2nd of December, 1943

December 1943
Ulm, Baden-Württemberg
Germany

1940 Hours

"The Dark Bear" was a lovely little beerhall inside Ulm's relatively unbombed city centre, the street lighting infrequent and dimmed, windows only producing shuttered light through blackout windows. The southern city was not a large military encampment, it was just a historic city, located away from all frontlines or areas of bombing, in the very heart of the red Nazi empire that had ravaged Europe. The war was not to be won by the Axis, it so seemed- defeat in North Africa, Operation Husky followed by the subsequent advances upon Italy, with resistance in France and the loss of millions of lives in Stalingrad, seemed to suggest that the tide had turned. So much bloodhshed, so much horror, rationing, all of mankind's evils beginning to take their toll.

And yet it was a lair of meeting spies for tonight, including Centurion, "The Dark Bear" being a meeting spot for Robert Fitzroy, and the people he'd put out feelers to in the Abwehr, his own SOE cell, and couple of select others, contacts through contacts that he wanted on board. People to make this work. He would tell them the plan, and things would get underway, pretty much immediately. The snow outside had gently gathered, the log fire roaring, and the upstairs backroom kept aside with a bar at one end, and a long table in the middle.

Yet there was another reason that Robert wanted to attend "The Dark Bear".

SS Oberführer Herman Lausitz was a heavily scarred man, the high-ranking SS officer returning from the Eastern Front, a real barbaric bastard, and someone Robert wanted eliminated. He had links to the Gestapo now, hunting down resistance, counter-intelligence whilst simultaneously trying not to go crazy with the Abwehr's plans. He looked terrifying- completely bald, with a shaved beard and moustache, he was known as the "Barber", given that he slit a Soviet spy's throat with a razorblade, and maimed another horrifically with the same razor. He'd served in the Abwehr's military intelligence, in intercepting enemy communications, and leading efforts in purging groups of partisans and spies. He wasn't very good at it, but was incredibly brutal. Even Robert, who didn't like Communists or those dirty bastards, heard the stories of what he'd done to even innocent people. Christ, it was scary.

And killing him would put a great deal of the SS men that he oversaw in Baden-Wurtenburg into disarray, some of whom would follow Robert's command of a "false flag", some who wouldn't. It was the first part of the plan, one that would interconnect. The contacts had been made, people had been notified of when they had to be ready. All that had to happen was the signal had to be sent. A bullet in Lausitz's head would start that signal.

Still, he was downstairs, celebrating his birthday, or some stupid shit, it wasn't a popular festivity due to the fact that he had few friends, well, apart from some of his men under him. An ugly, difficult fucking bastard didn't often make many when he murdered people pretty savagely in his bare hands. They'd meet later, once the basics of the plan were established, Robert knew that much. They'd be on a need to know basis, apart from his group- so far, Jakob and Lukasz were here, waiting out, the rest arriving by various means. SS officers, undercover men, it was all the same. Robert knew his paperwork was good- well, he was in the Abwehr, so for all intents, he was in with them and yet wasn't, confusingly.

The beerhall's upstairs was a smaller hall, privately kept for Robert, who sat there, drinking a pint of fine Bavarian brew, alongside Jakob and Lukasz, or as the latter was better known here, Felix. The barmaid came up sometimes, just watching across, though she would leave and be innocent enough to the plans, when this kicked off. She wouldn't know anything, Robert knew that much, she wasn't even here. Paid enough for that in Reichmarks and bread. The rest of the group would arrive soon, as he finished, lighting a smoke, gently puffing on it. He had a Luger P08 tucked inside his coat pocket, wearing civilian clothing and a flat cap, with Lukasz opposite wearing a leather jacket, his fake papers up to date and putting him as a worker in the Organization Todt, as a civil engineer on the railways.
"Christ, one pint down and I feel far more at ease with this." Robert said, as Lukasz chuckled, shaking his head.
"You feeling nervous?"
"There's always uncertainty. That door gets kicked in and we all get fucking hosed down. You put a bullet in my head. Yeah, I'm completely calm." Robert said, chuckling with a certain gentlemanly accent even in German, as he puffed on the cigarette, blowing smoke.

"Reckon Edelweiss is trustworthy?"
"Honestly?"
"No."

Robert merely replied, shaking his head, as he looked across at Jakob, nodding.
"Remember the plan. Clock goes eight, we empty his skull, and I get the last of the useful intel out of that evil chap. Clock goes nine, we'll be at the viaduct, for Operation Digger to begin. It'll be impromptu, but we have no time to waste...anyone who isn't on board, be prepared to cut their throat. The stakes are too high. I imagine they are aware of of what I'm inferring. The people I contacted are pretty much willing to take part...they have too much to lose if they don't, and they'd have kept their beaks away if they didn't. So" He privately said across to Jakob, as he banged the table with his glass, enough to prompt the girl across the room.
"More beer!"

----------------

Stepping into the belltower, Valerie stroked the gentle K31, the Swiss-produced carbine rifle fitted with a ZF optic, as she sighed. She wore a warm black knitted hat, and a black woolen duffel coat, as she adjusted her gloves, slipping three bullets into the top of the rifle. Gently setting her position up, she sighed.
"I don't like fucking beer. Fitzroy, you fucking animal. Why the fuck do you want to kill him here....." She whispered to herself, sighing.
"Of course, to make a point that the SS officer who has command of a loyalist faction can stop this is gonna die, and the rest won't bite down in time. Yeah, then do a train heist after. Of course that will work." Valerie retorted, again to herself, feeling the absurdity of this, but knowing that the plan would have to work. She gently turned the bolt forwards, adjusting the optic.

"Now. Open me a window."

---

---

The tall, blond man sitting across the table barely seemed fazed by the glass of clear liquid in his left hand, even for the half-empty bottle of an unknown spirits standing in front of him. A glass of beer also stood there, peacefully coexisting beside the bottle as it hadn't been touched yet, compared to the two other men already drinking theirs. No, the Norwegian had been in need of something stronger that simple beer that night.

