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Operation Torch: IC

Started by stewartsage, May 17, 2011, 02:44:50 pm

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"Ah!  That settles which one of you other two is which, since Ms. Krig was obliging enough to freeze our runway," Eléonore set her glass on the rickety wooden nightstand tilting slightly sideways on a rough patch.  Deciding to ignore perceived slight against her own king and military (not a bloody good start to the venture), no one got to make fun of Leopold III but a Belgian dammit, she gestured to herself with one hand, "And I am Senior Capitaine Eléonore Petrisse, of the Belgian Air Force.  The shiftless woman in the apron is my maid, Quartermaster 2nd Class Joëlle Moreau.  Of the Gallian Navy."

The towering blond returned with several manila folders and a clipboard, handing them directly to Elé.  Hearing her name spoken, she gave the assembled witches an exaggerated bow before taking up position behind the deck chair.  Flipping through one of the folders for a moment, apparently forgetting her unit was still at attention, Elé finally looked back up slightly startled, "Oh yes!  Need to know information!  Do not bother Joëlle, she's our entire support section so avoid putting too much strain on her.  Second, what you see is what we 'ave.  The first tent fly 'as what passes for striker unit storage.  Stow yours where there is room.  My headquarters is in the other fly, along with our mess.  If you want a 'ot meal on demand, try I/3 Groupe de Chasse across the field.  Otherwise you should be able to smell Joëlle cooking from your quarters at mealtime."  At that she waved a hand at the wall tent last in the row.

"Questions?" Elé retrieved her glass from the stand, keeping an eye on the row of girls while taking another drink.  The maid continued to regard them with barely concealed disdain from beside the umbrella.

Dr. Kraus

"Ma'am! When are we to deploy for training and missions, what signal should we listen for, and where are our weapons stored ma'am?" Abigail asked with a stone cold look, she had gotten this look from her former senior officer in Britannia; Doloers Bader, Squadron Leader of the 11th Joint fighter wing: Her Majesty's Witch. Due to the sudden train of thought, Abigail's concentration stuttered 'Pay attention, stand at pay, stand at attention, stand at attention, stand at attention'. The others seemed to notice this stutter as Abigail's foot stomped on the ground once after she had finished talking, ' 'What is she now, a Karlslander?' Lieutenant Baumer thought to herself ' at least thats what Abigail had thought when she caught sight of the Liberion giving her a look. Abigail shook this off and continued to stand at attention, saluting still with that cold stone stare on her face.


May 20, 2011, 06:03:42 pm #17 Last Edit: June 16, 2011, 11:11:10 pm by stewartsage
"Training?  Miss Chandler the front is five miles," Elé swept her hand in arc off the end of the runway where the mechanized platoon still bumped across the cleared ground, "That way.  I expect you are all well acquainted with how to fly by now.  That being said, part of our mission is to regularly patrol over our lines.  At dawn and dusk we'll fly a sweep.  Other then that, the air raid signal is a siren over at the operations center and my own voice."

She reached into one of her top pockets and produced a jumble of objects, breaking eye contact with the girls for the first time.  Fumbling around, Elé finally managed to pull out a cigarette, light it, and hold up a shining silver whistle.  Her speech somewhat obstructed, she continued, "We 'ave only the one wireless, for communication with command.  In the air we use 'and signals and whistles.  I hope you 'ave not forgotten your basic training, but if so, I think I have the handbook in my quarters."

With a contented puff on her cigarette, she dropped the whistle back in her pocket before removing it from her lips.  Retrieving the glass from it's stand it seemed she needed a break before continuing.  Suddenly, she stuck a finger up as a dim light came on in her head, "Weapons!  Yes!  Personally I would recommend keeping your sidearm on you at all times.  Other weapons, um, I guess rig something in the equipment tent."  Suddenly self conscious, Elé adjusted her uniform tunic as best she could.  Only ripping it further.  Bleary eyes returning, she looked up at them all again with a faint smile, "Vous êtes tous très beaux, oui?"

While the girls looked on in confusion, Joëlle was quick to refill her mistress' glass and translate for her.  Softening her disapproval only slightly, "Orientation flight in an hour.  Have your gear stowed and be back then.  Dismissed."


