a thick, Mid-Western accent he drawls around the cigar, "Stogie Callahan, pleasetameetcha."

Tom appears after Stogie, as if out of nowhere.
"Morning chaps. The name's Tom. Don't think we've had the pleasure."

Another jeep arrives at the hangar and Leander Kemp steps out of it. He takes his things in the back and slaps the car body twice, indicating he's done.

He walks towards the group rubbing his hands."Good morning, fellas!" He salutes the group in a joyful way, but his eyes are fixed in the C47. I don't know 'bout you, but I sure am happy to fly again. Even in this old crate." He stares at the plane for a few more seconds then turns himself to the group "Sorry. Captain Leander Kemp, U.S. Army Air Forces."

A box truck, presumably resupplying the base proper, stops in front of the hangar and a dark-haired man with a rather nasty scar on the side of his face jumps out, snatches up a duffelbag, and approaches the hangar as the truck pulls away and continues on towards the RAF base.

"Looks like yet again, I'm the last to arrive," the man says as he puts down his bag and extends his hand to the men gathered here, his thick Southern accent clerly noticeable. "Sgt. Nick Laplanche. So, I guess we're due for a bit of cold weather, huh?"

"Zats a fair assumption I'd say," Amadeus pulls a handful of fine cigars from the inside breast pocket of his silk, tailored suit. "Zo what seems unfair is ze lack of ze fairer sex in zis motley crew, here." He smirks as he puts a cigar in between his teeth and offers the rest to the group. Their pungency reveals their Caribbean origins.

Smalls have a big, sincere laugh. "Hahaha. You never been in the Army, have you, Sir?" He says, giving Doctor Amadeus a friendly, but maybe a little too hard slap in the back, then kindly refuses the cigar. "Thank you, but I'll stick with mine. American blend." A certain proud could be felt in his voice while he presented the Doctor a pack of Camels.

Amadeus waves off the cigarette and tries to hide a grimace from Smalls' macho gesture. "Vhat gave it avay?" He lights and puffs his cigar. The smoke is thick and overwhelming. "You servicemen will have to teach me how a glossy photo can keep you varm vhen the vind cuts frough to ze bone." He winks at Smalls and puffs out another billow of smoke.

"Thank you," says Oliver, accepting the cigar and taking out his Zippo to light it. "This is a luxury I've been without for a long time. I'm Captain Oliver Carpenter," he says to the new arrivals. "I'm a medical officer with the Special Air Service." He wears a uniform in excellent condition, and his beret has a cap badge displaying a flaming, downward-pointing sword superimposed on a shield with the motto "Who Dares Wins."

Stogie's lieutenant's bar is pretty obvious on his helmet and now he's been alerted to the presence of two superior officers. He gives a single slightly informal, US style salute to both Carpenter and Small. "Captains," he offers by way of comment.

Turning to Amadeus, Stogie accepts the cigar and tucks it in a top pocket. "Thanks Bub, I owe you one. We have a saying in the Airborne - a cigar in the hand is worth two in the bush." He has a voice reminiscent of a garbage truck engine.

Tom gratefully accepts a cigar. "Thank you sir. You're a gent. I'll save this for later. Never know when I might need it", he says with a grin.

Looking round, he notices Oliver's badge. "Good to have you on the team, Captain".

Laplanche pulls his cigarettes out of his pocket and thinks for a moment before putting them back. "Sure, why not," he says, and takes one of the cigars being offered. "Never really got to smoke none of these before." He seats himself on a crate, his duffelbag beside him, and lights the cigar. "So, what do y'all know about what exactly's goin' on here? Something with an old facility of Jerry's, right?"

Smalls informally salutes Stogie back before addressing Laplanche. "As far as I know, the mission concerns an abandoned base in the south Atlantic. I have no further details." He looks around, a little confused. "Also, we are a funny little team, aren't we? We have SAS, U.S. Army, Air Forces, and..." He stops, puzzled, looking at Tom and Amadeus. "Sorry, I don't know where you come from."

