Kaneda looked up and saw that Walter had arrived late, wearing his PT garb instead of his regular uniform. He thought that the captain would discipline him in some way, unfortunately that is the way it was, if you were late you had to deal with the consequences. From what he had heard about the black company they weren't treated the greatest in the first place, for what they had to go through made Kaneda unsettled. It drew feelings of his parents back home in the internment camps even though he knew in his heart that Walter had it much worse than he ever did. And he wanted Walter to know that in this group, that wasn't going to happen.

"Hey Walter, too bad we didn't get to see you at the run today, captain offered a prize for breaking the track record today and I bet you would be the only one that could have matched or beat me out there. We'll have to test that out sometime before we get deployed..." He said issuing the challenge before a thought popped into his head, "better yet, how about this? You and I are done eating here, your powers work with the sun and won't require the energy of this wonderful meal here and neither does mine, let's say you and I go out right now and get that run in, winner is the one that makes it to where we usually meet up outside the barracks. The loser has to deal with the punishment that you might receive if the captain feels so inclined to. The only rule is that you have to touch the base of the mountain on the way up and on the way down. It's a win, win you get the run in, the captain should be somewhat glad that you did it and you also have a chance to get out of toilet cleaning duty if he still wants to punish you. Also, you might not have heard and this is to the rest of you as well but the next chance we have I would like to meet up with everyone who wants to by the light pole closest to our barracks, I like to call it a team building exercise. I know the duo are in but what about the rest of you?" He asked, waiting for his response from the others and from Walter about the challenge, he could only smile as he waited.

Belasý was torn between approval of Kaneda's character and disgust that a captain would set so biased a goal, and then reward the one to complete it. Did he want to encourage dissent? The supers she'd known as a girl had been fiercely competitive, even while molded into groups that would work well together.

She'd never fit with any of them, and she'd paid for that, as she'd paid for her defiance, as she'd paid for having powers in the first place. It wasn't all that much of a reward, she supposed, but it was addressed like some sort of honor. Sure it was a nice gun, but they were very common in America. It was a symbol, little more, but then what was the point at all?

At least the little pep talk focused on teamwork, and absolute must for any fighting group, but in the end her opinion of the captain was diminished. Her regard for Kaneda did not change apart from the improvement it had already seen when he'd fallen in with Izkry, and she let her gaze focus on the ground. Her brother gave Kaneda a wide grin, openly glad for the man's success. His smile lingered as they marched too the mess hall, fading only upon discovering what the Americans called "spaghetti". He'd not yet had the misfortune to encounter this particular dish.

Sitting next to his sister at one end of a bench, he poked the soggy noodles drenched in the distinctly American condiment with his fork, his expression one of wary incredulity. "I am not thinking this is spaghetti," he said aloud, impressed all over again by what passed for cuisine in this country. Not that the army ate all that well -- he'd been to a proper restaurant a few times, and that was far better, but no self-respecting European would consume such...dubious fare. He'd been surprised the first time afield, as the Swiss army in general ate very well. The bagged and canned meals they'd used from another country were not very good. He'd been shocked at the sad state of the British Army's meals.

The Americans, however, were in a class all their own.

Perhaps this is why they are seen as fat and tasteless, he thought, nudging the worm-like noodles one last time before taking a deep breath and digging it. You just had to do your best not to smell or taste it, that was all. And pray it didn't give you indigestion. He glanced around at the others, noting their expressions. Kaneda's comment got an outright grin. "Yes, I think you are right. Maybe we are fighting Italians, but I do not think they would serve even their enemies such a meal. ...No offense, Frauline Maria." He'd never had anything against her for her ancestry, even as he hoped the rest would forgive him his own. "I think we must find a new word for what they give us here. Even 'food' is generous, yes? Perhaps...Ah! I have it. The mess hall, they serve the ufos." He pronounced the acronym poorly, closer to "oo-foh" than actual letters. Belasý raised an eyebrow at him, and he indicated his meal. "Unbekanntes -- ah, unknown food object," he explained. "Ufo -- that is the correct word, yes?" he asked of the only American at the table, hoping he'd gotten it right.

Bel had no issue eating what she was given, but her irrepressible sibling had truly outdone himself, and she made a noise that fell somewhere between a snort and a muffled laugh. The word fit all too well, she agreed, turning her attention back to her plate. Talk turned to where they they expected to be deployed, and she frowned. They'd yet to complete training. Surely they wouldn't be ordered out early, and risk another disaster.

Then again, command always had issues. It was inevitable.

"Montgomery, he is a commander I would server under gladly," Izkry agreed. "I hear good things of his planning, and his ideas of combining forces, but that he is perhaps even a bit too cautious. I could not say, strategy is not my thing. But he inspires his men, and that is important. Still, we cannot forget Rommel. I hear he is remarkable, versatile...and widely respected. Even by the Italians. Even by those he faces on the field. Do not underestimate him. He will not go easy." He washed another bite down with a drink. At least that tasted alright. "But invading France, as I hear them talking about, there is no way. We have seen what is there, and...Bel, she says trying to land an army there, it would be a massacre. There would need to be some crack already available on that coast, or some complex diversion. And you know what they say about complex plans." The young man sighed. "The Resistance, they are the best hope for France. Supporting them will do more good than anything else."

The mention of being dropped out of a plane behind enemy lines earned Kaneda another smile. "Ah, yes -- they might. That is how it went last time. And it would work for a close team, perhaps, one that could fit in. But we have a Russian, an Italian, a man of faith, a Frenchman, a pair that might pass for German, a Jap, a black man, and another American besides. And the Spaniard. As a group, we do not even fit with each other, and I am not sure how much disguising it would take. That was a problem before -- the lack of fluency, the visible disparity. I hope the ones giving orders think better this time." He rubbed his head with a grimace, and was glad to have the conversation turned to airplanes. Anton's answer would be interesting for sure. Izkry found him amicable, and liked discussing engines with him.