"Say... um... ma'am?" Celia lowered her voice and stepped forward a bit, not wanting to let the others hear her, "M-maybe I could brush up a bit on my... basic... skills..." Eléonore's expression did nothing to bolster her confidence but she continued anyway. "Could I take a look at that handbook?" She finished, wringing her hands nervously.


While the bleeding had mostly ceased, Inga's hand was still aching quite badly. While she always carried basic medical equipment with her - one of the "books" on her belt was in fact a very small medikit - but aside from sterilizing it and putting a bandage over it, there wasn't much to do about it - she gave another quick salute to the commander, before marching off.

She sought out her pack, which laid plumply dumped in the middle of the equipment tent - the thickened roof sections along with the rows upon rows of piled-up items and shelving gave the narrow "corridors" a dark, almost murky feeling. Frowning slightly yet reveling in the comfort of poor lighting - no matter the temperature, you couldn't have winter without darkness, it just wasn't right - she opened the pack, in order to ensure that all the things she had ordered brought had in fact been brought.

A good amount of minutes and some quiet rummaging later, having mentally checking all the items she had been looking for off her list and carefully sorted them into a select choice of nearby makeshift shelves, she spread out all the items she hadn't been expecting to find before her, going through them one by one.
A gnome's hat. Bloody idiots, she thought with a smile at the thought of her crew back home,  they'd think I'd have time to spend on yuletide down here? And there's no snow here, anyway.
And what's this? A snowman on a keychain? Where do they get the ideas for all this anyway?
Smiling slightly again, she hooked the charm to one of the loops on her belt, before continuing.
Reports. More reports. Damn you, people - this time there was no affection in the thought - sending me paperwork? Bloody vamps!
After discarding a fair number of folders of unnecessary papers, she came upon the last two items - an unmarked blueprint folder, and a quite oddly shaped eyepiece. At least, she thought it was one - to be fair, it looked a lot more like a gas mask, what with the various protruding parts, the enclosing design and the enormous lenses. She looked at it again, and then at the folder - they were almost beckoning to be examined further - but Joëlle's words echoed in her head, and she wasn't keen on being late for their first assignment. Or at all, for that matter. She took the folder and stuffed it in beside a number of spares for her unit, and was about do the same with the spectacles; when, again, that beckoning sensation returned. And stronger. This, she felt, was something important.

Her frown returned. However, it only remained for a brief second, before she promptly fastened the spectacles' band around her neck. She would examine the blueprints later - for now, she would follow her instincts and bring them. To whatever good it might do. She stuffed her empty pack into the bottom shelf, and started walking through the narrow corridors of towering equipment piles, looking for the exit.