"I'm with an airborne unit too," Oliver says to Stogie, returning the salute, "but we say 'smoke 'em if you got 'em,' so-" He inhales deeply on his cigar, savoring the flavor before letting out a perfect smoke ring. "Now that's a quality cigar! I'm no aficionado, but I'm guessing it's Cuban. I don't know any more about this mission than the rest of you. One interesting thing is that there aren't any Soviets in our motley crew. Maybe the brass upstairs doesn't trust them so much."

"Vy Captain Kemp! I didn't take you for an existentialist." Amadeus' chuckles are met with blank stares. "My apologies, psychoanalytical humor."

For the first time, Amadeus notices the signs of trauma these men have experienced. All of the men have the unmistakable gaze of one who has seen those he cares for perish. He notices Tom's half an ear and shudders. "Zat question zough, Captain, iz clearly at ze heart of vy ve vere brought here. I assume you've all had enough experience with Allied Command to know not to trust our mission briefing to ze letter. And you certainly vouldn't need the likes of me for a routine, albeit long-distance, abandoned facility investigation. I can't give you any more news on zis particular mission, but I sure can clue you in on my previous ones."

Amadeus rolls the cigar between his fingers, talking at the rolled tobacco rather than the men around him. "I may not have ze... souvenirs... to prove it like you men do, but I assure you I am an integral part of the Allied forces. Zough too old to be a soldier in the conventional sense, for ze last year or so of ze war I've been a soldier of the soul. You see, sometime after America's success at Normandy, Hitler began to feel a certain desperation. He feared the Americans and needed reinforcements to combat zeir entrance into the fray. However, he did not look to conventional means to increase his forces. He turned to ze occult, trying to invoke the supernatural to subdue ze rest of ze vorld. Rumors began circulating zat Hitler had sent forces to Norzern Africa, looking for some magical buried box from ze Bible. Whispers of excavations of ancient temples believed to hold ze secrets of eternal life. And some rumors vere even more troubling. Some believe Hitler may have tried to contact ancient, dormant cosmic forces capable of destroying existence itself."

Amadeus pauses and the room remains silent. He starts again as some of the men try to approach the solemn figure, "And ze best person the Allies could find to stop him, vas me." He smirks. "In truf, zere vas never much I could do to stop the maniac. Razzer, I vas meant to find out if zese strange behaviors vere valid or mere eccentricities. Before now, ze only traveling I've done on ze part of ze military iz to dusty rooms of old libraries. So, if my aid iz needed in South America, greater horrors avait us zan German Stormtroopers."

"I was in North Africa a good bit," says Oliver. "I didn't hear any rumors about these things, but I suppose I wouldn't have, given the secrecy. The Nazis were looking for the Ark of the Covenant? If they'd read the Bible, they'd know it would only bring them disaster if they found it. They're the last people in the world who could gain an advantage from it. I am aware that there are some unusual things in the world, but it hadn't occurred to me that someone could turn them into a weapon. I know enough to know that meddling with these forces is extremely dangerous, but I suppose the Nazis don't care what happens even to their own people, if they're desperate enough. It sure took them a long time to realize they were losing. I saw that back in December 1941."

"Oh, but you don't see my point Captain Oliver," Amadeus puts the cigar back into his mouth. "Wiff ze veapons Hitler is interested in, defeat iz impossible. Ven you're dealing wiv zat type of power, all sacrifices are justified."

"Then we'll just have to make sure they can't get their hands on them," says Oliver.

The conversation, suddenly turned serious, and a little disquieting, is interrupted by the arrival of another jeep carrying four men - the crew of the C47 by the looks of it. One of the men, wearing the ranks of a sergeant, walks towards you, makes a quick salute, and says: "Good morning. I'm Mark Sanders. Me and my crew will be flying you to the other side of the world. I've been told to expect six passengers so, since you are all here, we are ready to go when you are".

Tom is glad of the interruption. "Thank you Sergeant. Looks like we're in your hands then. Have you any further information on our destination? We're a bit in the dark here."

