Ch11 - The Game is Afoot
Captain Perseus Jackson had only one thought in his mind as he closed his eyes, trying desperately to blank out the deafening sound of the aeroplane in which he was travelling.
Bloody Hell, WHY
This was no complaint against the vehicle, no. Rather it was a more general protest against the mode of travel itself. He had seen many a plane take off in his time, having witnessed the role played by HMS Ark Royal in the hunt of the Bismarck, and even seen HMS Victorious, one of the famed Illustrious-class carriers.
Granted, watching from afar was nothing compared to the real thing.
The RAF C-47 Dakota was a magnificent piece of engineering, without a shadow of a doubt. The thing itself was some 20 metres of magnificence, a true demonstration of the skill and quality of American engineering, the pilots all skilled without a doubt, and yet he could not hate the experience of flight any more than he did at this moment in time.
To think, he would have to jump out of this thing in a few short hours.
The thought itself made him nauseous.
The mission was simple - they were to tail a Nazi convoy, heading from North Italy, an into the Alps. In order to close down all possible routes, the Allies had deployed troops from each side of the mountains that they could physically reach, from the Northern border of Italy tailing the convoy, from South France, groups having been diverted from the newly opened front in Provence, and finally, as Jackson and his group were, from the North and West of France. They had received little to no information thus far, but each person on his team was convinced that it would be their mission to succeed, after a lengthy absence.
That fateful day in the forests of Normandy weighed heavily on the mind of each of the team of five, not one of them having escaped the deadly counterattack without some sort of problem.
For the Canadian, Frank Zhang, the wounds had been physical, and horribly so. It had taken him weeks following their arrival in Caen to recover, and then the rehabilitation process had been a lengthy one, from regaining control over his limbs to overcoming the serious levels of distress caused by the loss of so many of his men.
He had planned to die that day.
Living seemed to be even more of a curse.
For the German, Annabeth Schafer, the day was the straw that had broken the camel's back. Being blonde with her iridescent blue, almost grey eyes, had been something of a saving grace for her, and her Grandfather and Father's statuses as well respected military tacticians and historians had sheltered her from the treachery of the new Nazi regime until she had finally found a way to escape. These two months had been especially useful to her, honing her skill as a markswoman, and allowing her to better understand the members of this little team of theirs, moulding more and more to the image of a soldier in the British Army, her ability to pick out targets and analyse situations on the fly earning her something of a reputation, and even bringing her a position within the SOE, the almost mythical 'Twelve Committee' contacting her and giving her a place in Group F, which dealt primarily in action beyond the homeland.
Jason Grace was perhaps one of the only men largely unaffected by the events that day, having seen the effects in the aftermath, but not having been involved directly in the bulk of the action. Guilt, however, was one hell of a thing, gnawing away at his psyche until Jackson had intervened. The American, for his part, had taken the advice well, working hard to prevent such a scenario from ever occurring again. He had resolved that, as long as he could, he would fulfil his duty, and protect those who could not protect themselves.
And then there was Thalia.
She was moody, detached even. All her work in that town, protecting the people to the best of her ability, and then even fighting to protect them, all of it had come to nothing.
Having grown up with the girl, Percy had seen these mood swings, the highs and lows of her emotions. As children, she would always take her rage and negative emotions out on the surroundings, either throwing herself into a day on the range, taking solace in the crack of a rifle, and the slam of bullets into the targets on the other side of the range.
War, however, changed people, and Percy simply didn't know anymore.
Some time passed; perhaps half an hour, perhaps longer, when the radio began to chatter to life. The reader jammed his headphones on his ears, pencil in hand and scrabbling away at his notebook, rapidly converting Morse to English in his head as the radio continued to beep away.
Years in the Navy had given Perseus Jackson an excellent grasp over Morse, and he ran over the complete message in his head while the reader translated it for his comrades in the plane; "Convoy located - moving North towards Austrian Border - Torrente Talvera - Strada Statale 508 - Brenner Border Crossing - Over and Out.
The message, the radio operator said, was from a team attempting to tail the convoy from North Italy, under the command of a Canadian, First Lieutenant Underwood. His team were understood to be spies first and foremost, though, and hence were not expected to engage in combat, instead continuing to feed information to the teams still in aerial transit via their own radio operator while maintaining a safe distance.
