Golden Fleece

[Leon Wolfgang]

OOC: Open to all!

Burning, the smell of hot iron illuminating through the air, followed by the pungent and fowl taste of it hitting the back of your throat. Leon’s B-190 spit fighter was once again flying low, the rudders chugging unhealthily now and again, but more so every time a hard spat of sand blew up against his windshield, entwining into the invisible force of the rudder’s back draft, sounding like small hail stones prickling against the window… But in this case, Leon cringed at the thought of sand most likely clogging his engine.

Flying low was part of the risk he had to take, as clumps of black smoke bellowed out the tail end of his spit fighter, sustaining at a suitable altitude to avoid losing control at such a higher height. At least this way, he could bail or attempt to make some sort of landing - but the illuminating red hot sand made the Pilot think otherwise, this was a no man’s land, he could only imagine what the poor panzer divisions felt like, trawling through the wreck of the sand hour after hour, stuck within a metal canvas tin - a sweat box!

The Flight Lieutenant sighed somewhat, his nimble fingers scuttling down for the mouth-piece to his radio, his oxygen mask flimsily hanging from off his face, finding it far too hot to succumb to the tempreatures of keeping it on - anyhow, he was flying low, so the altitude wasn’t so bad, but the temperature within the cockpit was! As the blazing sun glared upon the open glass, breaking numerous pales of sweat open upon Leon’s forehead. Grasping the radio more firmly and keeping his free hand adjusted to the steering, the Flight Lieutenant clunked the switch on the side, hoping to try and reach someone again at his “so called” command.

“Wolfgang, dies ist Wolfgang Über”[/I] the Pilot said huskily down the mouthpiece, cuffing his brow somewhat from the sweat drooling down his face, unable to take the heat much longer, but as Leon listened intently - he heard nothing come back, just the hissing of a bad reception for a brief moment, which could’ve been someone trying to comply? “Wenn irgendjemandes, der mich gelesen hat, berichtet bitte - über”[/I] he once again said firmly down the mouthpiece, biting his lower lip in anticipation, yet again, no one complied. Leon’s eyes couldn’t help but close for a brief moment, as he felt his morale sink low, before making one last final bid and report “Ich bin fälliger Norden auf einem ständigen entblößend, habe ich das goldene Vlies, erbittend unmittelbare Hilfe --” but abruptly, he was cut short.

Suddenly, Leon’s eyes darted to his engine up front, as the main spiralling rudders began to churn, seemingly stop and start for a brief moment, the engine it’s self causing a tremendous straining noise. His hand automatically dropping the radio piece, as his fingers coiled around the hot steering, his forearms straining to hold the weight of the dying plane. Leon was holding valuable intelligence, makeshift photographs and documentation on Allied strategic points throughout Africa and Egypt, he had to get back to the Headquarters with it - but had obviously encountered some trouble on the way. Fumes began to spout from the Engine and suddenly, a fire erupted, causing Leon to duck slightly out of instinct, as shrapnel from his main engine cascaded against the cockpit’s window from a minor explosion beneath the bonnet.

Holding the steering with all his might, he tried to keep the spitfire at a steady balance, but surprisingly, the lightweight aircraft began to fall like a tonne of bricks. The Engine had almost but seized altogether, Leon’s teeth gritting uncontrollably as he grunted beneath his breath, knowing there was no time to evacuate from the spitfire - he was already flying low. Then… BAM!… the B-190 thumped into the hard sand, the spitfire surfing for a brief moment on the Multan hot waves, before swerving and tumbling over a couple of times to slowly come to a stop. The tail end had shattered completely and the cockpit’s glass had inevitably shattered to a degree… Leaving an unconscious occupant within…

Translations:[/b]

Wolfgang, dies ist Wolfgang Über
- Wolfgang, this is Wolfgang Over

Wenn irgendjemandes, der mich gelesen hat, berichtet bitte - über
- If anybody's reading me, please report - over

Ich bin fälliger Norden auf einem ständigen entblößend, habe ich das goldene Vlies, erbittend unmittelbare Hilfe --
- I'm due north on a steady bareing, i have the golden fleece, requesting immediate assistance --

[seejay4]

OOC: I had only read the start of your thread before I made my Pilot, I guess we can have a Dog-Fight later though.

[Christopher J. D'Dario]

The sun was merciless as it hung in the sky, beating down upon the sand of the desert, the sand itself reflecting the heat and seeming to make it worse. How could this happen? He had been attached to a convoy that was transporting weapons and food to a small base hidden out in the vast expanse of the desert, unfortunately that convoy had been spotted and bombed into the sand. Only CJ and a private survived. Lorenzo Pilino had been the driver of one of the trucks; CJ had been in the passenger seat. When the bombs fell they had dived out of the cabin and took cover behind a sand dune. When the rain of steel and fire ceased their convoy was no more. Nothing of use could be salvaged from the burning wreckages, but they did manage to get a small amount of food and water from their truck. All that could be done was to start a long walk to the base.

They'd been walking for a few days when Lorenzo tapped CJ on the shoulder. "Ehi, che potete sentire?" CJ stopped for a moment, over the howl of the wind blowing against the sand dunes he could just pick out the sound of an engine. "Forse il suo un camion, mi auguro che riusciremo a ottenere un ascensore da loro." CJ said as they picked up their pace, the almost ran to the top of a large sand dune, from there they could see the whole area. They started scanning the horizon for any sign of the truck they where hoping to find.