Who could blame him? He hadn't been killing Nazis for nearly two weeks straight now. Was it the sense of duty and purpose that kept him from stabbing them, or the bottle? Both? Perhaps.

Jakob looked casually up at Robert after having explained the plan once again. "Remind me again how you're going to get that intel out of his brain after we've filled it with lead? Scoop it out with a spoon?" He said as if it was the most natural thing in the world to say, emtpying his glass of spirits in one clear swoop, before continuing. "You better be correct about these contacts of yours, Robert. It's one hell of a gamble in gathering them all right in the middle of the fucking Reich, and I'd really like to not repeat the mission of '42, remember?"

Suddenly the beer disappeared from the table, now finding its way down Jakob's mouth and into his stomach. It was time to prepare for the mission. He stood up from the table and straightened his uniform, the recognizable uniform of an Waffen-SS Unteroffizer, his alibi a recovering gunshot wound in the leg. Even the limp he made looked authentic. "At least the snow won't be a problem for them, so they should be here soon."

---

---

---

"Fucking snow-piece-of-shit, good for nothing boots. Even my Mah' could've made them better!"

The lone voice of what presumably was a very angry man could be barely dechipered through the thick woods just outside of Ulm. The darkness of night kept the apperance of said man unknown, but one hearing it - who would be none, seen as everyone piled up inside during the winter snow - could mistake it for someone of an American stature. Perhaps even New York? Not that anyone normal in the Third Reich would understand that, American movies hadn't been common around those parts of years. But the voice lingered on, and with it the sounds of footsteps in the snow, and even more cursing.

Silvio Colani, Sergeant and SOE-operative, couldn't feel any more miserable than he already was. For the past three years he'd been fighting in warm climates, even enjoying combat in his ancestoral homeland of Italy. But no, now he had to be in the middle of Germany, in the middle of winter, in the middle of it all snowing down. He cursed some more, now in Italian, as he slowly made his way towards his destination; "The Dark Bear". He'd been contacted by a certain, well, Contact not too long ago, and then found himself being pushed out of an airplane. The parachute-lessons he'd been given were scarse, and his fear of heights didn't exactly help. Hadn't he'd been man enough, he swore he would have pissed his pants.

It didn't take long for Silvio to find the beerhall he was looking for, even for his sparse knowledge of German. It was far easier to pass off as an Italian, which was exactly what his papers now stated he was. In his normal, civilian clothing, he was now officialy an Italian wine-farmer who'd been contacted by the local SS-department for wine meant for Christmas. And so far it had worker, even his bottles of wine hadn't shattered yet.

As he stepped inside the beerhall, he was met by a small crowd of people celebrating God knows what, though the bald head of an SS officer caught his attention. Of course it would seem that the ugly, bald bastard - who frankly looked like an evil seal tucked into a stiff SS uniform, repayed the attention, for now he was heading straight for Silvio.

"Oh cazzo, ecco il sigillo..."

The confrontation was brief, but intense, as the bald Nazi-seal clapped Silvio on the shoulder and spoke to him in German, none of which Silvio really understood except questioning who he was. He tensed up for a few seconds, before calmly reaching into his backpack and pulling out a bottle of wine. He could feel the eyes of the room follow him, even their fingers on the triggers gnawed their way into his spine. Seconds felt like hours, days and weeks, before the Nazi-seal cheerfully grabbed the bottle of wine, tasting it and cheerfully letting go of Silvio.

Which was good, for Silvio had no idea what to do if he found the disassembled Thompson at the bottom of his backpack. Luckily it didn't happen, and so he rushed - somehow slowly - up the stairs and to the room where he was told to meet. He knocked on the door, and stepped inside.

"...snow won't be a problem for them, so they should be here soon."

"That goo'pilin outside? Jesus Christ, you're lucky I'm not some dead snowman out there right now. Mother Marry, it's facciu fridda outside! You couldn't have picked a better place to meet, could you mamaluke?"

Simona had long since come to the conclusion that her mysterious contact was not to be found among her present company. If he was, then he was one hell of an actor. She'd arrived hours ago on the arm of an SS officer, plucked from the military hospital where she'd gotten herself surreptitiously posted. He had been undiscerning enough to ignore the heavy limp that she walked with, and now he was just as undiscerning with the amount of alcohol that he was drinking. He only seemed to be conscious at this point whenever the scary, bald Oberführer whose birthday it was offered another toast or roared at him to drink.

Simona was more or less fine. She'd always been pretty good at holding her drink, but she was starting to feel like she was in a bit over her head, like maybe she'd missed something. That message she'd been slipped had probably been meant for someone within the Princess' network, but likely not for her. Delusions of grandeur, Simona. Always with the delusions.

Then the 'Italian' burst in - a great big horse of a man loaded down with a large backpack. A dozen or so Nazi eyes turned to meet him, and Simona followed their lead.

"Oh cazzo, ecco il sigillo..." the man muttered.

Che cazzo?! Immediately, Simona stifled her expression by stuffing her face into a beer stein. Wrong kind of 'seal', buddy. What you're looking for is 'Foca'. She forced herself to take another sip, even as the tension in the room mounted. The Germans, even poor, hapless Friedrich, seemed to recover some of their menacing quality almost instantly. God, please don't make me have to use this gun yet. But then the newcomer produced a bottle of wine from his gigantic bag and everyone relaxed. Booze makes everything better. He looked like one of those hairy Sicilians, but his Italian was even worse than theirs. Probably an American who picked it up from his parents or grandparents. After taking a swig of the wine, the scary Oberführer thrust it into her hands. "You!" he barked, "You're Italian! What do you think of it?" With a charming smile and a bit of a blush, Simona accepted and took a suitably girly little sip. "Molto bene! Questo e un ottimo vino!" She tried to keep her words simple, but the effort was probably wasted. Truth be told, it tasted like piss, but the officer was only looking for affirmation, so she'd play the role assigned to her.