Bel ate the rest of her meal in silence, frowning at Oscar's muttering but keeping her thoughts to herself. She would keep her eye on him. If he tried to betray them she would be ready. But for now she occupied herself with considering the various people that were now her comrades. The Russian woman, she seemed isolated, and it didn't help that she spoke so little English. Bel resolved yet again to try to make an effort to approach her, but she'd yet to follow through very well. The Japanese man and the Frenchman were decent. John was sweet but he was going to get himself in real trouble. He would need to adapt fast or he would die, and they couldn't afford to baby him. Maria too needed to try harder -- and Oscar, while fit, was hopeless. She wondered yet again if they would ever be ready. The newest man -- the black fellow with the scarring and damaged skin -- was too new for her to know well. He was also very quiet, and her gaze lingered on him the longest where he sat almost across from her, her bright eyes watching him from behind the dark locks that hid much of her face from view. If he caught her staring she offered him just the slightest of smiles, barely more than an upward twitch at the corner of her mouth before turning away. The little she'd seen of him had made her decide that he looked much like she felt: someone who'd been forced into a role he never wanted. She'd heard someone say "experimental" regarding him, and that further cemented the image. Bel knew that life far too well.

"Hey now," Izkry protested when Kaneda suggested running again, even if it would hardly be an issue for those two. "I want to see this race. Give me a minute to finish -- I am almost done!"

"Uh, wha'?" Walter spun his sight to the Japanese man, and then to the one who was spouting something about finishing his food before the run. He hadn't expected to be accepted with such warmth by this ragged group of rejects. But hey, he was a reject himself, they all had to bond together somehow if no one else would have them. Then it clicked for him: the powers. That's why they sent him here, it was 'cause he was one of those supers everybody had been gossiping about. Government brass thought this little thing they had going was a secret--folks chatter faster than documents can be classified, though. He took another look around, not yet addressing Kaneda's challenge; so, this was it? This was the cast of brave men and women who were going to put an end to the Reich and the Fuhrer? They done sent my black behind to the damn gallows. Ain't this somethin'?! He shook his head, more to himself than anyone else, but it unveiled his true feelings about the whole matter. No matter, he had been through much worse. If he was going to last for however long he had to last here, it'd be time for him to make some friends.

"Sho'", Walter stuck his words back at Kaneda.
"I'll race ya." He would smile, but it'd hurt too much.

His head spun to the one switching between different languages, and he made a mental note: that one was crazy. With the challenge accepted and mess seemingly coming to a close, he sat idle once more in customary silence. Until he registered that the German man was probably speaking to him, even though Walter didn't know a tidbit of German or any other foreign language for that matter. It just so happened the German man wasn't even speaking German, Walter just couldn't parse the words behind his accent nor the disjointed English which partnered his speech.

"Uh, naw. I don't know what you're sayin' to me, man. Maybe somebody else do. Oh, wait, you talkin' 'bout those flyin' saucers? Man, I ain't never seen one." He shrugged his shoulders, unsure if he had offended the German or not. He heard stories of the German people's tempers; he heard their tempers were almost worse than the Italians. All of them were crazy in his eyes.

All he needed to say was said, and all he could do now was wait for the commanding officer to officially bring an end to slop time--he wasn't going to be punished for leaving early. He dreaded what punishment might come from missing PT.

@Afro Samurai

Óscar shook his head "No, try to stay positive" he muttered to himself, raising an eyebrow as Walter entered the canteen and sat down on the table "Hey mate." he said, not really knowing what to say. Walter was the weird kind of guy, which wasn't a bad thing, it's just that the Spaniard didn't really know how to interact or talk to him, most of the time being isolated from the rest of the group. Blacks weren't a common thing in the camp, nor in Spain or France, so getting teamed with one of them could be interesting to know more about their culture and what-not, even though he was fluent in "black music", or at least that's what they called it: Jazz, Blues, some Swing, etc...

@Kessir Tarkin

He then glanced at Kaneda, at the offer of some "team-building exercise". "Sure, I'll be there, it never hurts to talk with the team am I right?" he chuckled softly, looking around before pushing his own spaghetti plate away from him, crossing his arms "Yeah, not eating that" he thought, the leftovers of the tomato sauce slowly starting to spin around in the plate itself, before a small blob of sauce slowly drifted towards a near table, using his powers to make it spin around a soldier's head, who laughed and looked back at Óscar with a dismissive look "I'll stick a bayonet up yer ass mate..." he said, chuckling and winking at him, the sauce instantly getting back to the Spaniard's plate as he chuckled back. "Well, most of the guys here are alright...".

The siblings kept it to themselves, the man doing most of the talking as he clearly saw Belasý eyeing him, which he responded by blowing a raspberry at her before shuffling on his own place, scanning the rest of the team, noticing that the Captain was nowhere to be seen, or at least near. "Hey, guys, do ya think we're gonna do algo cool today? Like, you must've seen that weird guy with the Captain, and he's been acting quite rarely these last few days..." he then leaned on the table with both of his hands "Any ideas?" he asked, not really expecting a reply to that answer: Let's be honest, maybe they all knew what was going on and he was the one that didn't.

---

---

---

---

Anton looked over at Kaneda as it was he who answered his question first. It surprised him that an Asian such as him had knowledge of this subject, North Africa and Montegomery and all that. Then again he had proven himself not to be like everyone else - as far as Anton had seen these past days-, and so he gave him the benefit of the doubt.

"Drop us out of ze plane behind enemy lines? Then we're not part of ze invasion, we're commandos. Special operatives, secret agents and ze like of zat. But I am in agreement, I would prefer to be informed of our coming tasks sooner rather than later. Anton said towards Kaneda, then watching the others as they sat down and joined the conversation. The Swiss/Germans siblings, Oscar, and the negro soldier named Walther. He had missed out the run earlier today, which made Anton wonder what had happened. But it wasn't in his place to ask, and so he didn't. Instead he turned his attention to Izkry, the male sibling.