The map laid out on the floor of the plane was one that had undergone several iterations, and now they could narrow down the position of their target. The journey from Sarentino to the Brenner Pass was some seventy kilometres, the vehicles able to move with a good speed as a result of the Strada Statale, leaving them with as little as an hour to take their chance at the most strategically advantageous situation, an ambush in the Brenner Pass itself. Another team was on its way, by Annabeth's estimation, the team from South France little more than an hour away. Success was theirs for the taking if they could only reach the pass itself within the next half-hour.
Thalia Grace shuddered slightly as she double checked the straps of her parachute, trying her utmost to cast her mind off the upcoming jump, estimated to be undertaken from a stunning altitude of some 25,000 feet, partially to avoid giving away the position of their aircraft, and partially due to the mountainous terrain of the drop zone. There was little to no light to demarcate the area in which they hoped to land, no idea of the altitude from which they were to open their parachutes, not even concrete knowledge of when their enemy would be upon them.
At least it wasn't too windy.
Looking around the interior of the plane, Thalia noticed one more face just like hers - she expected that if one were to compare the faces of Percy and Thalia, they would look near enough identical - it was well known that they looked more than similar enough already, but their expressions seemed to be carbon copies of each other, each fighting their deep-rooted fear of heights, Percy having lost his grandparents on his mother's side to a mountaineering accident, and Thalia having hurt herself badly in something rather similar in her training. Despite all their joint efforts, neither Brit had been able to shake the fear.
The looks on their faces were so similar, by the sounds of it, that it had given Annabeth and Jason a reason to have a bit of a laugh. For that she supposed she was happy, as she clapped her best friend on the shoulder, the Ex-Navy, now Army Officer giving her a wry smile in response.
The back of the Dakota opened up, blasting those within with a shock of cold air, and suddenly it was so much more real. Tiny lights were visible in the distance, undoubtedly one of the many towns in the Bolzano region of Northern Italy, along the Transalpine road.
Thalia could vaguely make out the outlines of the mountains in the pale light of the moon, pines and firs stretching towards the sky, lush green needles and leaves appearing almost black in the haunting light of the night.
Jumping wasn't an issue - Jason solved it for her in an instant, giving her a shove over the edge and following close behind. The scream of terror was torn from her lips, lost to the howl of the air as they dropped, accelerating with gravity as they went.
At a tap on the shoulder from the American Paratrooper, she fought to right herself in the air, linking hands with him, Frank and Annabeth joining them soon after. To her dismay, Percy was nowhere to be seen, the rate of their descent too fast and the night too dark for Thalia to make out his form as they plummeted towards the ground, the four of them all hand in hand.
She let her eyes close, ignoring her fear of heights, ignoring her worry for her best friend, ignoring all but the unmistakable shrieking howl of the wind as they fell yet faster.
That was, of course, until she received a harsh blow to her shoulder from the person to her right, awakening her from what had become something of a trance, the feeling of weightlessness like a sweet disconnect from the world of phenomena and pain.
Opening her eyes, she found Jason the only one at her side, motioning furiously towards the cord which would deploy her parachute. Cursing silently in shock and fear, Thalia yanked it, the flimsy bit of string her key to survival in this scenario.
Seemingly satisfied when the huge white cloth deployed, Jason deployed his own chute, his own descent slowing as air caught in the larger surface area and preventing his potential transformation into a grease stain.
Grease stain isn't exactly the best career progression from Parachutist now, is it? The SOE agent mused to herself as she examined the ground below her. It seemed to be fenced off like the arms of the Derbyshire countryside, though admittedly the hills of the Peak District were rather less impressive than the Alpine landscape upon which the team now descended.
Perseus Jackson's own descent was something of an adventure, in his painfully cynical mind. After all, who else could have the true fortune of being carried away in the air from his team on their first parachute jump?
It had taken him quite some time to find the rest of the team as he dropped, trying to alert them to his presence, though of course they would hardly be able to hear him over the roar of the wind in their ears.
Therefore, he reasoned, he would need to think on the fly.
Quite literally.