A bunch of boys with a new diversion, the Germans quickly began passing the bottle around, and Simona removed herself from the small gathering. Nobody would begrudge her following her countryman to the smaller room upstairs. Friedrich made a halfhearted play at grabbing her by the dress, and it almost caused her to lose her balance - Okay, maybe I had more than I thought - but she planted a small kiss on his forehead and hobbled away and up the stairs - slowly up the stairs - painfully slowly, trying not to fall flat on her face. In the room above were four men, including the ersatz Italian. Simona reached the top, looked at them, and took a deep breath. "Buonasera, cono Simona...uh, Parli tedesco?" Or Italian she thinks wryly.

Outside the Dark Bear

A Silver and black Merecedes-Benz 320A rolled up to the front door of the brauhaus. The SS intelligence officer, a tall and severe looking man in the SS uniform, who gets out looks around and sighs, "Cold...quite cold. Fascinating though." he signals to the private in the car to go and park nearby before taking his time off for now. This is Martin North, AKA Uwe Graf, Nazi Intelligence officer by day, Canadian Deep Cover counter intelligence by night. He adjusts his great coat then heads into the building.

Fashionably late as it were. He looks about the bottom floor, his eyes running over the people. He didn't want to admit it, but there had been rumours something was going to happen here. The intelligence wasn't clear, and they hadn't really done anything about it in his department at Abwehr so he wasn't going to call attention to anything. Either way he had been invited to the birthday party happening on the second floor. And he intended to be there. No one would notice the long bladed single handed combat knife hidden in the back of his trousers he figured. Just in case after all.

He walked across the bottom floor, handing his coat and hat to a waitress who came to check on him, "Hide these in the very back of the coat room please Fräulein. Well out of the way of anyone else who is here for the party please." After saying that he assumes a kind of half smile. Walking up and saluting the gathered officers of the Schutzstaffel gathered for the party. He appropriates a tankard of beer, sharing a toast and a drink with the man of the hour, "Herr Lausitz, an honor to be invited to your birthday party. Immensely so indeed. Thank you. And many more years to come yes? Heil the Third Reich, Heil Hitler and of course great honor and long life to Herr Laustiz." He raised his tankard as the other attendees joined him in the toast.

As the conversations restarted he made a round of the guests, greeting majors, colonels, and noted captains. Handshakes and salutes, smiles and words of greeting. When he felt he had made enough of an impression he drifted to the rear of the party. Then when he felt he wouldn't be missed he made his way carefully up the stairs, and into the upper floor of the brauhaus. When he got up there he rubbed a cheek and put the barely touched tankard of beer on a ledge, "It tastes like swill. I'm not sure how they can drink it. What is going on here exactly?" He looked to the Italian, then to the others gathered in the room already, his german accent fading rather quickly as he broke character, "Canadian intelligence tells me they need me in some random place and some random time and to be there as soon as I can. What's going on? And why are we meeting here of all places while there's an SS party going on down there?" The Canadian accent that appears in his voice is much differant from the harsh edged German accent he was speaking moments ago.

The Italians, Lausitz thought, what a merry bunch. He greeted them both with nothing more than a nod, a simple thank you that he barely mustered, and a firm demeanour. He didn't give a single fuck about them, and let them pass, the greaseball and the woman respectively. Probably up here on their own buisness, their papers probably would have been checked upon entering Ulm, so he had no concerns here. He began to drink down the wine, as well as the other SS officer that had come in. The Seal had been utterly careless for them, it wasn't his problem. He was getting drunk here, and enjoying this little moment of his.

---

The number gathered, fewer than Robert had anticipated, but the beer was there, and the confidentiality and secrecy still upheld. This would be enough, he knew that much. Just enough to start a fire.

Sitting up, Robert looked across the table at the people assembled, hardly hiding his demeanour.
"There's a reason, Martin." Robert coldly added, drinking down a little beer, as Lukasz looked across.
"Aye, he has a point. Killing that bastard starts this all off. But I'll let Robert explain." Lukasz added, nodding to the SOE agent, the Italian girl and the others coming in, taking seats.

"You're probably wondering why you're here. Okay, I'll give you an honest answer. There's several hundred million dollars worth of Nazi gold, on a train, leaving Ulm for Berlin. We are going to make sure it doesn't go that way. We are going to take it to Switzerland, and stop it at a water station, located near a viaduct a few miles south of here. Kill anyone in our way, and take it south. I believe we have a driver in our midst, as it's a diesel locomotive, it shouldn't take more than just you and some of the crew as hostages. They'll co-operate, with incentive certainky. My contacts already have the signals set for a train going southward, a few dead people, some others bribed in the railways. The train just has to keep rolling to Lake Konstanz." Robert simply said, chuckling.

"The gold will be carried through Switzerland, and you will receive a share of it, before the rest is dumped and the train derailed above a mountain lake. Irretrievable, because the Swiss authorities won't let a single German soldier come in to find it. You help make the Reich poorer, and help to win the war. While making yourselves richer. The finer details of the plan will come as of the moment, when you need to know. If I told you exactly who was involved...well, that would be telling. " Robert added, simply outlining the plan, knowing it was a lot to take in, as he leaned in on the table.

"Downstairs, Herr Lausitz is the head of the security network that mobilises any internal response to my little scheme. So now is your opportunity to make your decision. If you don't want to come, you walk away out of this bar, and won't be able to stop it by the time it's underway. But if you do....then join us in making this work. I promised a plan I needed specific individuals for. The heist has been laid out. It just needs you on board. And Herr Lausitz and his chums need to be filled with lead. Lukasz?" Robert laid it out plenty cleanly, drinking down a little more of the pint as he headed across the room, moving to a cabinet, opening it up. Pulling the one of the large crates out, he carried it, the burly Pole throwing it onto the table with a loud bang. He gently flipped the clips, pushing it open, chuckling.
"Indeed he does. Hitler's Buzzsaw would agree." The MG42 was hooked up to a drum magazine, with a customized grip on the barrel, as he shook his head.