CJ spotted movement. He pointed toward the east, but it was not a truck that came into view. A fighter flew low to the ground, a trail of smoke following it as it flew through the air, CJ and Lorenzo started waving and shouting, trying to get the pilots attention, but even if he had of seen them, it would do no good. A few seconds later the plane started getting lower and lower, it practically nose dived into a sand dune, sand exploding out from the impact to be caught by the wind and carried off.

The two Italian soldiers exchanged glances, and then took off running toward downed plane. If it where an Axis aircraft they might be able to save the pilot, if it where allied, they could capture or shoot him. It would be one less pilot to worry about; it might even be one of the planes that had bombed their convoy. As they neared the crash site they found pieces of fuselage scattered about, the plane came into view, sitting in a crater of sand. The German logo large on its wings and tail. It was a friendly Plane.

The sand had suffocated any fires that where burning in the engine, and as CJ and Lorenzo slid down to the plane they spotted the pilot, slumped in his seat, eyes closed. CJ climbed onto the wing while Lorenzo waited on the sand. The Pilot was breathing! Unbelievable, he had survived the crash. "Egli è vivo! Alzati e qui mi aiuta!" He shouted at Lorenzo as he reached in and started to un-do the pilot’s safety belt. Lorenzo climbed up the other side of the plane and they both reached in, gripping the Pilot under the armpits and heaving him out. CJ took his weight as Lorenzo climbed down and ducked under the plane to the other side, he passed the pilot down to the privet who set him down under the shade of the wing.

He was a little banged up, a cut on his forehead and glass all over his shirt, but he was breathing. They checked him for any major wounds but found none. He was lucky. But if he had any broken bones they probably would have made it worse by moving him. CJ climbed to the top of the sand dune to scan the sky, the fighter had obviously been shot down, and if the enemy aircraft was still in the area it might do a fly by to make sure the pilot was dead. There was nothing moving in the sky, not even a cloud.

While CJ was watching the sky Lorenzo had pulled out his canteen and was wiping the blood away from the wound on the pilot, all they could do was wait for him to wake up, they couldn't leave him here, Good Pilots where rare. CJ wondered just how good this one was if he got shot down. But still, every one has a bad day from time to time.



Translation:
1. Hey, can you hear that?
2. Maybe its a truck, I hope we can get a lift from them.
3. He's alive! Get up here and help me!

[Leon Wolfgang]

OOC: Yes, that sounds good. We have to plan something James.

The ballroom clapped elegantly as it’s patrons swirled around in small circles, gentleman and ladies both hand in hand, dancing light footedly to the orchestra’s divine music, whilst the older and honourable men stood aside, watching the beautiful event of their pilots and loved ones take to the floor. Leon’s left arm hung loosely around a young blonde woman’s waist, her piercing blue eyes trailing over his facial features lovingly, whilst her body perched up against his chest to try and match his height. Leon was one of the lucky pilots around, he was in love, more so - to a beautiful woman who loved him back.

The ballroom dance was a departing party to the pilots and it’s corresponding men and woman within the Luftwaffe air-fore, his division in particular having this night of honour with their family and friends. It wasn’t nothing big and grand, but more homely and respectable. Leon’s eyes closed as he slowly slipped his head down beside Anna’s (the young blonde woman) who quietly whispered into his ear “Leon, kommen Sie nach Hause lebend…” but suddenly, before Leon knew it, a sweltering hotness was taking over his body, the dream fading like a distant memory and abruptly, the young Flight Lieutenant’s eyes draped open.

“Urghh…”[/b] was all he could let out, as he felt the wetness of something drool down his face, before eventually recognising the searing pain throughout his body, a slight wince taking his face, as he began to try and move a little within his spot, blissfully still unaware of his surroundings or patron by his side - that was until Leon slowly gained his bearings and caught the sight of something leaning over him roughly, making the Pilot suddenly spring the opposite way, almost too instinctively retracting his hand down to his hip, feeling for the Lugar’s holster, as he yanked out the pistol to point weakly towards whoever was there. Which was obviously ‘way off aim’ as his blurry vision couldn’t even make out what was the plane and person for a brief moment.

“Who's... Wer dort ist... !?” Leon said between a hard breath, beginning to feel the pain throbbing within his head and limbs even more with every passing breath. “Wo bin ich? Was haben Sie mit mir gemacht!?” the Pilot continued to somewhat try and shout, but his voice more sounding like a quivering wreck, utterly confused, hurt and weak. Leon’s arm slowly dropped from the lack of strength and his head fell back a little, as his body began to give in from trying to perch it’s self up. His breathing was heavy and he still hadn’t totally got his bearings, as he began to mutter something to himself, using his free hand to run over his closed eyes, trying to make sense of where he was and what was happening!?


Translations:[/b]

Leon, kommen Sie nach Hause lebend...
- Leon, Come home alive…

Who's... Wer dort ist... !?
- Who's.... Who's there... !?

Wo bin ich? Was haben Sie mit mir gemacht!?
- Where am i? What have you done with me!?

[Christopher J. D'Dario]

CJ was still scanning the sky when a sudden movment and noise caught his attention from the plane. The Pilot had woken up and was waving a Luger around. There must have still been some blood in his eyes as he couldn't see the friendly Uniform of Lorenzo. Lorenzo had remained on his knees as the Pilot stumbled back away from him. He spoke to the man trying to calm him down. "Hey, la sua ok, siamo bravi ragazzi. Abbiamo visto crash e si è venuto ad aiutare."

