Participants:
| Scene Title | At The Drop Of A Hat |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | The Vanguard's German Bunker, Thrudheim, is raided by NATO forces. |
| Date | March 19, 2009 |
Thrudheim Bunker
Berlin, Germany
Over a hundred feet beneath the surface of the city of Berlin, a secret war is being waged. Dark concrete wet from ruptured water lines shudders from the distant sound of an explosion, booted feet splash through stagnant puddles gathering on rubble-cluttered floors. The sounds of screams and gunfire echo distant in the labyrinthine passages. Decades ago, this place served as a secretive fallback position for upper echelon members of the Thule society, a clandestine organization of self-proclaimed Nazi "mystics." In the current age, a whole different breed of madmen reside within its reinforced walls.
Passed by a row of gray-uniformed soldiers in black body armor, a weary old man staggers from a doorway amidst the flashing orange glow of security lighting. One wrinkled hand is pressed to his shoulder, blood turning pale skin red between his fingers. Holding a two-way radio up to the side of his head, the old man grates out a hissing exclamation through his clenched teeth. "«Nidhogg! Wo sind Sie!? Sie haben die innere Verteidigung, ich benötigen Sie, Diana zu finden durchgebrochen!»"
Using the bunker wall as a guide at his shoulder, the old man moves a few more feet ahead, stepping through an open doorway into a nearly stripped armory. His breathing comes in rattled exhalations, eyes flicking from the empty weapon racks to a handful of discarded handguns laying on the table top. He sets down the radio on the table, moving to take one of the handguns, only to have the radio crackle with a report from the other end.
«Ich bin hier beschäftigt! Außer ihrem sich, Wagner!»
There's a squint from the old man at the radio, bared teeth and a scowl merging together into a vile expression on his face. Tucking the hangfun into the waistband of his slacks, Wagner reaches out to take the radio, depressing the toggle on the side and screaming in it to the poorly accented man on the other side. "«Finden Dianna! Sie finden, die Dianna oder ich selbst töten!»" Anger and fear rises through Wagner's body, and his tense posture brings a sharp, hot pain through the gunshot wound on his shoulder. "«Ich sichere Munin, Entdeckung Dianna!»"
«Aber— » Before the man on the other end of the radio can finish his sentence, Wagner smashes the radio repeatedly against the concrete wall, a scream rising up from his throat. As the shattered plastic falls from his fingers, he reaches for his handgun , storming back out into the hall leaving a drizzled trail of blood behind him as he walks.
Half a fortified bunker away, a small form in dark clothing looks down at the walkie in his hands. Perched atpp exposed iron I-beams crossing a concrete hall with metal latticework above, Daiyu Feng is not merely listening, he's lying in wait. CLipping the walkie to his belt and making certain his earbud headphones are snugly in place, he trades off for a knife slid out form a sheathe at the small of his back. Gunfire flashes through the hall beneath his perch, shouting in German, then gunfire from the opposite direction of the hall followed by a procession of NATO soldiers behind a seige breaker carrying a heavy riot shield.
When the last man is directly beneath Feng, the darkly dressed assassin leaps down and crumples the soldier to the ground, perforating his throat in three places before springing towards the next man in line. Before he can even scream, Feng has lodged his knife up under his ribs and dragged it across his spine, paralyzing him from the waist down, One booted foot presses on the back of the soldier's neck as he is relieved of his side-arm, which is fired into the calves of the shield carrying man in the front of the line.
Feng stomps one foot down, snapping the neck of the man at his feet, then proceeds to eject his clip and check ammunition. A glance over his shoulder in the direction the NATO soldiers came from is given, then back towards where the Vanguard still control the situation. He considers the tone of Wagner's voice over the comms earlier, huffs out a sharp breath, and trns for the direction of the incoming enemy combatants.
Progressing down the concrete corridor, Feng is silent and swift on his feet, ducking into doorways as another squad of three rush past what they assume is a cleared area, climbing up and into a ventillation duct before dropping out in a different section of the compound. Once he leaves the ducts, Feng passes by stacks of ancient wooden crates marked with the symbol of the Reich, a bird clutching a swastika. He hesitates, glancing down at the crates and the hint of gold bars inside illuminated through the cracks in the crate by the ceiling lamps.
So much is being lost here.
Proceeding to the door of the storage facility, Feng quickly types in his access code to the keypad, then dives out into the hall and sweeps down both sides, finding himself alone. The distant sound of gunfire catches his attention, along with a yelp. Dark eyes wide, Feng hastily makes his way around a corner and up a flight of stairs, hearing the sounds of automatic gunfire echoing off of the damp concrete walls. When a bullet whizzes over his head, he jerks into a crouch reflexively, looking to the direction of the ricochet at the top of the stairs, creeping up the rest of the way.
"This is King of Pentacles reporting in to Royals command, loading dock is secure." At the top of the stairs, crouched down to floor level Feng can see a tall and broad-shouldered man in urban camouflage and black body armor holding a pump action shotgun in one hand. Three NATO soldiers stand around him, spattered in blood. Notably, his eyes are shielded by a pair of mirror-lensed aviator sunglasses. "Wands, Cups, Sit-Rep."
Ducking his head down below the level of the stairs, Feng presses his back up against the concrete steps, eyes closed. "«This is Queen of Cups! I am in pursuit of High-Value Target!»" A woman's voice crackles over the radio that the man in the aviator sunglasses carries. "«Proceeding on foot towards train sub station!»" Hissing sharply, Feng rises up to peer over the top of the stairs again, and this time when he looks past the NATO soldiers, he spots a dark-haired woman lying in a crumpled heap, face down in a pool of thick blood.