"There's a couple of Stens in there spare, if anyone wants them. You can stash them inside your coats, till the time is right. I'll go downstairs in a moment to speak with Herr Lausitz, and make sure that old chap is about for his best birthday present. His contingent of men are going to need dealing with too. Find a position, and on my mark, be ready. Once we're done, move out to the back, and head toward an Opel lorry for us all, that I've left by the church. The Viaduct is 10km south-east of the town, following the main route to Augsberg. It's going to be a bit of a mess." Robert added, waiting on the response, before he got too ahead of himself.

---

---

"So...you're telling me that I've been sent from sunny Italy all the way here into the butt-fucking middle of the Third Reich during the winter on a top-secret mission, just to drive a fuckin' train?" The Italian in Silvio was really starting to come out as he spoke, a real annoyance and anger filling his every word to the brim with fine Italian temperament and New Yorker loud-mouthing.

Silvio had gotten a decent look at the various men - and woman, to his great, but still delighted surprise - on the second floor. They all looked like they were tough soldiers, veterans of previous action in this war or another, though Silvio didn't have time to care about that right then. The Nazi SS officer that walked in last was what gave him the spooks at first, even making him reach for his backpack until he realized that he was there too on orders from whoever sent them here.

Silvio guessed it had to be Robert, that sneaky fox. It could be that Italian gall, though she did look mighty-fine, especially now.
Jakob on the other hand knew perfectly who had sent them and why they were there. Each with a specific and very important role in this important mission. Some of them cared for the money; Jakob wanted to Third Reich to burn to nothing but ashes of those bastards.

Jakob looked at the loud-mouthed, yet able-looking American man dressed up as an Italian nobody, an expression of discipline filling his face as their mission was soon to commence. "If you didn't understand what Robert said, I'll remind you; if you don't want to help nor the gold, you can leave now."

"I got that, but...ah fine, I'm not one to rat out like some dirty snitching weasel. It's just..."

"Just what, what's your name and rank again?"

"...Oh right, formalities. But what..".

"About the mission being top-secret? You're in you said, so you won't be going back to tell our info back home, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Boss." Silvio put down his backpack on the floor, before standing up straight and looking at the others. "Sergeant Silvio Colani, formerly United States Ranger and all that jazz. Both able with a gun, and more personal matters." He said to them, the latter more so directed to the Italian lady with a cheekish smile, until he realized she might not understand English since she asked for a German translation. He didn't get to ask though, as Jakob quickly took over.

"Corporal Norheim, though call me Viking. Keep it simple. I'll take up position by the bar, it'll be easier to assemble my Bren behind the counter. You then, Sergeant?" Jakob's words were filled with something; not a kind of spite towards the Italian, but more of irritation of his behaviour and lack of dedication towards the mission. He himself was dedicated all right.

"For guns? I got my trusty Lady down here; she'll be more than able to take care of those stronzinoes downstairs. Want me to take point outside, Norheim?"

"I said Viking. Did I stutter?"

"Right...Viking...Me, outside, gun those goons down?"

"If Robert allows it, he's the chief."

Simona tries not to turn a paler shade of white. Her Nonna already tells her that she doesn't get enough sun. The men are talking quickly in English - Subtle as a freight train, she remarks inwardly - and she's only able to catch bits and pieces. Still, she gets the gist of it. Lots of shooting. Lots of killing. Dead Nazis. A car. Running. Simona just loves running. It occurs to her that they probably don't realize that she has one leg.

She leans against the table and notices Colani looking her up and down. He makes some kind of comment that she doesn't quite understand, but his body language gets the main idea across. She stops herself from rolling her eyes at him, and manages a little smile instead. Male attention is hard to refuse and also useful. She furrows her brow trying to concentrate on what they're saying, and picks up that Silvio wants to go outside and that Norheim, or uh...Viking, doesn't really like him. Then people look at Simona.

"I ahhh..." Aww fuck it, here goes. "I'ma Simona. I do uh...za nursing. If you getta hurt, I sew you up. Don't getta hurt. I'ma lazy. Zat's ah why I'm here." She pulls up the right side of her dress where the Beretta waits in a leg holster. She pulls it out. "I can uh..." She forgets the word in English. Sparare... Sparare, goddammit! Didn't it also start with 's'? She decides to cut her losses. "Pew pew!" she makes a shooting motion. Making a sterling impression, Simona. Just top shelf. "But, ahh, not so good, you know?" She glances at the big box of big guns. The recoil from any of them will likely knock her on her culo. Truth be told, Simona was hoping this wouldn't be so...deathy right off the bat, that she could pull her usual schtick, and just be a mole, an information broker, and a lookout, but what can you do? "I think ah mebbe I shoulda go outta za side? Pew pew za Nazzis when ah zey come ah run?" English: she is absolutely speaking the fuck out of it. Her confidence grows. "Mebbe I could ah, go ah first. Do a little... distrazione if ah you need? But ah...You za boss."

Simona's heart is trying to hammer its way out of her chest. She wants to die as a wrinkly old woman, many years from now, but these delusions of grandeur that she has, they're likely to get her killed. She is in way over head.

Martin hummed, "Okay, so Lausitz dies, to start off this little plan? I've heard crazier things. Like Operation Barbarossa for instance." He takes a deep breath, "Fine, I'll help. I just hope this means we don't get caught and don't get spotted by anyone that can trace us back to what we're doing. Last thing we need is news of this reaching certain people. My commander in the SS gets word of this. And I'm likely to stand before a firing squad. As are all of us if we're not careful. So let's make this count then." He straightened his uniform some, after doing so with an almost casual motion reaching to the back of his trousers and out of the sheath hidden there pulls out a sword bayonet free. The single edged blade long and with a slight patina, dulling the gleam of the blade. He nods, "I'll do and mingle then. And wait for the signal to cause a little close in chaos." He reached back again and slide the sword bayonet away. The soft hiss of the blade sliding away punctuating his resolve to help in anyway he can.