Eyeing the plane, "Also, how equipped are we? Guns? Grenades? Tea?"

Laplanche gives a quick salute towards Sanders. "Ready whenever everyone else is." Then, to the SOE agent, with a grin on his face, "You Brits and your tea."

Sergeant Sanders turns towards Tom and says: "Well mister, we've got a long flight ahead. The final destination is Job 9. That's a small base on HMS Isle, South Atlantic, just about as far as you can get from civilization. We'll stop in North Africa to refuel, then make a second jump to Ascension, and finally to our target. We had to install additional tanks inside - hope you won't mind the smell, it's not exactly as good as tea", he chuckles.

Smalls Salutes the pilot. "Captain Leander Kemp. Good to have you with us, Sergeant. Are these the only details you have? Your orders are just to drop us there or you and your crew are stayin' with us? Also, the gentleman there raised an important question. How are we in terms of equipment?"

Sergeant Sanders answers: "I'm sorry, sir, I don't have additional information for you. I only have my orders. We fly you there, and we'll take you back once your mission is over".

Stogie sizes up his fellow travellers. Hmmm, whata we got so far? British airborne - they definitely earn their pay. US pilot - all mad cowboys, good to have along. The civvie seems odd but he gave me a cigar. Other two look pretty useful in a scrap.

Stogie eyes the nearby trees. "I was hoping for a hot breakfast but I guess there's only time for a quick 'pit stop' then hop on board."

OOC,Does the plane have US or British markings? And what nationality or uniform are the crew?

"I'm Captain Oliver Carpenter," says Oliver to the air crew. "Pleased to meet you. I'm ready now. Everything I've got is in here." He hefts his duffel bag.

Amadeus nods to the crew and stubs out his cigar on the floor. "Zat's a mighty long list of stops, sir. And I zought I vas becoming ze morose one." He smirks in a half-joke. "Aviation iz not my specialty. So if you'd excuse me, jus tell me where to drop my zings and vhere I can clear my head for a bit. I'm afraid flying sets me on an ill humor, as these fine soldiers can attest to." He looks apologetically at the men around him.

Sergeant Sanders turns towards the airplane and says: "Well then, follow me", he then walks towards the entrance, near the tail of the plane, and gestures you inside. Normally, there would be space for between 15 and 20 soldiers inside, plus some cargo and the 4 men of the crew. Now it's only the six of you, and even with the additional tanks, there's plenty of space. The interior stinks of fuel, though, as the sergeant said, and you'll have to sleep on the seats. This won't be the most comfortable journey of your life, but you'll survive. "We're finishing the pre-flight checks. Takeoff in fifteen minutes", he adds, before disappearing towards the control room.

Smalls put down his things in a corner and drops his body in one of the window seats. He then proceeds to look around and study the airplane with a critical eye. "Well, that's a fine plane. You better keep your cigars unlit, though, Doctor." He says, closely looking a rivet in the fuselage "Unless you wanna turn us into a goddam' fireball."

Amadeus puts his comparatively light duffle bag next to Smalls' things and takes the available window seat behind him. "A whole flight wizzout a smoke?! Vhat is zis vorld coming to?"

"I'm sure they'll let us out for a smoke at the refueling stops," says Oliver, plopping down and stowing his duffel. "Just so long as we're well away from the fuel."

Stogie takes some parochial comfort in seeing the aircraft and crew were American, although he has developed grudging respect for the British with all they had suffered and accomplished.

"Fifteen minutes? I'm going to wait out in the fresh air till I'm called."

A short but safe distance from the aircraft, Stogie pulls out a 'K Ration' breakfast box and starts eating while brewing a coffee.

Tom uses the last few minutes to take a stroll round the plane and take in some fresh air before having to board.

Oliver uses the time to finish his cigar outside before boarding the plane, knowing he won't get another chance to smoke for a long time.

Like all soldiers, Sgt. Laplanche has learned to catch a few Z's whenever he can. He leans back for a bit of shuteye, hearing it'll be a little until they're ready to go.