CJ walked down off the dune toward them. "E 'tedesco, non credo che si possa capire." He stopped as the pilot lowered his weapon and started rubbing his eyes, the best way to gain this pilots trust was to answer his questions. CJ spoke in German to the Wounded man. "Ich bin Corpral CJ D'Dario, das ist Private L. Pilino der Italin Militär. Sie stürzte in der Wüste in Afrika, wir ziehen Sie aus dem Flugzeug kam, nachdem Sie unten." CJ knelt down next to Lorenzo and grabbed the water bottle. Holding it out to the pilot.

CJ saw no reasion in waisting time, the heat was beating down on them, even under the shade of the wing it was still hot. "Ihr jetzt sicher. Aber wir haben nur eine kleine Menge Wasser, gibt es eine kleine versteckte Basis in den Bereich, kann uns Zuflucht und eine Fahrt von hier. Denkst du, du kannst gehen?"

OOC: Sorry for the short post....

Translation:
1. Hey, its ok, we're good guys. We saw you crash and came to help.
2. I'm Corpral C.J. D'Dario, this is Private L. Pilino of the Italin millitary. You've crashed in a desert in africa, we pulled you from the plane after you came down.
3. Your safe now. But we only have a small amount of water, there's a small base hidden in the area that can give us shelter and a ride out of here. Do you think you can walk?

[Leon Wolfgang]

The Pilot was still within a daze of confusion, still not entirely sure what was happening, as his weak, yet surprisingly divine physic, slumped helplessly against the hard boiled sand. It was ironic how someone so fit and had to keep within shape, now seemed so helpless and strength less? As Leon’s ears acquainted with the voices around him, two voices, he began to count the bullets within his Lugar and their general direction - almost doing a quick tally of how well he’d be able to hit each target with an estimation of bullets, still adamant they were enemies pillaging him or hath’ taken him prisoner.

The Flight Lieutenant’s eyes slowly opened again and his elbows grinded backwards into the sand below him, forcing himself to lean up a little, his vision distorted slightly still, but he was coming back piece by piece and their uniforms began to a break a leeway to their voices, accents. Italians. “Ich habe gestürzt. ..?” the Pilot said real questioningly to himself, as if the word of crashing began to bring back figments of his memory, the smell from the plan still illuminating that hot aluminium smell - burnt and charred metal. Leon’s chest heaved a little as he sighed real heavily, shaking his head to himself, still listening to the man talk, the Corporal.

Raising his gaze slowly, the Pilot pushed his hand out towards the water bottle, as he still somewhat weakly spoke “Dann we'll.. Daraußer, für die Reise” obviously insinuating he could walk, or try. His legs bared no pain, but until he stood, he couldn’t really tell. His head was the worse enemy at the moment, as the throbbing pain gouged through the back of his eyes and down his temples, most likely from the G-force of the crash, his poor brain could’ve done summer sorts. “Erbärmlich wenn ich... Aufgeschreckt Sie” the Pilot said in apology, obviously be a well mannered man, but weren’t most pilots? As his weak quivering hand slowly pushed the Lugar side-arm back into the leather holster by his hip, before he began to reach up a little, touching the wing of his downed girl, to try and stable himself as he arose.

His legs seemed fine, a little weak and shaken though. “Ich bin Flug Leutnant Wolfgang…” the Pilot eventually said, as he seemed to look a little exhausted after saying it though, taking a few deep breathes, slowly but surely getting his energy back; at least he was standing somewhat beneath the wing. “Obergefreiter, ich brauchen Sie, mich zu machen... ein Gefallen…” the Pilot said between a couple of heavy breaths again, as he cuffed his forearm up against his forehead, the long sleeved shirt he was wearing had folded up sleeves and the buttons to his shirt were all loosely undone. A black vest was bared beneath the grey looking shirt and surprisingly, unlike most other troops in the heat who’d wear shorts, he actually had what seemed to be a dark pair of denim looking trousers on. He didn’t seem to be dressed like a pilot? Really…

As Leon gave a long stare, he sort of gave a reason why he wasn’t dressed in the appropriate gear for a Pilot. “Unter meinem Sitz... Im Cockpit... Es gibt eine braune Aktentasche - ich werde es brauchen” Leon said a little firmly towards the end, as he looked between the two, as if entrusting them to do as he asked. The Pilot’s hand somewhat falling to his hip again, right near his holster, obviously making it seem like a big deal by his new stance and posture.


Translations:[/b]

Ich habe gestürzt. ..?
- I crashed...?

Dann we'll.. Daraußer, für die Reise.
- Then we'll... Save it, for the journey.

Erbärmlich wenn ich... Aufgeschreckt Sie.
- Sorry if I... Startled you.

Ich bin Flug Leutnant Wolfgang...
- I'm Flight Lieutenant Wolfgang...

Obergefreiter, ich brauchen Sie, mich zu machen... ein Gefallen...
- Corporal, i need you to do me... a Favour...

Unter meinem Sitz... Im Cockpit... Es gibt eine braune Aktentasche - ich werde es brauchen.
- Under my seat... In the Cockpit... There is a brown briefcase - I will be needing it.