He looked about, "Anything I should know before I go. Oh...I ought to mention, outside of this room there is no Martin North. It's Uwe Graf, SS Intelligence Officer. We should use that. Being in the Schutzstaffel may open some doors for us while we're out there." He grabbed his hat, tucking it under his arm, "I'll be below." He turned and made for the door, grabbing his half empty tankard as he went, taking his time just in case there was something that needed to be said.

But soon he's back below, slipping into the crowd of guests again, allowing a waitress to refill his tankard. And joining in on a conversation about the current state of the Nazi Party and by extension it's armies and plans. He bantered politely. But now his eyes flitted about, measuring the situation. Laustiz stood amidst the group, the center of attention, it's his party so of course he would be. There are enough men here to make a straight up fight untenable. Unless surprise is used of course. Or someone took a shot from where it's not expected. He wondered if the group upstairs had a sniper or a specialist waiting somewhere to help. He looked around scanning the room, trying to figure out where they could be and how he could help beyond the dicing he intended to do.

(Overdue. But I hope it makes up for it.)
(The song is very important. It adds something to this.)

Moving downstairs, Robert looked back at his group, nodding in agreement.
"Don't get too close to me. Pick a spot. And be ready. Don't be in the open, have cover close. This isn't going to be child's play, I'm afraid. Whatever you'll do, just make it so. And be ready to move to the lorry fast." Robert added, as he lit a cigarette, walking down, knowing they were set, and whatever plans they had suggested, he'd be on board with. Cover outside, cover inside, everyone here was gonna die apart from the staff and the people pulling off this heist. A lot of dead Nazis, Robert thought to himself.

Over the gramophone, a classical symphony by Grieg played, The Hall of the Mountain King, a part of a symphony. So far it was quiet, calm, in it's lull. And Robert didn't really like it, but could appreciate it sometimes, well, that wasn't his concern.

Sitting by Lausitz, Robert instantly caught the eye of the SS Officer, who stared at him, his men talking amongst themselves, as he looked over.
"You look well. Came back from the Eastern Front?" He said, his German relatively well refined, as Lausitz tutted. He knew what Robert was, and didn't like him. Almost wanted to arrest the fucking guy, if it wasn't for the intel that they had given. Lausitz knew the order went higher than him not to deal with Robert Fitzroy, as he looked towards the tiny window that sat above the door, a church tower in the distance, as he looked back at Lausitz.

"I did. Saw shit your weaseling kind would never see." He replied sternly, as he drank down his beer, burping after, clearing his throat.
"I don't have time for your bullshit, Fitz. It's my birthday. Leave me the fuck alone. I don't want politics in here."
"Alright, alright. I mean, I was in Ulm, and the Abwehr wanted their business. Thought you wanted someone to stop by."

"Not fucking you. Like I said, piss off." Lausitz immediately had another glass in his hand, as Robert tutted, standing up, taking his own with him, another one of his subordinates, a Lieutenant of some sort, also standing up, looking like he was going to the gents room. Looking at his own watch, Robert's heart pounded. Syncronized, readied, prepared. There was music playing in the Tavern, something over a gramophone, it was classical German music.

"Alright. I do bid you a good evening, Herr Lausitz. Happy Birthday. I have a feeling.....you won't remember it tomorrow morning." With it, Robert stood, and his watch ticked, Lausitz looking across, bemused. Robert's face changed from a stony cold, to a wry smirk, as he knew what the hell was about to go down. Lausitz wasn't in the fray of things. He was just right where he had to be sat, and there was a thick wooden table right by his side. Lukasz was already coming through the kitchen, rounds chambered in the MG42, and in the bell tower, Valerie watched. The rest were out of harm's way.

The clock was ticking. And it went off right there, right then.

The bells rang, as Valerie depressed the trigger, the round flying through the air, the bells ringing and muffling the shot entirely, the round smashing the glass and continuing on, and finding the Seal's bald head, blasting through his temple and exploding out of his eyeball, hitting another man straight in the chest, as Robert drew his Luger, cleanly and double-tapping a Nazi in the head that sat next to him, before diving behind the table. And the symphony was at it's peak, violins blaring, as the other soldiers looked on confused, barely able to draw their pistols, one grabbing an MP40. Another sniper round entered that man's neck, a messy affair that blew up two glasses on the table, as Lukasz walked in.

"Spierdalaj!" *Fuck Off!* He yelled loudly in Polish, as he pulled the trigger, and the climax came to total silence, as the MG42 blared open.

If Robert or the others weren't on the floor, they'd be very dead, as Lukasz hosed down the soldiers, rounds flying into wood and the MG recoiling hard, as Lukasz chuckled, walking forwards, spraying into the crowd as a few took a potshot back at him. There were men sitting down, standing, whatever they were, they were very dead, and beginning to have their bodies have a higher lead content than usual, brass flying from the weapon as some were ragdolling, it was total madness, a few rounds prompting him and his gun beginning to overheat that maybe cover was a better idea. He dived back down behind a table, as Robert took out two more men, on the far side of the bar, the staff screaming as everyone took cover, got mown down, Robert seeing the Lieutenant by Lausitz's side grab a table knife and run towards him. A shot in the gut did it, but Robert didn't stop and neither did that man, running up to the German and turning the knife in his hands, stabbing him repeatedly in the chest. Lukasz ran over, the MG overheated, and the others hosing the rest of the tavern down, shaking his head.

"You're doing it fucking wrong!" Lukasz forcibly took the knife, as Robert took cover, a round bouncing off the oak, as he shot back at a German in the other end, another soldier armed with an MP40, taking his time to aim before taking a steady shot, and knocking him dead. Lukasz meanwhile, had fun with the Lieutenant, pretty much ripping out his throat with a mere table knife, actually killing him rather than inflicting little more than a flesh wound. Blood spat out, as he roared, picking up the MG, looking down. Blood poured everywhere, in seats there were dead Germans, and it was an amazing orchestral clusterfuck. Another sniper round pinged out, bouncing off a wall, as the men on the other end knew they were being shot at, running outside....and that wouldn't end well for them, Robert thought to himself. Another avenue they had covered.