"Impossible? Non, mon ami, noz'hing is impossible. I'm ashamed to tell ze truth, but we said t'hat ze Maginot-Line was impossible for ze Germans to break. And z'herefor, impossible for z'em to invade France. Z'hey proved us wrong twice. First by going through la Belgique, and secondly by using ways of using z'heir advantages against our weaknesess. Non mon ami, z'here is a way to invade and liberate France. And La résistance is not enough. One does not liberate a country by attacking ze occupier and then flee away."

It wasn't that Anton was entirely sure of his statemates, but he felt pretty confident in what he said. In that time and age, anything was possible and nothing impossible to achive. There was always a way. And more than anything else, Anton wished and craved to be part of that impossible feat of liberating his country.

Kaneda shot him another question before digging into the meal they had been served. Why he decided to become a pilot and what it felt like flying? While they were good questions, Anton's face showed a sense of mild digust as he saw how Kaneda ate their meal. Being the Frenchman he was, he felt tiny bit insulted on the behalf of the Italians. Nonetheless, he answered. "Long story short, I didn't go as a pilot ze first time. I was an aeroplane mechanic, but ze friends I got allowed me to take a few flights with z'em. At first it was frightening, but z'hen it was simply pure joy. You feel like a bird soaring through ze air, free and willing to do whatever you want! And since I could serve my country where I clearly had skills, z'here wasn't an option really. 'Zhere's no better way of fighting ze Germans than in a M.S.406 fighter plane over ze fields of France." Anton's voice was clearly filled with pride as he answered Kaneda, even a smile formed on his lips as he spoke of the things he loved.

The smile faded however, as talk of a second race up the mountain started and the others wanted to look. Anton wouldn't join. Regardless of the quality of the food they were eating, it was still inpolite to rush it down and get out. Especially the way the others ate the spaghetti. No, Anton folded his hands and quietly said a short prayer, before beginning to eat. He rolled a small batch of spaghetti around his fork and delicately placed it in his mouth without slurping. Barbarians...

@Bright_Ops

"Well, I am sitting alone, Private Harker, and there's no around, so I'd say we are pretty private. But of course, we can talk later in my office" David said to the team's unofficial medic. "You'd better go join the others, we're expected to join a briefing quite soon. And the Colonel hates waiting, as you might know."

Private Harker left his company, and David ate his plate clean. He had always liked spaghetti, but the army variant was far from proper pasta. It lacked the spirit, and was more like a big mass of so called pasta and tomato sauce. But David had eaten much worse meals.

He walked to the team and ordered them to assemble to the front of the canteen when finished. David walked there first, and the team came moments later. "Turn right, to the classroom Lexington, march!" David ordered them, giving them the pace.

Classroom Lexington was one of the smallest of the classrooms in Camp Toccoa, but it was suitable for small platoons or teams. David had taught the team many things in the classroom, but how much had actually stuck into their heads, he wondered as they entered the classroom. There was a big chalkboard and a few rows of desks and chairs, and it was very similar to a school's classroom, but it had topographic maps and photographs of soldiers hanging on the walls. Colonel Clarke and Agent Hanks were already in the classroom. David ordered the team to sit down.

"Finally we get to start, Captain", said the agent with the dark clothing. He hadn't taken off his aviators, and he stared at the team with his eyes. "As you've might have noticed, I visited your Captain a couple hours ago, and to put it shortly, I am in quite a pickle."

He made a small grin, as if he had made an inside joke only he knew. He dimmed the classroom's lights and turned an overhead projector on. He started talking. "Few weeks ago, I was handed over a case file of one John Kellerman, of New York. You might ask who the hell is John Kellerman, and I will answer you. He is the son of a industrial tycoon and inventor George Kellerman. Director Hoover handed me this case personally, as he was concerned, to say the least, about the political leanings of Kellerman the Elder. I've been tasked of finding something - anything - interesting concerning their patriotism, to put it mildly. George is definantly a true American, but his son has some... interesting friends. Some German expats, a few right wingers and a couple of Nazis, if we categorize them bluntly."

He showed them a picture of two men with the projector. "As you can see clearly from the picture, the man on the right is John Kellerman, while the other man is a well-known right wing activist Harold Caine. John has been giving him some loans from his personal purse, and Caine has pursued his own ends with the money. Nothing strictly illegal, but he is very close."

Hanks changed to a new picture. "Here it comes interesting. The older Kellerman is friends with the Democratic senator of New York, the lawyer James R. Emmerich Junior, senator on his first term. A man of outstanding morals and an unstained work ethic, he is more of a machine than a man. Figuratively, of course. He graduated from Harvard at a break neck speed and has been into politics since his teens. Senatorship runs in the family, as his father also was a senator."

Hanks took a dramatic pause, and took off his aviators finally. David could see his eyes, and to him they gleamed unnaturally in the dim light. "And why did you took all the trouble of contacting us?"

"Good question, Captain" Hanks answered immediately. "Kellerman is going to host a fundraising party in the name of James R. Emmerich, and the Bureau has strong suspicions that an individual gifted with "superpowers" might be involved. A few days ago, I got a lead on a spook in New York, and I sent a few of my men to investigate an apartment in Manhattan. Out of the seven federal agents, six died and one was severely injured in a powerful explosion. The explosion demolished the entire building, and shattered the windows of the entire block. We told to the public that it was a gas explosion, but something was off as we brought our own investigators to the scene. I will not go details, but our suspicions were confirmed as the SRPD took interest in the case. Before this, I hadn't even heard of the department before, but they lead my team to your team for inter-branch cooperation."

"To put it shortly, there might be an attack at the fundraising party, targeting possibly George Kellerman and James Emmerich. To help with the security against supers, Colonel Clarke has agreed to lend the Task Force Sentinel to the Bureau. You'll be flying to New York, attend the party undercover, and will expose the spook before he or she can attack either of them. Any questions?"