[Christopher J. D'Dario]

Lorenzo attempted to help the Lieutenant up, but didn't actually touch him, if the man could stand on his own, then it was a good sign that he could walk. Lorenzo sort of hung about, ready to catch the officer should he fall. He spoke to Wolfgang. "Machen Sie sich keine Sorgen, Sie haben uns nicht mit den Schreckreflex Luger. Wenn wir gen Sie schaden würde man nicht noch haben, würden Sie nore steht." CJ heard him and walked up to the Private, standing with his nose an inch from Lorenzo's, eye to eye he whispered in Italian. "Non essere uno sciocco, dicendo cose che ti tiro, se non da lui poi da me. Egli è una classifica ufficiale. Dobbiamo riprendere lui per la sicurezza si dimostrerà che gli italiani sono quindi più in grado di combattere in questa guerra."


Lorenzo lowered his gaze and walked away from the two of them as the Pilot started speaking again. Wanting a Favor? CJ had been wondering why the pilot wasn't in desert uniform, he seemed to be wearing more of a suit. The man even had a briefcase under his seat, he could have been spying on the allies, that might explain it...
As requested CJ climbed up the side of the plane and leaned over into the cockpit, reaching under the seat and finding the briefcase. as he pulled it out he bumped the handle for the ejector seat, the seat shot up and surprised CJ, causing him to fall off the plane and land hard on the sand, briefcase in hand.

He looked up from his prone position to the Pilot and then to Lorenzo, Lorenzo was trying to hide a smile but ended up bursting out with laughter. CJ shook his head and started laughing as well. How clumsy could he be. The seat came down a few yards away, kicking up a pile of sand as it landed. He got to his feet and walked up to Lieutenant WolfGang, holding out the briefcase, still with a smile on his face.




Translation:
1. Don't worry, you didn't startle us with the Luger. If we meant you harm you wouldn't still have it, nor would you be standing.
2. Don't be a fool, saying things like that will get you shot, if not by him then by me. He is a ranking officer. Should we return him to safety it will prove that Italians are more then capable of fighting in this war.

[Leon Wolfgang]

OOC: Sorry if it looks like I’ve god moded a bit? Just trying to make it a little more thrilling.


As one of the young men, Lorenzo, began to say something towards the Flight Lieutenant - he couldn’t help but frown a little at the remarks he made, Leon’s bottom lip succumbing to the slight bite, as a slight unconscious sign he was biting his tongue on saying something on regard to his comment, on being shot down if he was seen as a threat, perhaps regardless that he was just confused and dazed form a fall out of the sky? Who knows, but Leon did indeed bite his tongue, as his blue piercing eyes glared onwards towards the two men, the Corporal in particular, who seemed to usher something towards the male?

Leon’s request for a favour seemed to go okay, as the young Corporal wasn’t hesitant to waste anymore time, merely turning to briskly climb the cumbersome downed plane, searching for his brown leather briefcase. The Flight Lieutenant’s mind wandered ever so slightly, as his arm perched out towards the wing of the Bf, wondering if the young man would build him a sandcastle if he asked? But soon and abruptly reframed from his line of thoughts, as something suddenly sprung from out of the cockpit, causing the slightly dazed pilot to grasp at his Lugar hanging by his hip -- perhaps ready to shoot the Italian?

Slowly releasing his grip, the Flight Lieutenant watched as his comfortable seat flew a good ten to fifteen feet into the air, before thumping into a nearby sand-dune a few yards away. The Italian men’s laughter soon followed… As Leon’s eyes slowly slithered to look upon the Corporal, who approached him, a big wide grin smacked across his face, the Pilot snatched the briefcase from the man’s grasp and growled beneath his breath as he stumbled from off his spot (still somewhat woozy) to grasp the Corporal by the gruff of his collar, to shove against the aircraft beside him in a full spit of temper.

“SIE TÄUSCHEN! Erkennen Sie was ist in dieser Aktentasche, eh!?” the Pilot said in a slight fit of rage, as he stood there, swaying a little within his position - almost looking drunk for a brief moment. The German’s had fowl tempers, regardless of their humour and fun side, particularly Leon, as he grunted to lean in a little towards the Corporal, speaking more timidly and quieter towards the man. “Diese Aktentasche ist wert mehr als Sie, mich, sogar Ihr Freund... Ohne dies haben wir keine Augen für unsere Beförderungen auf dem britischen Reich” Leon said firmly, before slowly stepping back, a little wobble emerging from his stance, as he leaned out towards the wing of the plane again, his facial features looking war ridden and dirty from the blood and sand.

The Pilot seemed angry, but at the same time, very much hurt and confused from the crash - not to mention the gruelling task he had to go through obtaining the documentation, only to watch a pair of Italians fumble around like circus clowns, almost destroying it. “Männer sind für diese Intelligenz, MEINE MÄNNER gestorben!” Leon spat out once again, perhaps unnecessarily, as he sniffed a little to fight back his emotional side trying to break through, a little upset he’d lost a few of his men, for what? A briefcase full of photos and writing, something him and his men had to courier from one place to another, collaborating all the data for the Reich. Something that should’ve been secretive and simple.