"Okay. Job's a good 'un. Let's get to the lorry and as they say in Hackney, rightfully fuck off, shall we."

Oh Dio Oh Dio! Simona tries to keep her thoughts calm. She glances at the church, less than fifty meters away. The truck is right there. Reach it and you're safe. You can do that, Simona. Of course you can. She can faintly hear soft music drifting out through the beer hall's windowpanes, but it does little to settle the nurse's nerves. It's not like she hasn't seen people being shot right in front of her before, but the last time it happened was not a banner day. I had two legs at the start of it. She waits outside the back door, pistol in hand and tucked somewhat behind her back, feet planted firmly.

She was careful to exit a bit before the others, grabbing her coat, backpack, and crutches. The latter have been left leaning against a wall nearby.

At the very moment she recognizes the tune playing inside, church bells start ringing and a lone gunshot rings out. It doesn't even have time to resonate through the crisp winter air when it's followed by further gunfire, shouts, and the sound of running feet on wooden floorboards. Coolly, Simona raises her pistol. Something really heavy opens fire inside. There are panicked words in German. The door bursts open, a Nazi staggers out, and then all of the nurse's fears, moral compunctions, and self-doubts no longer matter. She puts a bullet into his chest and then a second to be sure.

She catches a glimpse of chaos inside and quickly steps back. Her heart is beating so hard that she can hear her own pulse. A second man in an SS uniform staggers through the door, grabbing one of the posts for support. For a moment, their eyes meet. His look defeated, bitter, and scared. For the barest of moments, they beg her just like those of a hundred nameless soldiers have when they know that death is coming.

Simona shoots him in the head.

Then a snowdrift beside her explodes in a spray of powdery white. A sudden feeling of heat near her cheek causes her to flinch, and as she steps sideways to move out of the doorway, something seems to yank at her prosthetic leg and it's all that she can do to keep her balance. A handful more rounds come screaming into the empty space, and then there are rushed footsteps. This one's ready. He shot to cover his escape. Holy shit. Holy shit! The next three seconds will determine whether Simona Ricci lives or dies and she knows it, so she focuses intently on the footsteps and their closeness.

The floorboard beneath the door creaks with a higher pitch.

Without any hesitation, she pivots and fires as Friedrich, whose arm she came in on hours ago, brings his gun around. Her first shot takes him in the gut and he falls to the ground writhing and screaming. Simona's pretty sure that she didn't do either when she was shot. His eyes bug out and he tries to raise his weapon. Part of her tries to panic. He's not dead. He's gonna shoot! She fires at his head and there's a spray of sticky wet crimson. It takes her a moment to realize that she missed. Neck, instead. She supposes it was good enough. Her hands are shaking.

Simona tears her eyes away from Friedrich, still on the ground with his throat blown open. There may be others. But then she hears Robert's voice: "Okay. Job's a good 'un. Let's get to the lorry and as they say in Hackney, rightfully fuck off, shall we."

The nurse doesn't know what a Hackney is, and Robert's accent is thick enough that understanding him is tough, but she got 'lorry', and that's good enough. Besides, they're already heading for the door. She tucks her pistol away, shoulders her bag, and grabs her crutches. Immediately, she can feel that something's wrong. Legnoso's janky. Ahhhh CAZZO! That yank from earlier. It must've taken a bullet. God, I must look ridiculous running on crutches with this huge backpack. She knows that she should ask about wounds, but speaking English requires thinking and she doesn't think well when she's halfway to complete panic. Finally, once she's moving at a decent pace and and the Opel's getting comfortingly close, she manages to say something. "Ahhh, you needa sew uppa we do in za truck. You tella me zen, Okay?"

---

---

The time was right for the show to begin. And both of our two main badasses were ready for the task. Each about to commence their parts of the play, in their respective ways. Outside Silvio stood, while Jakob was inside. Let the show begin.

Jakob, posing as that German Waffen-SS officer with the unhealable limp, made his way downstairs alongside the rest of their little team of misfits. He easily avoided the grasping arms of drunken German soldiers wishing to congratulate and honour the clear veteran of the East, while he preferred not to be eyed at by the higher officers, in line of not being noticed. But he smiled, which was a new feature to the Norwegian soldier in disguise, and one all the more frightening when considering what ran through his mind. He might have smiled and spoken friendly back to the Germans around him, but in his mind he was only imagining how best to gun them all down.

While the conversation between Robert and the now infamously named Seal went on, Jakob made his way around the bar. He had to jokingly throw away the German soldier who wanted to mix drinks, promising him to make something that would blow his mind. Good thing he didn't have to shoot him, that would seriously screw up the planning of the plan. Because hidden inside various crates and bottles, were the different parts of a Bren-Gun, one which Jakob had specifically ordered to be planted there. And as the conversation came to a close, the Bren-Gun had been assembled in no time.

The symphony, a piece of Grieg which only made Jakob smile all the more, reached its climax as the bullets began to ripple through the establishment. Robert and Lukasz seemed to have a field-day out there, at least from what Jakob could hear behind the counter as he hid from the bullets. The MG42 would have shredded him to pieces had he been standing up, but this was of course according to plan. As the gun fell silent, Jakob rushed up onto the counter and aimed his LMG down; a number of German soldiers were still lying at the ground, about to draw their weapons at the two Germans who clearly weren't German after all. Too bad for them, the Norwegian had them in his sight. The gun rattled, shell-casings flew to the side and bullets rippled through the sorry bodies of the Germans trying to make a last stand.

They didn't stand a chance.

It was a massacre, and a beautiful one too Jakob had to admit. The smile on his face didn't fade, it simply remained as it was clear that this part of the mission was done, and they had to exit.

Silvio instead had the pleasure of shooting fish in a barrel, so to speak. As agreed upon, he had exited the bar and positioned himself outside somewhere on the street, overlooking the bar and several exits that might be used for an escape. As he assembled the Thompson SMG, his most trusted and favoured weapon, he couldn't help but wonder if this plan was going to work after all? Because how the hell was a group of three people going to gun down a whole two stories of German soldiers, before the alarm was raised and then get the fuck out of there?