Dr. Kraus

"Right, thank you commander!" with that, Abigail did a quick salute and quickly exited the commander's tent. "Only an hour, sure hope my gun made it in one piece..." Abigail said to herself whilst walking toward the equipment tent, "I wonder if Bader would like her, maybe as her junior..." Abigail shook the thought out of her head quickly. As she was within a few meters of the equipment tent, Abigail spotted Inga "would you look who it is, the ice princess..." Abigail didn't dare say this loudly as she could imagine what her fate would be, 'I guess I'll just sneak in, grab my gun and be off before she notices me". Once Inga had entered the tent, Abigail quickly followed her in making sure not to make the slightest sound and she quickly spotted what looked to be her gun bag, approaching the bag confirmed this and Abigail quickly snatched it up making sure Inga didn't hear her. "heh", Abigail stopped dead in her tracks when she heard this small chuckle 'I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm so so dead..' Abigail was sure she was caught 'I didn't do anything wrong, I was just getting my gun! She won't freeze me because of that, right!?'. Abigail slowly settled herself and looked for Inga's location 'ah, there you are...' Inga was two shelfs away from her, thanks to the darkness abigail was out of sight... for now. 'I wonder what made her chuckle...' Abigail's curiosity was getting the best of her, she slowly crept toward Inga's location within the tent and made sure not to make a single sound. 'Thats a little snow man right? She was laughing about that? She really is the ice princess...' Abigail seemed to think the snowman to be lame and quickly left the tent making her way toward the hanger. "Thank god I had these shorts with my gun, now I can walk around without any worries!" Abigail had quickly put on her shorts while walking to the hanger, "Oh great! The gun had been taken apart!" Abigail's face lit up due to this. Upon arrival to the hanger she quickly setup shop next to her striker, "Grandfather really knows what I like!" Abigail said cheerfully to herself ignoring the service men running around her. Abigail proceeded to re-construct her Thompson SMG upon the workbench while inspecting every piece of the assault rife, many of the engineers around her seemed intrigued by her skill of rebuilding the weapon. "There all done!", the SMG had been completed and Abigail's face had a huge smile on it with gleeful eyes, "Hey, you down there!" one of the younger men had yelled down to Abigail, "If you want to test fire that, take some of those tin cans and line 'em up out back!" the young man said this hoping to get a smile out of the young witch, "Right, thanks!" she said with a stone cold look to the young man. The young man returned to his work thinking how the young witch went from warm to cold in a flash, 'its nothing personal mate, just orders from Bader...' Abigail was given one last order from Bader before coming to Africa; "When spoken to by any young men, give them that look I gave you and limit what you say to them." "Why is this, Commander?" "Relationships with the ground crew can lead to problems and lower your performance in the air, trust me with this, I've seen many witches get hurt because their minds where somewhere else". Abigail took the can's out back and lined them up like the young man had said, "lets light you suckers up!" *BLAM* *BLAM* *TAT TAT TAT*, Abigail fired in short bursts and then switched to single shot "Ahahahahahaha!" Abigail laughed as she then squeezed the trigger while holding the rifle at waist position *Dutututututututututututututututututut*. She loved it, the sheer power of each round heading toward her target, the sound of the bolt thrashing back and forth, seeing the empty rounds be un-chambered, "Ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahhahaha!" she loved it! *Tick* *Tick* *Tick* she was out and the service men around where tankful for it, "Oi, Miss. Witch! Do you mind not doing that again? You're scarring some of the guys over there!" Abigail looked at the older engineer, following where he was pointing toward a small crew of men whom had been piecing a bi-plane back together. The crew didn't look to be scarred but more amazed that such a girl could do that, "Sorry mate, I get carried away when shooting. I'll make sure to keep it in the air and pointed at the enemy from now on!" Abigail said, she then waved goodbye and returned inside the hanger. Inside the hanger, she found that Lieutenant Baumer was inspecting the commander's basic training handbook while sitting on the ground next to her Striker unit.


May 22, 2011, 06:38:29 am #21 Last Edit: May 22, 2011, 06:43:32 am by NejinOniwa
Inga had just about exited the equipment tent when she heard the rattling gunfire of an SMG in the distance. She quickly ran to inspect what was causing the ruckus, but when she spotted Abigail handing a few cans their asses to them, she quickly settled down. I had better go get my own gun, as well, she reminded herself; said and done, she ran back to the tent and after some searching, unfurled the massive piece from its coverings.

The cannon was in one piece, and the coverings were filled to the brim with ammunition lines. There were even some of the freshly designed APHE rounds - those had rolled out of the Karlskoga factory shortly before she left home - alongside the usual AP and API rounds. She loaded one line of AP into the drum magazine, and slung a line of API around her shoulder - most people would think twice before carrying incendiary ammo on their person, but thanks to her thermal control power, there wasn't much of a danger for Inga to do so. The ammo weighed a considerable amount - however, it was nothing like the main load.
Lifting the cannon craved considerable effort, even though she was used to handling it; it weighed well over 100 pounds, and as she wasn't in her transformed state she didn't have the augmented strength that form gave her. After a few attempts she successfully managed to hoist it up on her back - it was almost taller than herself - she reeled from the sheer weight of it, but after taking a few steps she was starting to get used to the balance. She once again exited the tent, albeit with a considerably heavier gait.

Pondering actions, Inga walked over to the hangar, where the servicemen who previously had been roused by Abigail's relentless spraying were now back to their usual jostling state. Searching for a target as she came closer, she quickly found a big, broken fuel barrel - emptied, of course - that was standing close to the very end of the runway. Perfect, she thought with a smile.