"Not impossible," Izkry clarified. "But more costly than it is worth, Anton. The Résistance needs help, yes, but hitting the Nazis or even Vichy France like trying to kick in a door, this will not work unless we send many to die. Too many." He paused, raising an eyebrow. "It is only a matter of time before they start trying to use your countrymen to power the Nazi regime. As workers, as soldiers, however it may be. Bel says that will send many to join the Résistance, and she says it is most important to stay alive. Hit-and-run is effective -- it is not fleeing, it is dodging only to attack again somewhere else." But he let the topic die after that, and listened eagerly to the details of flying aeroplanes.

"Bel," he cautioned, putting a hand on his sister's arm when the glasses of water on the table trembled. "And you -- do not antagonize her, Óscar. For someone trying so hard to act like he is a nice person, you are very rotten inside, you know that? Let her be. She is fighting her own demons -- but at least she doesn't try to throw you to them." He'd been kind to the Spaniard the first time around. He'd not minded the man's strange manner or constant teasing, even made cheerful jests of his own. But when he'd abandoned the team, that kindness had soured, and when the man returned with no remorse for his role in the outcome of that fight, that was the end. Izkry hadn't shared that little detail until the run, hadn't harped on him for it, had done his best just to leave the other man alone. He was reaching his limit on patience.

---

In the meeting room, Bel settled in a desk at the back, towards one of the corners. Izkry took a seat near Johnathan. "Pickle?" he asked softly of the younger man, not familiar with the idiom. Then he listened carefully to the rest of the briefing. He knew his sister was listening intently as well, even if she did not look it.

When asked if the had questions, he raised a hand and waited to be acknowledged. "I am not understanding. A man's son is suspicious, so you investigate him...he is friends with a senator, his son is also friends with politicians, but also Nazis. There will be a fundraiser and you think...what, that the Nazis and the politicians are going to try to kill each other there? I understand wanting to foil a possible assassination, but the background you give, it is very confusing. ...You have maybe file to read?" He was Swiss, and had very little grasp on the intricacies of American politics, and the background the agent had presented did nothing to help. Bel might be able to explain it better. He'd have to ask her later.

Behind him, the woman was frowning behind her bangs, blue eyes fixed on the screen. She had more pressing concerns -- and she couldn't rely on Izkry to articulate them. She waited to see if there were other questions from her squadmates before closing her eyes long enough to steady herself. The man had not even introduced himself, and he seemed more like a soldier than a civilian to her. But the captain appeared to defer to him, so she would as well. "With respect, sir."

It was soft when she spoke, but carried well enough to be heard even at the front of the small room. Her accent was crisply British with German overtones, the words cleanly and clearly articulated. Most there would not recognize her voice, as they'd never yet heard her speak.

"To clarify, you wish an army team not yet out of training to do delicate undercover work and observation." The implication that they were not even a cohesive unit at this point was unspoken but clearly implied. "A task for which we've had no instruction, with the lives of important people at stake. There may be a powered individual present, and we are to...locate gaps in security and possible traps, and search out the powered individual and take him down." She paused. There was no disrespect intended, no affront to his authority. It was an impersonal assessment of the task that had been outlined for them, highlighting a number of the flaws. "Might I suggest sending a different team for identification with the assistance of Pvt Moretti and perhaps one or two others who might fit in, leaving the rest in reserve to engage only when the target has been identified? There is a good chance we will either scare your 'spook' away to try again another time, or cause him to change his plans in such a way that any uncovered preparations lead us in the wrong direction."

It was far more than she liked speaking, and quite frankly it made her heart race. But the adrenaline helped her focus, and she kept herself steady. She could feel the eyes on others, but she concentrated on those of her brother, sensing his silent support. She'd only spoken at all because this was tactical -- she was not nearly comfortable enough with the others to voluntarily converse. This, however, was important enough that she made the effort, and she hoped the dreaded shortcomings of governments and militaries everywhere weren't going to send them into a disaster for which they would inevitably be blamed if it went poorly.

But if they did, at least she'd tried.

((Just found out the major French resistance didn't form until '43. Ah well. Maquis is a great word, though.))

Maria did not deign to participate in the conversations that surrounded her in the mess hall as she ate the spaghetti with small, dainty bites. She didn't quite finish the entire thing, but that was not unusual. She spied Walter walking in, noticeably late-and let out a small huff of consternation. Really? He didn't go on the run? Why did I have to run then, if he didn't?

Maria really didn't like coerced physical activity.

She didn't pay much attention as the other members of their odd little group conversed, instead focusing on her own worries. For one, despite her best efforts, the muggy Georgia air had gotten the best of her and caused sweat to run down in rivulets down her face in the most repulsive manner. She was starting to notice how her skin was flaking, freckles appearing on her cheeks-it was all extremely concerning. Her lips were slightly chapped, her hair was a smelly mess, and her nails were beyond saving at this point.

Maria sighed, desperately wishing for a proper hair brush and a tube of deep red lipstick. She absentmindedly placed a slender hand on top of her belly-Six years, six years. Tick, tock.

Soon enough, they were called to follow Captain David Stevens to classroom Lexington. Maria begrudgingly went along, bringing up the rear. Her back was as ramrod straight as the others, but there was a subtle difference in the way that she held herself as they walked. Whereas soldiers were stiff, tight, and tense, Maria's posture was that of a prima ballerina, all fluid grace and controlled precision.

Inside the classroom, they were greeted by two men-one appeared to be a higher-ranking officer, while the other wore dark clothing and aviators. Maria coolly assessed him, the way she would assess a client. The way he holds himself; government agent, perhaps? Something to do with national security; no self-respecting politician would be wearing aviators inside a building, even if this was not a military training camp, which makes the likelihood of him being a politician even slimmer. No.