Then again, he himself was pretty good with a gun, and he himself knew he could have managed that himself. And that was good, because he soon needed that encouragement for himself. The gunfire was deafening, even for the battle-hardened Italian-American as he sat concealed across the street, watching the immense gunfire inside the bar. It was like the 4th of July, all compressed into half a minute of shooting in just a small bar.

Luckily he would have company for himself. It didn't take long for Germans to start pouring out of the bar, heading towards him. Good for him, he wasn't alone. As he rose up from a couple of crates hiding him, he smiled brashly as he pointed his Thompson at them.

"Sorry to run into you, you Kraut fuckers, but I've got a lot of lead to carry. Mind to help?"

The overwhelming firepower of the drum-magazined Thompson shredded through the fleeing Germans, all falling dead to the ground or leaned up against walls and other street-objects. "Thanks, your service to my family will not be forgotten. May God be with you, you sorry bastards." Silvio said to the large group of dead or dying Germans, saluting them and running down towards where thir escape vehicle was meant to be parked. There he met the others, though his eyes drifted first to the bell-towere where the gunfire had come from earlier, over to Simona who was looking half-panicked, saying something odd.

"Cosa intendi? Sei male, caro?"

Martin hummed, casually conversing with the officers in the crowd, watching where Lautiz is, as well as keeping track of where everyone else is. He tips his head back, raising a hand and listening to the sound of the music. He didn't need to be told when to act. As the music struck it's high point. And the firing began his other hand snaked under his dress jacket. The man directly to his left blinked turning to look at him. And got a face full of Martin's fist. And a second later the bayonet sword a full 23 inches long, almost a short sword really, came whistling through the air. And bit deep into the officers stomach. The tip appearing out his back even from how deep Martin had buried it. Martin North is on his feet a second later. And saws the blade out of the side of the man stomach. Viscera and blood pouring out. He very nearly cut the man in two above the waist. He ripped the blade free, ignoring the looks on the mens faces around the table he sat at. He lashed out again, the rounded tip of the blade catching another officer across the face. It's mostly superficial but it gets the man off his ass, and stumbling away. Right into the line of fire of one of the guns that are roaring.

Martin turned, and with an almost dance-like move brought the short sword up from below and cleaved a mans face in two. He turned again, and pushed the table as one of the officers grabbed for his silver plated pistol, for some reason he had kept it and it's loaded. The table ramming into the officers stomach, bending him over it. Martin heaved up and pinned the man to the table with the sword bayonet. he tugged, but the blade is stuck. He grabs the pistol from the spasming officers hand, and joins the MG42 and other guns in firing into the group, emptying the magazine of the small compact PPK pistol. Then fishing quickly in the pockets of the man he took it from for a second magazine. He throws the gun away, when he finds none and tears his short sword from the mans back with a crunch of bone as it slides free.

With a flick of the blade he spins around. He'd killed two and assisted in one. As he turns about searching for another target. His suit is flecked with blood, the short sword dripping with it. Gun fire from outside draws his attention, and as the MG42 stops roaring, he goes to check the front door leaving the rest to the others in the room. he looked outside hoping it wasn't a surprise german back up crew. Only to see Nordheim gunning down some of those who managed to escape. He lowered the blade giving it a flick even. "Okay...this was a good beginning." He used his jacket to clean the blade then tossed it into the middle of the pile of bodies. there were no insignia on it to lead back to him, he'd made sure of that a long time ago. No one would look twice at another bloody German uniform when they came through here. He slid the short sword away again, "We better get the fuck out of here. No matter hwo stealthy we think we are. This much action is going to attract attention. And if the Wehrmacht or the Gestapo don't know about it in an hour then the local contingent will soon." He pushed open the door and made his way outside, heading for their get away vehicle.

There were a lot of bodies. A lot of blood seeped along the stone floor, as Robert looked back to Lukasz, who held the smoking MG42, sighing.
"Fucking hell." He only remarked, not able to really contain his words. This was horrifying.

With it, they walked over some more dead Nazis, and it was a shitshow. From them getting pasted and lined up by a Chicago Typewriter that Silvio had, to the MG42's brutal bark, the fact that LMGs were used inside a tight area made it even more graphic. There was screaming from the barlady, and bits of people were pretty much everywhere. It was graphic. But it worked. Heading outside, Robert led the way, giving a simple command with his hand, as they headed over towards the parked Opel, a covered light troop transport, with a pair of cold benches in the back. The response would be instant, if they didn't get going now, the plan was scuppered. He knew that Valerie would make her own way across, well, she had played her part in kicking the hornet's nest.

Getting into the passenger seat of the Opel, letting Silvio take the wheel, as he waited on the rest to get in. Peeking over his seat and into the back, he watched the others clamber in, including Lukasz, who still had the MG42 in both hands. Turning to Silvio, Robert nodded, pulling the map across the dashboard.
"Head for the road going to Augsberg, I'll point out the turning. Just drive us up there and we should make the viaduct. There's a few toys in the back to help us out with stopping that train if things entirely go to hell." He chuckled, as Lukasz felt it under his bench, pulling it out.
"Is that a fucking Panzerfaust?"
"We're causing a signal failure and stopping the train, but if we end up encountering any more resistance on that train, any armoured guns that they use for protection that are manned....we are not taking chances. Grenades too. We have supplies to boot."
"Ja pierdole, you could have given us a heads up!"
"I try where I can. We need to trigger the signal failure, and stop it there and then, get on and pretty much take it for ourselves. It's a diesel, so it should need a couple of us to man and drive, and we can coax the rest of the crew. The manifest is under that map....once we get going, we only have one clear shot at this. Everyone holding up okay? Get a new mag in, everyone. Should take us a quarter of an hour...Silvio, you better floor it once we're out of the town, we don't want to miss out train."

---

---

"I love the smell of dead Nazis in the evening."