Giving a quick look between the men, the Pilot stiffly turned to start walking away, a slight limp in his step when he tried to walk briskly, walking away as if he could do it alone without them? Which wasn’t true, as he needed them to get back to the base, but it was also obvious and clear he was just upset, tired and hurt. Angry that the men didn’t understand what he’d gone through to get it, what he’s still going through…

Translations:[/b]

SIE TÄUSCHEN! Erkennen Sie was ist in dieser Aktentasche, eh!?
- YOU FOOL! Do you realise what's in this briefcase, eh!?

Diese Aktentasche ist wert mehr als Sie, mich, sogar Ihr Freund... Ohne dies haben wir keine Augen für unsere Beförderungen auf dem britischen Reich.
- This briefcase is worth more than you, me, even your friend... Without this, we have no eyes for our advancements on the British Empire.

Männer sind für diese Intelligenz, MEINE MÄNNER gestorben!
- Men died for this intelligence, MY MEN!

[Christopher J. D'Dario]

OOC: No worries mate.


CJ was about to open his mouth to speak when the Pilot snatched the case out of his hand and before he knew it he was pinned against the plane by the neck. Before the German had even started yelling Lorenzo had his rifle to his shoulder and was levelling the barrel at Wolfgang. While the German was shouting CJ motioned with his hand to Lorenzo not to fire, yet.

A cold look had crossed CJ face as the German let him go, his rifle leaning against the front of the plane but his hand rested on the issue knife hanging at his hip. Remaining silent as the pilot started talking again. He had always been like this, the German was obviously still shook up from the crash, but that would not excuse his actions for long. CJ would wait for Wolfgang to finish his talking. He too had lost men; he too had seen friends die. But what would this pilot really know of loss. Sure, his friends may have been shot down, but he wouldn't have seen their bodies. To see a friends body once they're gone is a very different experience to seeing a plane going down.

The cold look remained on CJ's face as the Pilot started walking off. Lorenzo walked up next to him. "Avrei girato lui quando ha afferrato. Non mi preoccupo di chi egli è, o quello che ha. Avrei girato lui." CJ shook his head and walked to the front of the plane to get his rifle. "Se si fosse di colpo lo avremmo a spiegare il motivo per cui i tedeschi di uno dei loro funzionari è uno dei suoi proiettili in lui."

CJ walked to the top of a sand dune, the pilot was a good distance away now. He raised his rifle to his shoulder, the sun reflected of the steel barrel as he looked down the sights of the weapon. This would be an easy shot. Lorenzo only watched with confusion as CJ pulled the trigger. The bullet exploding out of the barrel and sped toward the Pilot. It flew straight and true as the hot metal impaled itself in the sand a foot to the left of the German.

CJ ordered Lorenzo to salvage anything he could from the plane before lowering his weapon and marching up to the German. "Jetzt habe ich Ihre Aufmerksamkeit, wenn überhaupt etwas versuchen, was du hast es wieder zurück, ich werde Sie brechen. Ich weiss nicht, wer Sie sind und was Sie haben in diesem Fall. Lorenzo war etwa um eine Kugel in dir! Ihr versteht sich als Leutnant, ein Führer! Doch diejenigen, die Sie Angriff ziehen Sie aus dem Wrack des abgeschossenen Kämpfer." CJ stopped right in front of the German. His eyes barely three inches from the Pilots.

"Jetzt könnte ich getötet haben Sie nur dann. Ich hätte eine Kugel in den Kopf getroffen und der Fall aus der Geschichte einige Sie Sterbehilfe in den Absturz. Leider glaube ich nicht, glauben Sie mir, sie würden, wenn sie wieder mit meinem Körper bullet in Ihrem Schädel." CJ's hands where shaking slightly, he was talking to a superior officer like he was a private. This would not end well. As that thought passed though his mind he tried to regain control. "Nun können wir hier in der Mitte von Nirgendwo, und schießen sich gegenseitig, oder wir können Ihr blutigen Aktenkoffer und Ihr undankbar Esel aus der Wüste und in eine kalte Dusche."

CJ prayed this officer wouldn't take his outburst to heart. The heat was causing him to start acting irrationally. Lorenzo must have heard what CJ was shouting as he was watching the two fo them with an shocked look on his face. "Außerdem ist die Basis, dass sie zurück." He said finally before turning and walking back to the plane. Lorenzo was still standing on the dune, his Mauser in hand.




Translation:
1. I should have shot him when he grabbed you. I don't care who he is or what he has. I should have shot him.
2. If you had of shot him we would have to explain to the Germans why one of their officers has one of your bullets in him.
3. Now that I have your attention, if ever try anything like what you did back there again, I will break you. I don't care who you are and what you've got in that case. Lorenzo was about to put a bullet in you! Your meant to be a Lieutenant, a leader! Yet you assault those who pull you from the wreckage of your downed fighter.
3. Now I could have killed you just then. I could have put a bullet in your head, taken the case and made up some story of you dieing in the crash. Unfortunately I don't think they would believe me if they recovered your body with my bullet in your skull.
4. Now we could stand here in the middle of nowhere and shoot each other, or we can get your bloody briefcase and your ungrateful ass out of the desert and into a cold shower.
5. Besides, the base it back that way.

[seejay3]

OOC: I have much to catch up on...