A few stares were directed at her as she heaved the thing and started rolling it toward the spot she had mentally designated for it, just behind the marked "takeoff spot" on the runway. When she lifted it up to a standing position again, there were a few more askance glances at her - one weren't supposed to obstruct the runway like that, after all - and when she had returned to where the servicemen were bustling about, one of them couldn't help but ask. "Um. Miss. You mustn't obstruct the runway, miss." She gave him an askance stare, and glanced once at her own single-star officer badge, and then at his own, much inferior, rank badge, before continuing to stare at him, very intently. "Oh! I mean, ma'am. Eh." Suddenly unsure of what to do, he glanced at his coworkers - however, Inga solved the problem by a simple statement. "Target practice. Clear the way, if you would?" A silent murmur about what target practice could possibly have to do with a target of that size and at that distance, until she gripped the cannon and swung it around, training it to her chest - this had the murmur replaced by frantic gibbering throughout the crowd, but at least they cleared away as quickly as they could. Reeling under the weight for a moment, Inga transformed - there simply was no way she could handle the recoil without the augmented strength, and most definitely not on the ground - took aim, and fired a single shot.

The recoil was staggering - she felt as if a professional boxer had slugged her straight in the stomach - but the effect was even more over-the-top. One second the barrel was on the ground; the next, it was sky high, spinning like a downed fighter in the air as it flew off toward the barren plains, finally landing in a small brush beside the runway. The crowd of servicemen was deathly silent as she returned the cannon to its place on her back, returned to her normal form, and walked off to the hangar. "2 centimeters off target. Make sure to readjust aiming standards," she murmured while jotting the same phrase down in one of her notebooks, before entering the hangar and closing the door behind her.

Dr. Kraus

"Quite impressive Inga, I'm sure the neroi are frightened now!" Abigail said jokingly, she sat on top of a workbench placing more bullets into her empty round drum. "Right, I'm sure they are..." Inga wasn't really in the mood for Abigail's jokes, Abigail placed the round drum magazine on the workbench after having hopped off. Abigail then proceeded to inspect her striker unit, "Ah, quite beautiful, isn't she?" she said while running her finger down the weldding lines, "I'm going to need some more space on here soon, getting filled up!" she was now inspecting the red upside down teardrops which indicated kill count of the pilot and the striker. Abigail had fought in the Battle of Britannia before joining up with the other witches in Africa, her kill count impressive for a sergeant was 5 large type neuroi and additional 3 large type durring her night patrols in 1941, "I'm going to need two more if I want to finish this row..." Abigail thought deeply about this, it was her primary goal in life to pass up her former commanding officer, Bader, whom had achieved taking down 80 large type neuroi "I will surpass her...I will become like her..." Abigail then broke her train of thought as she caught sight of Baumer signaling or at least attempting to. "No no no, Lieutenant! Its like this!" Abigail placed her index finger on her head then started to tap; one, two, three... go! she made a fist, into a strait hand, and pointed her arm forward, "Do you understand now?" she asked the still confussed Lieutenant 'Its going to be a troublesome operation, isn't it?' she asked herself as she returned to the workbench picking up her SMG and ammo. "Let's get set-up ladys! The commander will be here shortly!" she then started to prepare her striker unit "don't stall on me this time, you bugger!" she said quietly to the striker unit, patting it like the old friend it was.


June 16, 2011, 11:54:06 pm #23 Last Edit: September 01, 2011, 11:37:51 am by stewartsage
OOC: Break up your posts a little bit please Doc, just to make them easier to read.

"Oui, Lieutenant.  Look for a little pamphlet ontop of my 'ammock," Eléonore closed her eyes, as if adding a final note of dismissal to the assembled witches.  As they each drifted away it seemed the Belgian was going to remain asleep in her chair for the next hour.  However, Joëlle stayed at her side looking straight ahead across the airfield.  Another minute passed before Elé removed the smoldering cigarette from her mouth, dropping into the sand before speaking, "What do you think of them?"