Dianna.
Footsteps approach from the bottom of the stairwell, the squad that he passed likely spotted their dead comrades and are doubling back. A jittery leg bounces up and down, Feng's nervous energy and adrenaline fills his senses with twitches and tics as he considers the four men in the other room and untold numbers heading back in this direction. He has to do something— Dianna is already dead, Wagner will likely kill him for letting her be caught up in this mess. The Americans will need pliable information, someone willing to cooperate, time is short.
Popping up slowly from the stairs, Feng raises his hands above his head, throwing his handgun to the ground. "I surrender!" He proclaims from the stairwell, hands folded behind his head. The three NATO soldiers by Aviators are on him in and instant, guns leveled in Daiyu's direction and screamed orders to get down on the ground bellowed out with an authoratative screeching. Aviators picks up his radio, lips crooking into a smirk. "Wands, you out there? I think I got someone you're gonna' want to meet."
Half a fortification away, boots splash down in ankle deep water and Sarisa Kershner's lungs ache from the noxious fumes she's breathing in. It smells of spilled gasoline down here, and there's an oil-slick sheen on the fluid she's running full-sprint through, her assault rifle hugged to her chest. Blood is dried on one side of her face from where one of her squad mates took a shotgun blast to the jaw, and she's certain there's a tooth stuck in her hair somewhere, but ahead of her, too far down the corridor to see, is the most high-value target in the entire facility — codename: Vidar.
Sarisa isn't sure when it happened, but somehow Vidar got out from in front of her and wound up beside her. He comes leaping out of a darkened alcove between concrete pylons and tackles Sarisa to the ground, sending her splashing into the murky soup of gasoline, oil, blood and water. Her assault rifle disappears beneath the brackish surface, and the screeching cry of an approaching railcar somewhere else in the facility drowns out the groan of pain she gives.
Vidar is an old man, white haired and sagging jowls, yet he commands himself with a supernatural agility and grace. The old man levels a palm strike against Sarisa's forehead, a tiny crackling tendril of purple-blue energy flickering off of his shoulder. The blonde lets out a yelp and her head splashes down below the water. Vidar crouches on top of her, and another tendril of energy lashes out from his arm as he pushes her head under the chemical-filled few inches of murk. In that grasp, something strikes him— images and information, visions afforded by a psychometric touch of the government's information and their plan. His eyes go wide, fingers unwind from Sarisa's hair as he reaches for the gun he'd holstered at his waist.
A wet piece of black cloth comes up from the water, Sarisa's scarf, and lashes tightly around Vidar's wrist, pulling his arm towards her as she swings a leg up from the water, smashing the heel of her boot into his jaw. The old man staggers back, spitting blood and teeth before hitting one of the concrete pylons. Sarisa flings another leg up, pivots her body and practically helicopters to her feet, flourishing her hands in a watery motion before leaping with the scarf pulled tight between both hands at Vidar.
Blood shows between Sarisa's teeth as she loops the wet fabric around his neck like a noose, drives a knee into his stomach and then smashes her forehead into his. Vidar slouches back, and Sarisa presses a foot to the middle of his chest, pulling the wet black cloth of her scarf tight around his throat. Blue eyes narrow, and as she draws that choking fabric more taut, the sudden impact of a bullet into her right shoulder sends her spinning around and down to the ground. A Vanguard soldier rushes towards Wagner's aid, handgun held out at his side. Wager staggers up from the wager, choking and gagging, shakily pulling the scarf from around his throat before stomping down on the side of Sarisa's head and knocking her bakc down to the water.
The Vanguard soldier steps in, training his gun down at her, before a noisy shot in the distance rings out, and Wagner watches the soldier's head erupt with an explosion of crimson when two NATO soldiers emergy from the hallway. Rattling metal wheels shriek on tracks adjacent to the watery passage, and between concrete pylons, Wagner can spot the approaching train moving at full speed. He raises his hands, waiting, watching Sarisa bob motionlessly in the water. His eyes settle on the two NATO soldiers advancing, but when the train zips past, Wagner breaks into a burst of superhuman speed and leaps between the pylons, somersaulting between rail cars and landing on the back passenger balcony of the old freight train with a clang of the metal and a snap of three ribs.
Gunfire erupts from behind the train, and Wagner disappears into the night aboard the rail carrying his payload out of the bunker. One of the NATO soldiers rushes to Sarisa's side, helping her up out of the water as she coughs and chokes up the foul runoff, blood mixing with grease, oil and gasoline down the side of her face. Reddened eyes look up at the soldiers, then down to her battered reflection in the water.
Shakily, she pushes the soldiers off of her, reaching for her radio, "Avi," her voice is shaky and adrenaline makes her sound more hoarse from the tightness of her throat. "HVT escaped. What's your Sit-Rep?" She breathes out an exhausted, shuddering sigh, and looks down to her reflection in the water again as blood runs off the tip of her nose from a cut on her forehead.
«You're not going to believe this…» Aviators voice comes over the radio, «We've got a defector, says he can show us where they were keeping a pair of nuclear warheads.» Sarisa's eyes slowly widen, throat tightens and she swallows painfully before choking and spitting blood into the murky water beneath her.
"Roger."
This was only going to get worse before it got better.