The bright light of the brilliant sun shone strongly down on the hot sand. The wind blew over the sand dunes and whipped though the long brown hair of Elizibeth Towers. She looked up at the clear blue sky, letting the warm wind blow about her; the sound of the wind died down and was soon replaced by the sound of crashing waves. She opened her eyes in disbelief. The Sea! The waves crashed against the sand, spraying cold water up into the air. With a laugh she sprinted toward the water, not caring about getting her uniform wet. It was a dirty German uniform anyway, like that mattered.

Her eyes where filled with the sight of the ocean. It was beautiful, the perfect beach. But after a short while of running she began to notice something strange. The Water didn't seem to be getting closer. She continued running, the waters edge was only fifteen meters away, yet as fast as she ran she couldn't catch it. Suddenly she stopped, breathing hard, it wasn't there. It wasn't really there; it was all in her head.... As she realised this she collapsed to her knees and swore "Áîã Ïðîêëÿòüå!". She'd been roaming the sand for three days now, three days since the plane she was in got shot down, and she was forced to parachute out into the desert.

A tear fell from her eye, she was going to die out here. She was alone, almost out of water, and out of food. The Plane she was in had continued flying for another few minutes after she jumped, it had crashed out of her sight. Before she had jumped the co-pilot had shoved a pack into her hands, it had water and food, but not enough. Crawling back to her feet she continued on, she had too, she would not allow herself to just give up and die. She couldn't.

Then something caught her attention. Smoke, a line of smoke drawing itself across the sky. She tilted her head, could it be a plane? No, not possible, it was just like the beach, her mind was playing tricks on her. It was the heat; it did things like this to a person. She stared at the smoke trail, as it slowly got closer, expecting it to disappear like the sea did. But continue on it did, this madness was persistent. She watched as it flew straight, then curved down, and disappeared into the sand. Of course, she knew it wouldn't last long. If it was real the pilot might have had some water with him, and maybe some food. But it was all in her mind, or was it? She rubbed her forehead, it was too hot.

Eventually her curiosity got the better of her, if it was fake she wouldn't really be disappointed, its not like she was doing anything overly important, so with deep breath she set out, it looked like it didn't crash far from here anyway, should only take a short while to walk there.

After a while she heard a noise. It sounded like a gun shot. Great, now she's hearing things. Climbing to the top of a large sand dune she spotted a crashed plane. Someone was mingling around it while two others where off talking. It must be fake, a plane that small couldn't carry three people. Oh well, if she was going nuts she might as well make friends doing it.

[Leon Wolfgang]

OOC: Hey Eliz, welcome to the party and Chris, I keep getting confused with your translations at points, think you missed one out or something, cos’ I sort of jumped down the dialogue a bit confused. It’s all good though!

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The Flight Lieutenant gave another hardy sniff, as he fought back the lump in his throat, never having gotten’ so angry with people who were only helping him - snapping and barking at them like they were buffoons, but soon enough, it made him wonder; who was the real buffoon here? He should’ve paid thanks for the Italians for even helping him, sure, the Germans didn’t have the greatest view upon them, but alike their Pacific cousins (the Japanese) they threw themselves into the boat to help. Whether it was because of diplomat’s picking what side they would see to winning or internal affairs, it was the men on the ground that were the innocent, which concluded Leon’s guilt.

As Leon’s pace began to slow, thinking he should perhaps go back, start on another leg with the Italians who’d after all, helped him. A sudden rifle shot sprung from out of the ground nearby him, causing the Flight Lieutenant to stumble the opposite way, his feet dragging through the sand like water, whilst his free hand made quick work in grabbing his Lugar from the holster, panting out a quick hot breath, as the hot sun blistered across his skin. Leon’s eyes darted off towards the plane wreck, watching as the supposed male who perhaps shot him, approach calmly? Leon’s hand held the Lugar waist length onwards towards the Corporal who seemed to merely disregard his own safety for a short moment, as he spat and shouted at the Pilot.

As the Corporal gave as he good as he got, the Pilot stood quietly for a moment, lowering his Lugar that hung at his waist secretively, taking a long breath once the male finished his rant - something the Pilot could compare himself too, now the tables were turned. As the young man presumably turned to walk back to his comrade, Leon stood still for a moment, wiping his forearm up against his brow slightly, feeling the dried blood flake away with his pale of sweat, unsure what to make of the situation, as the Pilot merely laughed to himself slightly, baring a grin to shake his head. This was unbelievable?

Pushing from off his feet, Leon slowly followed, taking a quicker step now and again as he caught up with the Corporal, wincing a little as his leg hurt when moving that tad bit faster - perhaps he pulled a nerve? Grasping the Corporal by the back of the arm slightly, hoping he’d stop, Leon softly said - in a more mild mannered tongue “Obergefreiter…” he started, hoping to grab the man’s attention, before continuing “Ich war aus Linie, waren wir beide. Ich bin in diesem rührenden Land monatelang jetzt gewesen, schauend nach dieser Aktentasche mehr als meine eigenen Männer an…” the Pilot said firmly, abruptly stopping as he fought back the lump in his throat again, trying not to recall their gurgling dying voices one by one down his earpiece. Just to keep a briefcase un-scaved.

The Pilot soon continued, as he slowly and weakly offered his hand without anymore words, offering an apology? The heat was unbearable, which most likely could’ve driven any man to breaking point, but as the Pilot awaited some soft of word or handshake, Leon’s eyes stiffly caught something fumbling around in the short distance, the Pilot abruptly nodding into it’s general direction towards the Corporal, quickly saying “Obergefreiter, Sie sehen das?”