Joëlle wiped a damp hand on her apron and shrugged dismissively, "The Liberian's too quiet, the Brit too loud, and the Balt is..... I don't like her."

"Opinion duly noted Quartier-maître," Elé replied with a soft chuckle, never opening her eyes, "Might as well tell General Juin we've got the bodies 'e promised us.  Allez, allez!"  Rolling her eyes, Joëlle presented a decent salute before turning on her heels and returning towards the head quarters tent.  Periodically the rattle of small arms and the single crash of a larger caliber cannon interrupted her thoughts.  Through it all the drunk Belgigan didn't even wince at the noise or crack an eye to make sure the situation wasn't getting out of hand. 

Exactly forty five minutes after the original meeting had dispersed she finally arose from her deck chair, turning bleary eyes towards the equipment tent.  With a sigh Elé left behind the comfort of her umbrella's shade and the reassuring coolness of her Arak.  When she finally finished shuffling across the sand into the shade of the canopy, with a few loud curses directed at her maids rearrangement (cleaning) of their quarters she began to gather her kit together.  The target of her ire made her own reappearance; Joëlle hurried over to the end table to retrieve the warming glass skirts swishing and be-ribboned hair fluttering in the soft breeze she cupped her hands, shouting across the airfield, "Four minute warning!  FOUR MINUTES!"


OOC: As nobody seems to be taking the charge here, I might as well. Also, Stew - could we possibly get some kind of map for the base? Would be nice to know where what is and so on. Same goes for the eventual battlefield.

Inga was busy toying with the mystery spectacles hanging around her neck when the gallian maid's voice cut through the doldrums within the hangar's enclosing walls. She eyed her striker unit for a second or two, groped the sheaths and handles of her melee armaments to make sure everything was fastened properly, then turned around and made for the headquarters tent - with a step considerably lighter than before, now that her cannon had been unloaded at its designated spot beside her Striker.

Approaching their dozing commander, she noticed the increase in heat as she exited the hangar - particularly, the blackish spectacles absorbed more heat to be radiated onto her chest area than she had expected. As casual as ever, she transformed, pulling the temperatures of the airspace around her to a more comfortable 14C. "Frankly, Ma'am," she began as she passed beneath the shade of the tent covers, "I cannot understand how you can take this hells-be-damned temperature. And this is not even summer. What could it possibly be like here in July?"
Realizing it might be seen as a bit wasteful to use her magic constantly - not that it mattered for her, with her reserves - as well as the danger of material damage due to her horns - she eyed her bandaged hand in memory - she pulled heavily on the air and humidity inside the tent, creating a half-meter sphere of clear ice resting on a small pedestal on the ground right by her feet. She undid her transformation, and sat down on the spare space available on the frozen chair. The others better get here soon, she thought as she again gazed upon the shape of their sleeping commander, or this is going to be the most boring four minutes of the year.


June 17, 2011, 09:06:49 pm #25 Last Edit: June 17, 2011, 09:12:58 pm by Bella
Celia was attempting to doze in a particularly well-shaded corner of her tent when she heard indistinct yelling emanating from someplace not too distant. She was about to dismiss the voice, roll over, and continue her quest for sleep when she realized it belonged to Joëlle - and finally made out what she was saying. Four minutes?! Until we deploy? What's happened - have neuroi been spotted - ? Celia's mind raced as she pulled on her shirt and jacket, threw on a pair of boots and slung her enormous rifle over her shoulder before sprinting out of the tent and heading toward Eléonore's.

Entering the canvas structure, she was pleased to find it far cooler than her own tent - of course, it was the working of Inga. Realizing she was only the second one there - and that the commander was sleeping - she momentarily relaxed a bit and headed toward Inga's ice-sphere. Leaning against it, she looked at the young blonde and spoke: "Do you suppose we should wake her?" Celia began, before noticing the liquor beside her "Or try to wake her...."


June 17, 2011, 10:01:37 pm #26 Last Edit: June 18, 2011, 07:52:57 pm by NejinOniwa
"You had better learn one thing or two about commanders," Inga muttered to the Liberion witch. "For one, bad idea. Leave that to the maid. Second..." she went on, whispering discreetly in the liberion witch's ear. "She's not asleep."