Maria listened as he began to speak. The name Kellerman struck a chord of recognition within her. Alessandro mentioned that man a couple of times before, if I recall correctly. Maria immediately felt a white-hot anger sear through her at the very thought of her father, and she ruthlessly shut it down, forcing herself to focus on the matter at hand. And Caine and Emmerich, as well? My, my, my. Maria's mind whirled. Kellerman junior involved with right-wing activists, while his father is friends with a Democrat? There's bound to be some tensions within the family, if this is the case. And Caine, of all people? He has plenty of reasons to dislike Emmerich. Goodness gracious, how the hell did Kellerman junior ever become friends with Republicans, if his father is purportedly a supporter of the Democrats? Maria could see why Emmerich would be targetted-could see why any Democrat would be targetted. Republicans hadn't held the Oval Office since the early 1930's, after the economy went to hell in a hand basket. Roosevelt was too popular in the eyes of the public for the Republicans to do much, anyway, and with the war "unifying the nation" and all of that bullshit, Democratic dominance of politics was pretty much guaranteed. Maria wasn't much of a politician, nor did she particularly care about politics, but some things were obvious, even to her.

Maria paid close attention as the government agent continued to inform them of what they were to do. She clenched her jaw slightly. Is this man for real? I'm supposed to act as security?! What good is that going to be? Do I look like I am a capable bodyguard? I poison people just by touching them, for Pete's sake. How am I supposed to guard somebody if I can't touch them? Maria seethed silently. This is exactly why I cannot abide by this place. There is a total, absolute absence of simple logic.

Maria held her frustration, though. If the mission failed because she was not a suitable bodyguard, then it was no loss to her. Maria could escort someone, yes. She could charm the secrets right out of them with a long touch and a flutter of her long eyelashes. But act as security? What the hell did these fools expect her to do if she saw someone suspicious, saunter right up to them and kiss them full on the lips? Because, yes, that certainly will work! she thought sarcastically.

Despite her extreme resentment towards this particular course of action, Maria's face remained arranged in an expression of cool indifference. What did it matter to her if they failed because their superior officers were horrible tacticians?

Izkry voiced his doubt first. He appeared to be bewildered by American politics. A long, rather awkward silence passed before his sister spoke up. Maria thought that it was perhaps the first time that she'd heard Belasy say anything. She listened to Belasy give out her thoughts before deciding that she may as well pitch in a bit herself.

"Better to try to learn something from Caine or the younger Kellerman," Maria said, not bothering to ask for permission. Her voice was cold, detached. "All politicians have secrets-even this holier-than-thou Emmerich. The fact that the younger Kellerman has been associating with conservatives, while his father supports a Democratic senator, is what I find to be the most troubling. Given the current state of the government, and how Roosevelt and the Deomcrats have fairly dominated this country's politics for ten years, I would say that it is very likely that Republican hardliners are getting restless." Maria gave Belasy a cool glance. "And, just for the record, I agree with her. Your current plan is, to be quite frank, a waste of our abilities." Especially mine, she added silently. "I do not see the logic in getting us all killed before we even finish this 'training'."

With permission to meet with the Captain later on secured Johnathan had respectfully offered him a small salute before being dismissed and moving back towards the table that his team had claimed as their own, sitting quietly as he ate a rather delicious tasting serving of spaghetti. As much as it pained him to admit and he would never say it aloud, his mother could not cook spaghetti to save her life. So engrossed in eating his meal was he that he didn't take an active part in the conversation that his team mates were having.

However, soon lunch was at an end and they were ordered to follow the Captain into classroom Lexington. Following happily, he took a seat as he listened to the briefing given by... Actually, the man had never introduced himself, which was slightly strange but wasn't a major concern. As the briefing went on and the first real mission that the team was being put on was reveled to them, Johnathan was quiet as his team mates started to speak up, finding flaws in themselves that might have endangered the mission if they were to be put on it... with the exception of Izkry who simply didn't understand the political nature of the US; He also couldn't help but feel that a lot of Maria's objections seemed to stem for her steadfast desire not to do anything she was ordered to do. Some rather valid points were made, through Johnathan frowned just a little as he felt the need to point at some more issues with the mission as was.

"With all due respect sirs... I don't believe that Kaneda, Zhanna or Walter would be suitable for this mission at all. Zhanna can barely speak english as it is and... well, since this is a high class event Kaneda's and Walter's presences alone would cause problems... Unless the make up of New York's upper crust is that vastly different from Utah's." Asians and black people simply weren't seen at high class events and no amount of paperwork or string pulling that the two men before them could do was going to change that; High society was for the elite chosen few and they weren't invited.

The bad news given, Johnathan quickly moved on to the good news. "I will agree with Belasy that Maria would make for a wonderful counter intelligence operative. If we are given a through enough briefing on how to blend in and what to look out for before the event I fully suspect that we can keep the Senator safe."

Kaneda slumped a little bit when the captain told them to get into Classroom Lexington. Seems like this guest has to be come kind of important for us to have to meet him right after lunch, he looked down on his shirt and hoped he didn't spill any. Thankfully luck was on his side and saw that there was no sauce on his uniform. He then looked over at Walters.

"Too bad Walters, I guess that this race will be have to be put on hold for now 'duty calls' as they say." As he got up from his seat and headed to the room.

There sat two men, one of which was the Colonel and the other, a man wearing a black uniform and sunglasses. This guy has to be with one of the intelligent agencies for the government, the FBI, OSS, he couldn't really tell which one of them he was, they all seemed to dress alike. He thought to himself as he took his seat near the front.

He listened to the mission that was given to them and couldn't help but wonder what they were to do, an undercover mission this early was strange and it didn't sit well with him. He looked back at the others in wonder then looked back forward.

Izkry spoke up first voicing his concerns which were legitimate him not being from around here would make it difficult to understand the American's politics. He barely knew them himself being Canadian and learning a bit of American history but not to the point where he would know names and titles. He then heard Bel of all people speak up which was rare and also meaning that this concerned her greatly and wondered if her past experience was influencing her to speak up. Then he heard Maria speak about how they should dig up some old skeletons out of some of the members, but by doing so could stir up a whole other mess of trouble. Jonathan then got into the mix, voicing his concerns over the fact that these kind of parties weren't really accepting of those of any Colour other than white.

