PULP SPYCRAFT
Born of an unholy blend of Spycraft, D20Modern, and a one-shot for some of the usual Dark*Matter crew – Ross, Johanna, and Denis.
The year is 1940.
The US has yet to be drawn into the war – officially. London burns, Europe is in chains, and the behind the scenes the Great Game is played out by Agents of Extraordinary Caliber …
*********************************************
Morning broke so beautifully this day, one could almost forget the sirens, the screams, the black haze even now clawing at the sky from the center of London. This neighborhood of brownstones was almost untouched by the war. Stone staircases with iron-hewed rails lead up to solid oak doors. A few shattered windows, the ever-present bicycles were the only evidence that these Victorian homes were in anything but their heyday.
A young lady strode purposefully toward one of the brownstones. She was in her late teens, perhaps early twenties, wild hair blowing in the breeze. She wore grey skirt and white blouse of one of Europe’s richer private schools. She no longer attended that institution – she’s been kicked out yet again. She had a hard time adjusting to polite society – or any sort of structure society, at that. One of her more astute house-mothers once used the phrase “borderline sociopath”. Pity that dorm burned down as it did …
The girl offered to do her father this favor in order to forestall his disappointed lectures. One of her father’s scientific associates in London, Vittorio Littello, had written letters claiming some dark power stalked the academics of Europe. Littello was an old friend, and he didn’t panic easily. He deserved a personal visit.
The brownstones were identical, but the girl had no need to check her father’s letter. She’d memorized the address involuntarily. It was just the way her mind worked.
For she was Nadia Tesla, the daughter of Nicolai Tesla, the greatest scientist the world has ever known.
From the other direction, a long black Bentley rolled down the street. It arrived at the brownstone Nadia sought just as she did.
The front door of the car opened. Out stepped a tall Italian in an excellent suit and long flowing topcoat. He whistled cheerfully, scanning the street. A beat later, the rear door opened, the passenger unfolding from within. His jaw was impossibly square, his shoulders improbably broad, his smile annoyingly flawless. Spotting Nadia, he touched his forehead instinctively. Used to wearing a uniform cap, Nadia mentally filed.
Nadia ignored the two. She trotted up the stairs lightly, arrives at the door. She knocked –
-- BRRRRAPPPPPPP!! Machine-gun fire SPLINTERED the door inches above her head!
Before she could even react, two of the most extraordinary things occurred.
The Italian gentleman’s hands suddenly filled with two heavy .45’s as if by magic. In one smooth move he leapt forward, ran up along the railing of the stairs, his topcoat flapping like a great dark cape. Another leap and he SMASHED through the front window, guns blazing!
The handsome young man took the stairs in two bounds. He swept her around, shielding her with his body, his back to the door. “Captain Tom Houston, miss. Pardon me.” Casually, he kicked in the door behind him, sending four hundred pounds of wood crashing off its hinges.
If he was expecting gratitude, Houston was sorely surprised. Nadia’s hand flashed beneath her skirt, high on her thigh. A glittering Walther .32 caliber caught the light as it appeared. “This is the point where you get off me.”
Houston decided to file this bizarre European behavior away for later. He stepped into the darkened brownstone.
To the Captain's left, the Italian was firing away with both guns, somehow dodging the bullets perforating his topcoat. The stairs to the second floor were dead ahead. The machine-gun toting assailants fired wildly from the landing at the top.
Incredibly, the half-dozen seemed to have stepped from the Middle Ages! They wore chain-mail and tabards, with longswords at their sides!
Their machineguns were modern enough, though, and they needed to be dealth with. Captain Tom Houston tore his own shirt and coat away, revealing a blue chain shirt beneath, a single star on his chest.
The shield slid onto his forearm smoothly.
Time to test this thing out.
Born of an unholy blend of Spycraft, D20Modern, and a one-shot for some of the usual Dark*Matter crew – Ross, Johanna, and Denis.
The year is 1940.
The US has yet to be drawn into the war – officially. London burns, Europe is in chains, and the behind the scenes the Great Game is played out by Agents of Extraordinary Caliber …
*********************************************
Morning broke so beautifully this day, one could almost forget the sirens, the screams, the black haze even now clawing at the sky from the center of London. This neighborhood of brownstones was almost untouched by the war. Stone staircases with iron-hewed rails lead up to solid oak doors. A few shattered windows, the ever-present bicycles were the only evidence that these Victorian homes were in anything but their heyday.
A young lady strode purposefully toward one of the brownstones. She was in her late teens, perhaps early twenties, wild hair blowing in the breeze. She wore grey skirt and white blouse of one of Europe’s richer private schools. She no longer attended that institution – she’s been kicked out yet again. She had a hard time adjusting to polite society – or any sort of structure society, at that. One of her more astute house-mothers once used the phrase “borderline sociopath”. Pity that dorm burned down as it did …
The girl offered to do her father this favor in order to forestall his disappointed lectures. One of her father’s scientific associates in London, Vittorio Littello, had written letters claiming some dark power stalked the academics of Europe. Littello was an old friend, and he didn’t panic easily. He deserved a personal visit.
The brownstones were identical, but the girl had no need to check her father’s letter. She’d memorized the address involuntarily. It was just the way her mind worked.
For she was Nadia Tesla, the daughter of Nicolai Tesla, the greatest scientist the world has ever known.
From the other direction, a long black Bentley rolled down the street. It arrived at the brownstone Nadia sought just as she did.
The front door of the car opened. Out stepped a tall Italian in an excellent suit and long flowing topcoat. He whistled cheerfully, scanning the street. A beat later, the rear door opened, the passenger unfolding from within. His jaw was impossibly square, his shoulders improbably broad, his smile annoyingly flawless. Spotting Nadia, he touched his forehead instinctively. Used to wearing a uniform cap, Nadia mentally filed.
Nadia ignored the two. She trotted up the stairs lightly, arrives at the door. She knocked –
-- BRRRRAPPPPPPP!! Machine-gun fire SPLINTERED the door inches above her head!
Before she could even react, two of the most extraordinary things occurred.
The Italian gentleman’s hands suddenly filled with two heavy .45’s as if by magic. In one smooth move he leapt forward, ran up along the railing of the stairs, his topcoat flapping like a great dark cape. Another leap and he SMASHED through the front window, guns blazing!
The handsome young man took the stairs in two bounds. He swept her around, shielding her with his body, his back to the door. “Captain Tom Houston, miss. Pardon me.” Casually, he kicked in the door behind him, sending four hundred pounds of wood crashing off its hinges.
If he was expecting gratitude, Houston was sorely surprised. Nadia’s hand flashed beneath her skirt, high on her thigh. A glittering Walther .32 caliber caught the light as it appeared. “This is the point where you get off me.”
Houston decided to file this bizarre European behavior away for later. He stepped into the darkened brownstone.
To the Captain's left, the Italian was firing away with both guns, somehow dodging the bullets perforating his topcoat. The stairs to the second floor were dead ahead. The machine-gun toting assailants fired wildly from the landing at the top.
Incredibly, the half-dozen seemed to have stepped from the Middle Ages! They wore chain-mail and tabards, with longswords at their sides!
Their machineguns were modern enough, though, and they needed to be dealth with. Captain Tom Houston tore his own shirt and coat away, revealing a blue chain shirt beneath, a single star on his chest.
The shield slid onto his forearm smoothly.
Time to test this thing out.
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