An uncomfortable silence settled inside the tent and she kept it - until a thought surfaced in her mind. "You really are enjoying this cold, aren't you," she said with a smug look at Baumer, taking some pleasure at the sight of the tiny beads of meltwater droplets running down the Lieutenant's side. Back home in Baltland, most people would simply be annoyed at Inga's cold tendencies - they had enough of it during the winters as it was, they said, and kept rebuking her about it whenever she used her talents during the warmer part of the year. Finally someone who appreciates my magic beyond the simple function as a way to keep warm in winter, she thought.

Dr. Kraus

"Well if everyone is going to take their bloody time I'm just going to go off first!" Abigail stated to the Lieutenant and Fänrik after which she jumped into her striker unit. Many of the service men running around took notice that Abigail was going to fly with her cargo shorts on when she had not done so upon flying in, "Oh bugger, forgot to take these off..." she said to herself while tightening her belt, "Guess I'll just fly with them today!" she said this with a little bit of concern due to the shorts covering some of the striker where her legs are.

She had done it in training before so she soon shook off the uneasy feeling and started up her striker, startling a few people with a loud BANG! "Oh, you bugger! None of this nonsense!" Abigail yelled at her striker which had then settled into a low hum, "There, now off I go!" and just like that she sped toward the runway with impressive speed for such an older and run down striker unit. She was soon in the sky with her rifle on her back and aviator glasses glued to her face along with a wide smile stretched across it as well, "Wahahahahahahahahahahaha!" Abigail laughed at the top of her lungs while circling over the base, she loved her father's engineering just as much as her grandfather's while in the sky!


In the Air
Having taken off ahead of her companions, Abigail was afforded an excellent view of the cotton balls from hell produced by the thumping ack-ack guns bursting to the east over the Bou Regreg.

On the Ground
With a rumble, Elé reappeared before the two junior officers with her striker's already attached and turning over.  To the casual observer she seemed shockingly sober and surprisingly displeased, "Right! Where are your strikers, mademoiselles?  We should be in za air by now!  If zis was an actual attack our intercept window would be drastically reduced!"


Saluting briefly to Elé, and providing a nudge to Baumer in case she didn't catch her commander's drift, Inga took off in a trot toward the hangar to get her striker. Quickly, however, this turned into a dash across the open airfield, and when finally her wits caught up with her halfway across the tarmac, she drew upon her magic and transformed. The boost in strength allowed her to run in great leaps, like some freak two-footed leopard; in less than ten seconds she were across the airfield, and a few more later she was in the hangar all but jumping into her striker.

Since her magic was already up at full blast, the engines roared to life with a ferocious howl, almost tearing the lock of its holder to pieces; luckily Inga had sense enough to disengage it before it shattered. She drew the throttle down low before grabbing her cannon, then leaned forward and taxied dexterously through crowds of servicemen running about finicky - what WERE they doing here now, anyway? - before blasting it back to half as she cleared the hangar gate. The impressive acceleration of the unit shot her up in the air before she even had crossed over to the runway, and she did a roll or two before settling into her "flyer mode", her focus and cool melding her mind into a razor-sharp blade.

She did, however, still have a bit of trickster in her. The engines howled like mad wolves in the wind as she maxed them out in a short burst - unlike most pilots, however, she didn't fear for her unit's integrity as she did so. One of the better parts of being both engineer and test pilot, Inga thought smugly as she went about the second part of her little "special trick". Enveloping herself in a bubble of freezing cold air, she blasted past Abigail at an unhealthy speed; behind her droplets of water were condensing out of the air, drawing a most flashy rainbow trail behind her path, sparkling slightly before fading out as the water evaporated again. A waste of magic, perhaps, Inga mused, but definitely cool enough to be worth it. A grin formed on her face as she sped down and settled into a hover a bit above the Britannian witch - the cold still lingering for a few seconds, making sparkling flakes of snow fall beneath her unit. "I see everything is in order up here, Abe. Nothing out of the ordinary." Smugness perpetuated every single word of the last sentence.