"Hey Anton! How's your American accent? Give us all a taste of your acting chops." he said jokingly not knowing if Anton could pull something off like that.

"But more to the task at hand they are right, we are not as prepared as you might think we are, and this is sensitive work with high class citizens. I don't think that having an Asian, African American, German/Swiss, French, Swede/Spanish, burst into the room if something were to happen, we would most likely be shot instead of the actual enemy. As much as I would love to crash in there and take out whoever is behind this at first I myself would look like an assasin and the last thing I want is to be pegged asnpart of the axis of evil. My skills go with what Maria said, I can get into their house, find files and such and bring them back." He said putting his two cents in, but he also had some questions for them.

"Also, who would know of us being there? Is your information sound? What are the chances that a Nazi supporter is in your department and willing to tip off whoever might be involved in this attack? What kind of fundraiser is this, costume party? Formal dress? Something else? I've heard some things about your politicians, all into the cult freaky shit." He asked, looking directly at the man in the suit that didn't take off his sunglasses during the whole briefing.

He looked at the others to see who else would speak up.

Walter was confused by the whole matter after the operation was explained to him. He'd stick out so egregiously, there's no way he'd be able to infiltrate without being signaled as some kind of foreigner. He rather agreed with Belsy's suggestion that some of the group lay in wait while those more suited toward espionage handle the delicate matters. Walter sat in the middle, his attention fixed on the projector for the most part. He didn't quite care for the politics of it all, and none of the names of these "important" people resonated with him in the slightest. They were all cons in suits to him, it didn't matter who leaned what way.

All he knew is that there'd better be some type of reward for all of this. Better food at mess hall, softer bunks, something. His back was starting to ache from those rusted springs. Everyone started speaking and voicing their concerns--Walter wasn't as inclined, though he thought they all had valid points. Kaneda affirmed his own sentiments, and as he spoke Walter nodded along. An occasional "mhm, yep." combination slipped from his tongue. He barely knew any of these people--sure they were nice to him, nicer than folks were back home--but none of them had the skill to carry out such a task. Granted, Walter had never seen any of them in action, but he was sure his assumptions stood on solid ground.

He had no intelligent strategies to offer when he finally spoke,

"I'm not gettin' my black ass shot up over no politician who ain't never done a lick of good for me nor none of my folks. Let me hang back. Y'all can bother wit' that spyin' shi--stuff."

He resigned to listening to things others had to offer during the briefing session. Waves of sleep danced in the back of his mind--boredom was near.

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Anton kept quiet for the first part of the briefing, listening intently to what the unknown government agent told them about their new assignment; their first assignment. In short it was like nothing Anton had paricepated in before; infiltrating an upper-class banquet undercover, defend their target and locate the would-be assassins. Like he said, it was like nothing he had ever done before.

The comments, or better described as scepticism described by his teammates, didn't make the situation any better. First it was Bel who raised her concerns regarding the task, followed by Maria, Johnathan, Kaneda and Walter. All pitching in with different arguments and thoughts of their own, it was clear to Anton that few in the room were eager to take on the task for different reasons.

And Anton was having none of it.

"Seeing as you have managed to gaz'her all of z'his information, how difficult would it be to rearrange ze guest-list?" Anton raised his hand and stood up as he asked his superiors, taking a quick look at Kaneda before he proceeded. "I may not have a perfect American accent, but my native tongue can be used just as effectivly. Captain, Agent, how strange would it be if a French officer were to attend ze banquet? Or quebecois? I mean, if high-ranking enough, it could be seem possible for a distinquished Allied officer to, how do you said it, mingle wi'hz ze American upper classes? We are at ze same side in z'his war after all, no? And Kaneda could impose as a Chinese officer or diplomat, perhaps even an subordinate Indochinese officer under me?"

Anton turned briefly to look at the others, taking in their faces and emotions as he continued to talk to them. They who seemed so reluctant to do their part in this battle of civilizations. "We are at war, mon ami. We all have a part to play in z'his, if we like it or not. Search for ze solutions, not ze obsticals."

"The mission has been already approved by the command, and they want results", Colonel Clarke said. He knew that the team was an odd concert to conduct, and their concerns and objections weren't the first ones he had heard from his operatives. "But as monsieur G'iscard pointed out, we should look for solutions, not at the obstacles. The whole situation is a mess, to put it mildly, and that's why I chose military over politics when I was your age. But we can either bicker about the details, or we can get our hands dirty and try to save both of them. They are great assets to the war effort, and if we lose Kellerman, we lose one of the cleverest minds of industry. And Emmerich is a great mediator in the Senate, a man of reason between the Democrats and Republicans."

"Thank you, Colonel", Hanks said, looking at the senior officer first and then to Bélasy. "To answer your concerns, Corporal, we have a half a dozen feds in the party with you undercover, all well versed in the case, but as the Bureau doesn't have any supers as the OSS has, we need to lend you. And there'll almost a hundred guests attending the party, so there shouldn't too great an effort to blend in. Just in case the spook tries to act, you'll be there. The party is in few days time, so we can still influence the guest list to include soldiers of our allies without much suspicion, as the Frenchman has happily pointed out."

Hanks then looked at Johnathan and Walter, addressing their questions and concerns. "The party will have a formal dress code, and will be held in one of the finest hotels in New York, so I hope you can act the part. And Emmerich supports, to put it shortly, equality between peoples, and one of his pet projects has been improving the situation of blacks and coloured, so I'd lend him a helping if I were you."

Maria hissed angrily as she listened to the military officer respond to their concerns. Men, she thought contemptuously. The entire lot of those damn fools can't ever seem to listen to anyone but themselves. Maria bit down hard on her tongue to keep from breaking something. When she looked back up again, her eyes were cold as ice.

"Well, Colonel, tell command that their plan is..." Maria paused delicately. The word 'bullshit' sat at the tip of her tongue, but she opted for something slightly more...courteous, instead. "Tell them that their plan is flawed. Extremely flawed." Another pause. "Tell me, gentlemen"-the word 'gentlemen' said with no little amount of scorn and disdain-"what are your proposals for these miraculous solutions? I was under the impression that obstacles should be observed, then eliminated, not completely ignored."