Translations:[/b]

Obergefreiter...
- Corporal…

Ich war aus Linie, waren wir beide. Ich bin in diesem rührenden Land monatelang jetzt gewesen, schauend nach dieser Aktentasche mehr als meine eigenen Männer an...
- I was out of line, we both were. I've been in this pathetic country for months now, looking after this briefcase more than my own men...

Obergefreiter, Sie sehen das?
- Corporal, you see that?

[Christopher J. D'Dario]

OOC: Sorry for the confusiuon, I'll try and keep the Translations more seperate. Also sorry for the short post... Im having trouble thinking at the moment.
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He's going to shoot me in the back, maybe in the back of skull? I can only hope he'll be that merciful. These where the thoughts rushing through CJ's mind as he walked back to the plane. The Germans where not known for mercy, especially when confronting people of other races. When he was grabbed from behind he thought it was all over, The Pilot would kill him, and Lorenzo would kill the pilot. Great team work.

But a shot did not come, and as the Pilot spoke CJ stopped walking, turning slowly to face the Pilot, the cold anger removed from his eyes as he listened to the Germans words. CJ had only been in the maddening heat for a day or two; this man had been here for months! No wonder he snapped. In a desert Heat was a mans enemy, even more so then a bullet. Bullets kill the body, this heat, kills the mind.

"Es tut mir leid für Ihre Männer sir. Wir haben auch gesehen bekämpfen, und ist verloren. Wenn alles, was macht uns equil, egal, die wir Abzeichen tragen." CJ said, showing the first sign of respect for the Rank the Pilot held over him. They where both soldiers, the only difrience is one flew and one walked. When Wolfgang nodded his head at something behind him CJ hesitated for a second. If this was a distraction, the German could shoot him while his head was turned. But in War that’s a risk you have to take, friendly fire isn't friendly after all.

Turning his head in the direction the Pilot had nodded CJ was surprised to actually see something. A person walking down one of the sand dunes off in the distance. The Grey Uniform was obviously German, maybe it was a survivor of the Convoy CJ and Lorenzo where in. He looked over at the plane, Lorenzo was already walking toward the person, rifle in hand. CJ looked back at the Pilot with confusion on his face. People just seemed to be popping up out of the sand, and all coming to the crash site. They stayed here too long.
"Lassen Sie uns warten auf das Flugzeug, Lorenzo bringt ihn zu uns, und es scheint, als ob Ihr Bein verletzt." CJ said as he walked the rest of the way back to the plane at a slower pace.


Translation:
1. I'm sorry for your men sir. We have both seen combat, and experianced lose. If anything that makes us equil, no matter the badges we wear.

2. Lets wait at the plane, Lorenzo will bring him to us, and it looks like your leg is hurting you.

[seejay3]

The sand was hot against her ankles as Elizibeth started walking down the dune toward the illusion of the crashed plane. She knew it was an illusion because there where three people here too, and a plane that little could not carry three people. But still, this one could be good for a laugh; at least she would have some company for a little while before the images faded away.

With that in mind she stumbled down the dune, there was no wind on this side so her hair wasn't blowing about her face, oh god! her hair would be a mess! So dry from the heat, she didn't want to tie it back in a ponytail for fear of it cracking and breaking due to the heat. She could kill for a cold shower right about now. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the feeling of water flowing over her head and shoulders. A smile broke out across her face as she thought about how nice it made her feel, being clean and fresh. Not like now, she had been wandering the desert for a few days now, lost and alone with no one to talk to but herself and no one to impress. She must look like a train wreak.

She opened her eyes as someone approached. A soldier with a rifle, oh yay, now her delusions where going to shoot her, a giggle escaped her lips at that thought. She had lost it, she needed to get out of the sun, get some water to drink and clear her head. But she didn't think that would happen any time soon. The soldier seemed like he wanted to escort her back to the plane, he was dressed in an Axis uniform, lucky for her she was too.
Three days ago she had been sitting in a plane flying over the waves of sand dunes she now walked across. German planes had been sighted flying over the border and the allies feared they where gaining intelligence on defensive positions. She was to be sent to a German airfield, once there she was to find the information and destroy it, then kill the pilots or sabotage their planes. She was dressed in a long sleeve grey jacket with a white button up shirt under it and a knee length skirt. A gold name tag shone in the sunlight, the name reading Alena Adael.
She was posing as a Secretary for General Geert, that is how she would get into guarded areas, the disguise had served her well before. That was of course before she had bailed out of the burning plane.

She smiled at the Soldier with the Weapon. "Soldat hallo, ich hoffe, ich finde Sie sehr gut auf diesem sonnigen Tag voller Spaß." Where the words that escaped her lips. The look on the soldiers face was priceless, and she burst out laughing as she continued past him towards the plane and the other two. She liked this illusion, two of the men weren’t all that good looking, but one of them was, he was even all dressed up too and carrying a briefcase. Yep, that confirmed it. This was defiantly a trick of her mind. Who in their right mind would be out in the desert all dressed up and carrying a briefcase? This had to be fake, but still, he didn't look to bad, quite cute actually.

"Hallo Jungs, Was bringt dir hier? Sie kennen Ihre Art niedlich." She said the last sentence to the man in the suit. Another giggles escaped her lips before the sand that had been churned up by the crash slid about her feet, she lost he balance and fell into the sand, she didn't bother getting back up, just sat there looking at the three delusions of people.