The ground below him was mercifully flat, and actually much closer to the road that first they had planned to land, giving him the chance to set up a better ambush, potentially even guide his comrades to this point in the pass, from which they could maybe even capture prisoners.
Noticing that the team had deployed their parachutes, the white seeming to shine in the light of the moon, he copied, breathing a sigh of relief he didn't know he had been holding in when his descent slowed. His mother, he knew, preferred him more human than grease stain on the Italian ground.
The rest of the descent was uneventful, aas he patted himself down quickly, making sure that he would be set to hit the ground running. There was a full Magazine of ammunition in his Sten Submachine gun, as well as a full set of bullets in his brand new Webley Service Revolver. He doubted that the Enfield No.4 rifle strapped to his back would see much action tonight, due to the nature of the mission, but it was also mercifully full, the rifle loaded with the standard ten round clip, ready to be unleashed on the enemy.
The landing itself was less than ideal, the Captain stumbling slightly by the jarring force of his feet hitting terra firma, and then fighting to be reed from the confines of his chute.
Upon a look ahead, he saw the blinking lights of a convoy of vehicles, advancing at quite some pace.
There was no time to fall back and search for his team; the enemy would have closed the distance with some ease while he stumbled about like a buffoon in the woods.
There was also no time to call his team to his position, though he supposed it was worth a go. If there were any scouts riding ahead of the convoy they would be well beyond where the Allied team had landed, and he could not make out any motorcycles between himself and the main Gestapo convoy itself.
A couple of shouts were all he could safely manage, his whistle too shrill to use without attracting enemy attention for sure on a night as still as this one, and the echo lasting far too long in the forested mountain pass to be worth risking another go at shouting.
If the others heard him, he would not know, might have never even found out.
The convoy was upon him.
Jason Grace might well have sighed in relief when he heard Captain Jackson's shout in the distance, and he could be fairly certain that he wasn't the only one.
Three shouts echoed off the mountainside before the Captain stopped, evidently by something or someone. Possibly even the convoy after which the team was currently chasing at this very moment.
As pleased as Jason was with his own bit of deduction, Annabeth Schafer was faster still. Admittedly, the woman was rapid on such matters, sharp as a knife and with tactical nous to match it. Gesturing for the others to follow her in the standard military hand signal, she set off at a fast jog, placing her toes carefully in the underbrush to prevent herself from creating a noise. A snapping twig was enough to be a dead giveaway and blow their cover, the rustle of leaves sufficient to attract the attention of any listeners.
Such secrecy and care flew out of the window when the shooting started.
Bursting out of the forest, they found the front vehicle, an armoured car, little more than a burnt out husk, the SDKFZ 222 having been halted in its tracks when the tyres were blown out, and a shrapnel grenade seemingly having done the rest of the work for Captain Jackson's cause.
The first troop transport, an SDKFZ 251 Half Track had sprung into action, its complement of ten infantrymen taking cover behind the high walls, and the machine gunner attempting furiously to flush out the still-invisible assailant. A furious burst of suppressing fire thundered into the treeline, sending chunks of wood flying into the road and sending a small flock of birds into flight, startled by the sudden violent disturbance.
The half-track, however, wasn't Jackson's intended target.
Another grenade overturned the second troop transport, a converted truck which housed up to thirty men, right behind the caged van which clearly marked out the prisoner transport. It wouldn't kill those within the truck, but it would certainly put them out of the fight for some time.
A fresh burst of suppressing fire was focussed on the Captain's last known position, perilously close to where Thalia was now stood, and it shocked the rest of Jackson's team back into life.
Schafer, suddenly wary of this fact, raised her rifle to the shoulder, aiming carefully before taking her first shot. The gun fell silent, albeit for a few short moments before the next soldier took up the mantle of machine gunner for that specific vehicle.
Taking a hint, Corporal Frank Zhang too fired off a shot at the new gunner, the man dropping like a sack of potatoes.
Seeing that their assailants were not concentrated in one spot, the Germans readjusted.
Two men in dark suits emerged from the fourth truck, faces obscured by dark masks, like that of a metalsmith while welding, Jason noted. On closer inspection, he saw that they bore large structures on their backs, almost like…
Gas canisters.