Maria thought for a moment, then shrugged languidly. "I have, ah, experience with delicate situations such as the one that we have been presented with. What you want us to do is...keep an eye out for a person who wants to see Senator Emmerich eliminated? One who could potentially make a move during the event?" Maria tilted her head to the side and assessed the Colonel and agent with hard, flinty eyes. "Have you gentlemen thought to check the guest list yet? Or perhaps, as I suggested earlier, make inquiries with Caine and the younger Kellerman, or at least people who know or know of them?"

Maria leaned back in her chair, her hard stare remaining fixed on the colonel and the government agent. Good grief. I don't understand why I expected these people to be even passably competent. Alessandro could have done better than this, and he is only half as cunning as he likes to think he is. Even he is not immune to the gifts that my mother and I were born with. My very existence only proves this point.

Finally, the government agent addressed where the actual party was taking place-at a glitzy hotel in New York City, apparently. Maria let out a snort of amusement. "Pardon me if I'm wrong," she began, her tone not at all apologetic, "but if we are to blend in with a group of wealthy businessmen and politicians and their wives and various associates, then all hope is lost." Maria scrutinized the group of superpowered individuals. "I daresay that the majority of the people assembled in this room could not tell a salad fork from a pastry fork. If you want us to infiltrate high society, then this task will be much more complicated than you originally anticipated it to be."

While Johnathan was inclined to agree with Maria when she pointed out that there was no issue with recognizing an obstacle, he couldn't help but shake his head at her statements about Caine and the younger Kellerman. "No point. I'm sure that they already have people doing just that. Our job is to keep people alive and that is what we're going to do."

Looking around at his peers again, he made a small 'Hmm' noise as he considered methods of working around the obstacles that would present themselves with them. "Can anyone here other then Zhanna speak Russian? Because if so we could pass them both off off as a representative of the Soviet Union and her translator. The Soviets are a major ally in the war after all so it wouldn't be strange for one to be present..."

"As for Walter, I suspect that the only way that he's going to even be allowed in the building is if he is carrying around a tray of drinks in a uniform... Which might not be the worst idea. It would give us eyes and ears around the staff only areas without drawing attention. It might be worth getting a list of staff members as well as the guest list; See if we can figure out who's meant to be there or if someone isn't who they claim they are."

Kaneda thought for a while listening to the others, it was true, the Frenchman reminding him that they need solutions is what needed to be done. He began to think harder on the solutions and not the problems.

"I would still like to hear that American accent Anton but for now your right, we need solutions not more problems. As for me being there, there is a chance I can pass of as a Chinese officer, maybe not someone of importance but acting as a part of his own security detail. That way I could be close by but not have to speak as much, at a glance I could pass off as Chinese. But anyone with real attention to facial details and my cover could be blown, but I don't think most Americans or Germans would pay that much attention." He finally said.

"We also could act as the waiting staff as Jobathan said, no need to talk much and get to move around the building, Maria would you know how we would act if we were to do so or are you more experienced being a guest at such events? I personally think this would give us good vantage points and allow us to keep tabs on our suspects and our target." He concluded as he waited to hear some feedback.

Belasý favored Anton with a mildly approving glance. She'd indicated the problems, yes, but also proposed a solution. It was important to know what might pose a problem, so one could make contingency plans. It was to be expected that Command would overlook things. They always did.

Maria was more abraisive about her concerns, but the woman seemed best suited to spy work, and Bel could tell she didn't take well to idiots. Good for her. And then John asked if anyone spoke Russian. Her expression tightened, but she tilted her head ever-so-slightly when Izkry looked her way.

"Belasý speaks Russian. Well, I say 'speaks'...this might perhaps be generous, yes?" He flashed a brief smile at the joke. "But she knew enough to keep up with most conversations, when we were younger. I imagine it's a little rusty, but give her a bit and she'll pick it back up. She is a fast study -- Frauline Maria, if you teach her the cutlery and such I think she would be fine. I am...less quick to learn such things.

"I might be able to pass as serving staff, if I must. But I might do better as one of the valets -- I drive well, and then I could keep an eye on those coming and going, though it would be up to the rest to watch other ways in. The biggest issue for me is my accent and my manners." Izkry ran a hand through his hair sheepishly. "My accent is decidedly Germanic, and I would never pass for upper class without a lot of work."

Midday. An apartment in Manhattan, New York.

It was a small one and simply decorated, but it was enough for Hasso Steiner, the Thousand Faced Man. He was a simple man, a cog in a great machine. He was shaving his beard in the bathroom. Hasso had been born in Prussia into a military family, and his father had taught little Hasso how a man should shave his face. Steiner the elder, named Franz, had been a devilish disciplinarian, to say the least, but to him details mattered the most.

Hasso was a man in his late thirties. He had a tanned skin, black hair and green eyes. And wasn't. Mimicry was his expertise. He could mimic other people, changing his appearance, his weight and height to an extent. He was a spy by profession, and was about to get his final orders from the Fatherland. For years, he had been waiting in New York, waiting for his activation.

The razor was sharp, but he didn't feel nervous. He felt calm and steady, as he drew the blade slowly but surely across his jaw. He had to look nice. He was going to meet one of his contacts.

It was risky. The FBI was on his tail, and a squad of feds had tried to raid one of his safe houses, but Steiner had rigged the apartment with explosive and traps. The agents triggered one of the traps, and blew the house to rubble. Hasso had been just a block away, buying groceries from a nice lady at a market. He had simply moved to his another safe house in Manhattan.

Hasso finished with his shave. He checked his jaw and washed the shaving foam, drying his face with a towel. He took a quick shower and dressed in a regular black suit. Nothing too fancy, as it might draw unwanted attention. He walked outside to a busy street.