Translation:

Soldat hallo, ich hoffe, ich finde Sie sehr gut auf diesem sonnigen Tag voller Spaß. -
Hello soldier, I hope I find you well on this fun filled sunny day.

Hallo Jungs, Was bringt dir hier? Sie kennen Ihre Art niedlich. -
Hello boys, What brings you out here? You know your sort of cute.

[Leon Wolfgang]

OOC: Just a quick note, I’m not in a suit. More of a musk, casual look.

… the long sleeved shirt he was wearing had folded up sleeves and the buttons to his shirt were all loosely undone. A black vest was bared beneath the grey looking shirt and surprisingly, unlike most other troops in the heat who’d wear shorts, he actually had what seemed to be a dark pair of denim looking trousers on.

IC:

As the Pilot stood quietly still for a moment, watching at the slightly nervous male turned slowly to hear him out, Leon’s eyes squinting a little, as the sun glared onwards into his general line of sight, almost turning the broken pale of sweat upon his forehead into droplets of boiled water. At least the Corporal seemed to sympathise with him? One bonus point Leon thought to himself mildly, as he shed a slight smile briefly, unable to shake the guilt of his earlier pre-Madonna actions - he’d never snapped at anyone like that before; particularly as Leon was a kind hearted man, quite humorous and friendly at the best of times.

After nudging his head into a general direction of a moving figure, the Corporal’s comrade and subordinate briskly made swift measures in taking precautions, as the Pilot gave a slight worried look for a moment, wondering whether the young soldier should be approaching the mysterious figure alone? Leon had heard enough stories of the local African Tribes using soldiers as bait, luring out any suspecting victims in the desert… As far fetched as it sounded, Leon couldn’t help but feel a little nervous, being grounded, considering his wings were now clipped.

Leon didn’t speak anymore, he already felt a slight bond between the Corporal arising and it didn’t take words to concede your loses with someone, but rather actions, as the Pilot nodded somewhat, patting the Corporal on the back as they began to walk again. His leg wasn’t that bad, just irrational or fast movements seemed to render a ligament or nerve within his leg, a strain, a slightly painful one at that. Thumping into the ground, Leon could expect his legs to take damage from the impact, but from close inspection, he only acquired minor wounds and cuts -- still a dreary head though, as the drying sweaty blood down the side of his face and brow concluded his battle wounds for the day.

“Ah... Ich bin in Ordnung” the Pilot said with a slight wave of his hand, as if to insinuate, forget about it, but Leon’s slight limp now and again perhaps made it easier said than done. As they drew ever closer to his downed beauty, another young beauty caught his gaze, as the young soldier soon abruptly turned into a young female? Leon’s head tilted slightly, as he glanced between Lorenzo and the Corporal, his fingers instinctively tightening around the leather handle to the musk brown leather briefcase, a slight narrow look taking to his eyes as he listened to the delirious woman speak - passing a slight compliment at the same time, that chirped a vague smile and laugh from the Pilot’s lips as he momentarily looked away.

Moistening his throat slightly, the Flight Lieutenant raised his free hand towards Lorenzo, saying “Geben Sie ihr etwas Wasser, schaut sie ausgetrocknet an”, before Leon slowly stepped closer to the woman, kneeling down beside her gently, as he planted his briefcase into the sand - abruptly by his side. “Was ist Ihr Name? Von wo sind Sie gekommen?” Leon questioned somewhat, not just out of curiosity, but general suspicion, as he slowly coiled his nimble fingers around her shoulders a little (presume you’re laying flat out?) to draw up slowly, supporting her back with his leg and arm, so she was sitting up for when Lorenzo - IF Lorenzo decided to give her some water.


Translations:[/b]

Ah... Ich bin in Ordnung
- Ah... I'm okay

Geben Sie ihr etwas Wasser, schaut sie ausgetrocknet an.
- Give her some water, she looks dehydrated.

Was ist Ihr Name? Von wo sind Sie gekommen?
- What is your name? Where have you come from?

[Christopher J. D'Dario]

CJ let a small smile cross his lips when the Pilot gave him a pat on the back. It seemed they had become friends of a sort. Who knew that throwing a person against a plane and then shooting at someone could make two people see eye to eye. But still, in the fog of war strange things happen.

CJ had not heard any stories of African tribes ambushing Soldiers, and he was quite confident in Lorenzo's abilities. In the truck they had started talking, gotten to know each other a little better. Lorenzo had been a boxer before he joined the army. That fighting skill combined with the army Close Combat training had made him a very formidable opponent when it came to unarmed combat. But having said that his shooting was less then average. Couldn't hit a rabbit at five meters. He Chuckled at the thought.

CJ watched as Lorenzo brought the man to the plane, and a slight shiver ran down his spine, the man was no man, it was his beloved Lola! He almost jumped to his feet and hugged her, but she spoke, her voice was different, her complexion, her eyes. No, under the heat he had believed he had found his Lola again. How foolish could he be. She wouldn't be in the desert, but this woman was. He remained silent as the Pilot spoke to her, sat her up and ordered Lorenzo to give her some water. Hesitated for a moment, looking to CJ, he nodded. Wolfgang was a higher rank, his orders where to be followed.

Lorenzo walked over to his pack and fished around for his canteen, bringing it back and holding it out for the Woman.