Jakob's words flew light as a feather over the eiry silence that had fallen over the small barhouse in Ulm, quite the contrast to the scene that had unfolded itself just a few short moments earlier. If one hadn't seen or spoken with Jakob before, you would think he was a psycopath, plain and simply. But if you had had that honour, you would still think that very same thought, only that you knew why, and that he sometimes sounded like a sane person. The silence was of course disturbed by the barmaid screaming and their heavy boots exiting the barhouse, but it was still quiet.

Too quiet.

As they got to their escape vehicle, Jakob threw his Bren-gun onto the flatbed of the Opel and climbed up. It would have to work, and if it didn't, Jakob was sure as hell going to make it work. He reloaded the Bren-gun, tossing the empty magazine into a satchel at his side; if they could hide the fact that they weren't using German weaponry, the better. The panzerfaust neatly hidden beneath the benches was a pleasnet surprise, though at the same time not a surprise; Jakob knew that Robert had this all planned out. "Just leave that to me, Lukasz. We need you with the Spandau more than me with the Bren."

Silvio on the other hand didn't have the pleasure of getting his hands on a well-made, German AT-weapon that would revolutionize infantry-warfare for decades to come. No, as he himself thought to himself so descriptively; Yeah sure, let the Italian drive the fuckin' car.
Because ALL Italians drives a cab in New York and New Jersey... His facial expression was rather the same, though he kept quiet and instead focused on getting the car to start. It was easy enough, thanks to the key still standing in the ignition, not that he couldn't have started it without it.

"Hold onto your butts, bambini, we're out of here!" Silvio shouted to those on the back of the Opel as he stepped on the pedal, forcing the German transport-truck to move from its immobile state and away from the scene of utter carnage. The Opel moved down the road Robert had pointed out to him at a speed most truck-drivers probably wouldn't feel safe with, especially not during the winter. Silvio on the contrary was in a hurry; he had a train to catch.

And as if on a well-place queue in a theatre-production of some well-written Broadway-musical, a sizeable group of German soldiers appeared in the street right in-front of the speeding Opel-Blitz. And they were armed. "Incoming, hold on!" Silvio, contrary to common sense of a motorist, only pressed the pedal further down onto the floor as the truck sped up towards the Germans. A few of them actually stood their ground and opened fire, but most were smarter than that. In a split second, the Opel-Blitz rammed straight into the two Germans brave enough to face down a speeding truck - a really bad idea. The impact of bones and flesh getting mashed into the metal front-grill of the car sent shivers down the spine of lesser men, but Silvio kept on driving. The remaining Germans watched in horror as their comrades got run over by a truck, and promptly fired back at them.

"Jaywalkers. Fucking hate them."

Stai male, Simona thinks as she hobbles along. At least he's trying. It sure beats nothing. "I, ah... I'm okay!" she manages as the others run past her. She piles into the truck a few seconds behind them and something sharp pokes at her stump. Cazzo! It's all that she can do to avoid actually shouting the word. She gets a couple of glances, but then Robert's outlining a plan that involves more killing and shooting and blowing things up and precisely zero espionage and Silvio's mashing the pedal. Her leg. Simona has to get it off. It's damaged and it's hurting her. "Mannaggia!" She hisses mostly under her breath. The Opel rumbles down the road and she shamelessly reaches up her dress and undoes all of the straps holding Legnoso on. Just as she can feel it come free, there's shouting and shooting, and she ducks and covers. Two Germans get run over, her prosthetic tumbles to the floor of the truck, and they keep barreling along. She glares up at Silvio with all of the ersatz fury that she can muster. "Looka dis!" she shouts, "Looka what you do!" She looks at Robert. "Whenna we go a take ah da treno, you no ah letta him drive. Okay? Ima gonna drive!" She crosses her arms. "So, is ah enne person ah hurt?"

Martin made his way carefully towards the lorry as the Englishmen called it. He tried to play this off as completely casual. Nothing the matter. The escape would need to be quick. He tried his best not to call attention to his face so anyone watching wouldn't be able to identify him. Basic fieldcraft really. Something he'd been told to use back in Canadian spy school as it were. He's got one foot on the back of the truck when he hears, "Oberstleutnant! Wait! Where are you going?" Martin loosened his coat abit and turned to look at a young soldier rushing over, gun lowered, looking winded abit and confused. It's Martin's driver from earlier, he had gone to an inn further into the town and had been spared the massacre. He made a motion to the more then likely blood thirsty cadre of spies, terrorists and traitors behind himself, asking them silently not to do anything.

Martin smiles, "Unteroffzier, glad to see you're okay. I am going with these men and women. We are going on a quick trip that was planned during the party." He looked at the young soldier, "I would appreciate it if you kept this to yourself young man. Can you do that?" The young soldier gulped, "But sir, I need to report this. It's imperative that a SS officer is kept track of sir." Martin sighs, "Are you sure about that my boy?" The sargeant nods, "I was afraid of that." He steps in grabbing the young man's hand pulling him in close, "I admire your dedication my boy. But it is very important that this does not reach anyone else."

There is a slither of leather on steel, the young man, barely a man really lets out a hiss and a gasp. And twenty three inches of steel slide into his chest, angled that it went right through his heart and out his back. Martin sighed, "I apologize young man, you didn't deserve this. But I cannot let you give his away." He lays the boy down, taking his hand in his own, patting it softly, "Rest well. You did not deserve this. When they find you, you will already be in gods hands." he pulled the blade out of the boys chest, cleaned it in the snow, then got to his, sliding the long blade away again, jumping up into the truck, "Tragic business that." He gasped as they pulled away, holding on for dear life as they raced off, plowing into reinforcements and ducking as they took fire.

He called forward, "I hope this isn't foreshadowing into what's going to happen later in this operation! If you're piloting the train, I think I'll walk home instead!" He grunted and rubbed his head as they hit something or someone that caused him to hop up in his seat and hit his head on one of the support spars in the back of the truck, "Ah...gah!"