He started to walk, not hurrying, not loafing, going with the flow. The war hasn't descended on New York, and it seemed that there wasn't a war going on, except Hasso could see long lines of young men in front of recruitment offices. He took a longer look at them. If they all were qualified into service, the Wehrmacht would be even more hard-pressed. Hasso had read the news and heard rumours from the Fatherland, and they weren't just good. I hope Otto is all-right, Hasso thought, continuing his striding down the street.

There was a restaurant near his apartment. It was better than your average restaurant, and Hasso walked inside. He knew the contact would meet him there. Hasso was lead to a table, and started to wait. He ordered a glass of red wine. It was from California, but it would do. A few minutes passed quickly, and Hasso looked around him. The restaurant was starting to fill up, and soon enough his contact joined his table. The contact was a she, a sharply dressed woman in normal street clothes. Hasso rose to greet her informally and warmly, like old friends.

"I assume your father sent you", Hasso started calmly. They would converse quite... unprofessionally. She gave him a slight teasing smile. "Yes, And he is well, but he wants me to take more and more of his daily business running, if you understand what I mean."

"Clearly", he answered. "I remember he had some papers for me to sign."

"I have them with me. " She had a case with her, and she handed it to him casually over the table. "The instructions and cover are inside. And send my father's regards to them."

Hasso took the case, put it to the floor beside his chair and smiled faintly. "Will do, dear. Now, let's have some lunch. I've heard one can get excellent salmon with white wine sauce here. All this work gets me hungry."

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"Colonel Philipe Artoue. 68th Infantry Division, 1st Free French Army, an honour to meet you, Monsieur."

Anton stood in front of a mirror, repeatedly talking to himself as if he was an actor rehearsing his lines for tonight's show. And in some manner, he was indeed an actor. It was just too bad that he had never stood on a stage all of his life, so he was silently praying to the powers above for support. But he did like the uniform.

They had agreed to have Anton pose as a Free French officer, representing the French Delegation to the United States. He was wearing the easily recognizable French officer uniform with the blue and red officer cap, a holster on his hip with a pistol, and his moustache just as finely shaven. Even his stature was fitting of an proud officer; hadn't he been the very same man in the mirror, he was sure he'd been easily fooled himself. The others, however, Anton was having stronger fears of how good their disguises were.

Anton finished his rehearsing to look at his watch; it was getting close to their departure for the fundraising party. He took a last look at himself, straightened his officer's cap and uniform, and marched as convincingly out to the main room of the apartment. It was a miracle that they had been give this apartment to prepare in without arousing suspicion, but soon they would enter the fire.

"Mon ami, what is our status? Are we ready?"

Maria was the happiest that she'd been ever since her dimwit father had her arrested. A little persuasion (the skin-to-skin kind) had her a gorgeous black evening gown, an expensive pearl necklace with matching earrings, a tube of blood-red lipstick, and a pair of black satin gloves. And, finally-a mission where she knew what she was doing. This was familiar territory for Maria (though it was not so for the others), and even if she was doing this at the behest of the damn government, Maria would take this over "running" up and down Currahee any day. She was even allowed to curl her hair!

Maria relished the time she was given to prepare for the mission. She pretended that she was preparing for a night out in Chicago, on a mission to gather information for her own purposes. Her normally stick-straight hair was curled in the latest fashions from Hollywood (for despite the war, fashion still lived on), and her dress was all refined, old-age elegance-a welcome change from her usual glamorous seductress look, Maria found. The black gown did wonders for her figure, emphasizing her long, graceful limbs, and the long sleeves and skirt hid the angular boniness of her elbows and knees, which was another plus. The low neckline was perfect for showing off the shiny new strands of pearls that she'd acquired.

Thick, smoky eyeshadow and an equally thick layer of red lipstick, mascara sharp enough to cut someone, heels so high that they could kill, pearls dangling from her ears and around her slender neck, a pair of tiny daggers tucked into the bodice of the gown and a small, military-issued hand gun strapped to her thigh under the long skirt-Maria was ready. She only hoped that she wouldn't have to be more intimate with someone that night; her daggers and the gun were so placed under the assumption that extreme intimacy would not be required. Though, with Anton by my side the entire night, it should be fine, Maria mused as she slipped on the satin gloves. They could easily be taken off at a moment's notice, just in case she needed to persuade someone.

Maria would be posing as Ms. Adaline Veringworth, a wealthy widow with a Spanish mother and an English father who had married an extremely rich but extremely secluded Englishman. Her cover story was that she had come from Europe to America to seek refuge from the war, bringing a French officer along as her escort (to "protect" her and represent the French delegation to the US, or so Maria was told). Anton seemed agreeable enough, as far as Maria was concerned. But were his acting skills up to snuff? It took practice to don a new persona as easily as one would don an evening gown, Maria knew, and she was willing to bet good money that the majority of the team had almost no experience doing this kind of work-Anton himself included.

Maria sighed. It was too late to dwell on that now. She supposed she would have to deal with any slip-ups as they came.

Maria closed her eyes, drew in a breath, and channeled Ms. Adeline Veringworth. Adaline was charming and charismatic, agreeable and polite. She had all the imposing elegance and impeccable manners of a proper British lady, but she had a touch of her own scintillating wit. She was rich and powerful, and well aware of her own wealth and power, yet she carried herself with enough poise and timeless grace that people couldn't help but respect her.

Maria opened her eyes. She glided out into the main area of the apartment, her warm brown eyes alighting on Colonel Philipe Artoue, 68th Infantry Division of the 1st Free French Army (more commonly known as Anton G'iscard), and gave him a composed smile. Maria made her way over to him, the cold aloofness that was present in her eyes when she was in Camp Toccoa completely gone. In its place was deep solemnity with a mischievous hint of mirth.

"I'm ready if you are, Colonel," said Maria as Adaline. She tilted her head slightly, surveying him with obvious interest. Anton had donned the uniform of a French officer for the occasion, and Maria let a small half-smile grace her lips. "I must say, my dear Colonel, that uniform suits you very well."