When the first man raised the tube in his hands, fire spewed from his weapon, temporarily blinding the Allied soldiers now scrambling for cover in the woods.
What cover was to be found in the woods from a flamethrower?
Annabeth Schafer understood something very important very quickly.
The flamethrower, terrifying as it was, served a double purpose.
In a battle which the team could only win through deceit and by hiding in the dark, fire was a beautifully efficient way of more than evening out the tables.
Some sixty Germans now had complete visibility of the Allied troops, and every shot the team fired would be seen and countered tenfold.
Taking a chance, she twisted away from Frank next to whom she had previously been standing, sprinting towards the next area of cover, behind the trunk of a fallen tree, and tossed a grenade as far as she could towards the assembled infantrymen, who were now level with the flamethrowers.
By some miracle, it went the desired distance, flinging shrapnel in all directions, killing and wounding many.
How many, she could never tell. She had to move again, striking once more from the same position too much of a risk to take, for her enemy would be able to fire as a group on her general location to have a high chance of hitting her. Worse still, the fiery wrath of the flamethrower would be directed upon her, all but guaranteeing her death or capture.
On she went, therefore, firing and circling around the Germans, who were slowly advancing straight into the forest, unable to see that at least one of their opponents was now closer to being behind them than ahead.
Looking to the road once more, Schafer had to fight to hold back a laugh as she noticed Jackson's own plan.
The man himself was now at the convoy itself, or what was left of it at least. Another troop transport truck had been blown to high heavens, the armoured car at the back of the convoy also little more than a smoking husk, dirty black smoke curling into the moonlit sky as a result of the obviously recent explosion of a grenade, this one seemingly straight into the opening hatch on the top of the vehicle.
All that remained was the truck containing the hostages, now apparently guarded by just two men, who fell in a matter of moments, a shadow rushing to the position where they had previously stood, and the shot of a pistol seeming to do away with the locks on the back.
The nerve of the man was truly astounding, the German woman noted with a hint of begrudging admiration.
All of a sudden, rough hands seized her, the intoxicating aroma of chloroform filling her nostrils before her world fell to darkness.
Thalia Grace yelled a vicious battle cry as she sprayed yet another burst of semi-automatic fire into the enemy, noting that many simply dropped to the ground as they stalked towards her. Chunks of wood obscured her view of her foe as several of the shots she had fired struck the foliage instead of her intended targets.
Suspiciously, those in front of her seemed to be content to be there, not caring about the fire being directed at them, and not choosing to quicken their pace.
She heard shouts of alarm and shock from her left and right, before the shooting stopped on either side of her.
Where Jason and Frank had previously been.
That thought was her last before darkness enveloped her vision, the SOE Agent not even bothering to fight as the scent of Chloroform permeated her senses, giving a small fight before she fell to the chemically induced sleep.
Perseus Jackson felt some kind of feeling of accomplishment as he surveyed the destruction around himself. Burnt out vehicles lay on either side, filling the road. He had seen Schafer circling around the enemy on the opposite flank to his own, silently applauding the German woman's tactical brilliance, and putting her disappearance down to her falling back to bring their fellow team members to the road. This train of thought progressed when the shooting stopped, the two hostages behind him and each clutching a rifle of their own, a Kar98k 'liberated' from their Nazi captors in the chaos of the ambush.
They had given their names, Niccolo and Bianca Di Angelo, each an Italian sympathiser to the Allied cause, each responsible for feeding the Allies in Sicily vital information as they had advanced at breakneck speed on 'Europe's Soft Underbelly' as Prime Minister Churchill had put it. The siblings had merely smiled when he had shared his growing concern at the lack of an appearance from his team, giving the English Captain a chill of doubt, the smiles seeming to be products of death itself.
His concerns, however, came to life, rearing their ugly heads when, instead of his team, the Germans came out of the forest, seemingly victorious.
"ENGLISHMAN!" one German, quite probably their leader, bellowed in Jackson's direction.
"HELLO THERE!" He responded, feeling brave, tone light but strained.
"Indeed," the German responded to his sarcastic quip, distinctly unamused, "You see, Herr Englishman, you may joke all you like, but the fact is that I have your comrades."
That shut him up quickly, brain travelling at a million miles an hour as he ran over scenarios he could use to keep both the hostages, his team, and preferably also his own life.
"Come peacefully, and you life may still be yours by the end of this da-"
The German's words were cut off brutally by a gunshot, the man seeming to stand stock still for a moment before he crumpled like a marionette whose strings had been cut, the impact of his form hitting the ground creating a small thud.
There was a bullet hole straight through his right eye.
Two more fell in quick succession, before the Germans understood that something was seriously wrong and sprung into action.
Four men, each holding one of Percy's team, took off into the woods, escorted by a further three.
That was reduced to two with alarming speed, one falling forwards never to rise again in a matter of milliseconds.
The Germans seemed to have lost all composure by this point, and three more went down with what seemed like little effort.
Another gruppe seemed to rally around their NCO, raising their weapons in an unspoken threat - if another German died, Jackson would too.
Unfortunately, they hadn't factored in the idea of the man himself and the hostages he had just now released picking up their weapons once more, the hilariously dubbed 'Plumber's Nightmare' Sten Gun sputtering to life as the Captain fired off three bursts of fire, removing three from the fight and forcing the other three into retreat.
As though from the shadows, two figures burst from the undergrowth, cutting off three of the fleeing soldiers as they made a dash towards the Austrian border on the other side of the pass, the glint of a knife in the hands of each assassin heralding the doomed situation of the Germans as they desperately attempted to escape.
A further group attempted to make their way back towards Italy, one falling to another expertly placed sniper's shot, the rest being halted in their tracks as a fresh set of motor vehicles reached the battle.
This time, it was definitely not a German convoy, however, as the American and Canadian troops under the command of First Lieutenant Grover Underwood. The team from the south had also crucially brought with them bikes that the British - supplied team had foregone as a snap decision, considering the disadvantage of parachuting with a bike to contend with in addition to their packs and an extremely short passage of time in which to prepare an ambush.
As Percy made his way towards the American, he was met by four more people. Two, he recognised vaguely as the people responsible for cutting off the Germans who attempted an escape towards Austria. With them was another figure, who didn't seem to have made an appearance in the fight itself. Either underconfident or extremely good, Percy noted internally as he took in the man's slightly scrawny build. Each carried one of Percy's team, the British Captain sighing in sheer relief as he saw the faces of Jason, Thalia and Frank, shaking each of the unknown trio by the hand and thanking them profusely.
The last figure was a sniper for sure, as was made obvious by the telescopic sights on their Enfield No.4 rifle. Such sights were simply too cumbersome in open combat to be worth having, despite the aid to the wielder in aiming and firing the weapon accurately over long range.
The light of the moon caught briefly on their ace, revealing feminine features, the physical structure suggesting middle-eastern origin. Glancing over her arm, he was shocked to see the almost legendary crossed kukri emblem of the Gurkha Regiments among the various regimental symbolism that decorated the sleeve of her distinctly British uniform, despite the Americans with whom she had doubtlessly travelled.
His suspicions were confirmed.
"A beautiful evening, Miss Nightshade," he commented, adding a little bow for effect.
"To you too, Captain Perseus Jackson," she replied, eyes lighting up in mirth when he seemed shocked by her knowledge of her name. "Indeed, Captain, the tales of your exploits have travelled far, much as mine apparently have," she commented, tone sounding genuine.
"And how is that, Sergeant El-Faouly," he responded, taking true pleasure in her expression of shock when he used her true name, "when all I have done is stormed a beach and lost a battle while you have become one of the most feared marksmen - ah, excuse me, markswomen - in the war?"
Any reply the Egyptian had in stock was cut off by two simultaneous exclamations -
"New Orders!-"
"WHERE'S ANNABETH?"
A/N
Don't even ask - I started writing and just didn't stop. Here's the meeting of out two groups, and finally we have ten!
Well, eleven, but that'll change.
Ten points to the first person who figures out what I'm doing here - there's something which I reckon is rather intelligent, so it'll be fairly gratifying if someone else recognises it, especially at this early stage.
Don't expect another three day update, this was ridiculous haha
Good day to you all
I don't own PJO