ledded
Herder of monkies
We were like gods once... [Is it time to go yet?]
…
John was up to his ears in Germans.
He had taken cover from the snipers in the remains of a badly shattered building, unslinging his M1 Garand and taking pot shots at the remaining Germans. Between the four allied ESSes the organized German counteroffensive had degraded to a swirling mass of confusion.
He peered over the broken wall and saw Hank exiting the book store, but just as he was about to provide him some cover fire he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.
Just around the opposite corner he was crouching at, two Germans jogged by in the direction that he could now hear Moose firing from again.
Glad you’re ok Moose, John silently gave thanks as his rifle impulsively came up and snapped a shot at the first German to trot around the corner. The man grabbed his ribcage and grunted, falling to his knees and rolling. The second German glanced at John astonished, and tried to backpedal the way he came.
John fired again, seeing blood spray from the German’s arm, and then fired several more shots in rapid succession into the wall the wounded Nazi had just ducked behind, judging where he thought his head might have been. One of the rounds must have found a weak spot in the mortar as he heard someone scream “meine augen! meine augen!”. The German stumbled from his hiding spot, potato-masher grenade in one hand and the other clasped over his eyes, masonry dust plastered on his sweaty and bleeding face.
John heard something scrape the bricks back toward the street. He quickly fired at the blinded Nazi and then spun towards the sound as the German doubled over. As he brought his rifle around he saw the surprised face of another German soldier just peering over a hole in the broken wall, leading with his MP40. John immediately continued the swing of his rifle, falling back on his behind as the tip came up right under the goggling Nazi’s chin.
SNAP-SNAP! Ping!
John fired twice quickly, his first round grazing the Nazi’s neck but the second hitting him under the jaw and sending a small shower of pulp out of a new hole in the top of his helmet. He realized the “ping” sound was his empty clip ejecting and swore as he scrambled another out of his ammo pouch, slamming it into the rifle. Aw Jeez I hope they didn’t hear that!
Just then he heard something clank back towards the Nazi he had blinded and glanced just in time to see the German stick grenade bounce over the top edge of the ruined wall headed right for his lap. Aw swell, there was a third one.
“Cripes!” he swore as he reflexively swung his rifle backhanded, slapping the grenade back over the way it came and throwing himself face down into the wall nearest the street.
He heard the BOOM of the grenade and was sprayed with bits of brick and mortar as the wall blew inwards towards him, a muffled scream indicating success.
Glad I played a little baseball back home, he thought, sitting up, just as the tip of an MP40 came over the wall next to the street, just above him, and began firing wildly into the ruined room.
He threw himself flat and grimaced against the noise as a two rounds from the long burst managed to ricochet into him, one tearing a furrow across his leg while another snatched a piece of his earlobe off and crashed into the wall just by his head.
He reached up just as another machine pistol poked its nasty head in, firing, as the first began to withdraw.
The two Germans taking cover behind the wall he was pressed up against had no idea what was happening when each of their MP40’s suddenly were grabbed and pulled inwards.
The first soldier tried to pull back, and looked at the second as he gasped in pain and surprise.
Looking to his companion, he saw frost instantly form over his gun, his hands becoming fixed to it as the temperature plummeted. The cold then bit into him full-force and he made to scream, but could not free his frozen tongue from the roof of his mouth.
John laid his frigid death into them as hard as he could until he felt them stop resisting, then, still prone, he pivoted and yanked both machine pistols inwards as hard as possible. Both Nazis, now semi-rigid, flipped over the wall and smashed into the ground head first. The first one’s neck gave an sickening wet crack as his head turned in an impossible angle under the weight of his half-frozen body, while the second one’s un-helmeted and flash-frozen head broke into several pieces against the hard stone floor like a dropped lamp globe.
Weary, John willed away the frost. He began to pick up his rifle, but noticed it had been damaged in the last exchange.
Glancing carefully back over the wall, he saw the Panzer line up it’s shot, infantry in close support right behind it.
He spied Moose standing over Hank, and a strange… man… tending to Hank with an allied uniform on. He also spotted an odd German officer taking a black book from the hands of a even stranger dressed German with a sword in his hand, the sword wielding Nazi panting and bleeding from several wounds. As he watched the officer his form shimmered slightly, changing shape.
Standing in his place was an even weirder sight.
A tall, thin man, wearing strange dark robes, pants, and fur lined boots, similar to some pictures John had once seen of Cossacks. Cossack Priests, actually. No matter, he’s got the damn book. He was bald with a long thin beard, and his eyes were like gazing into endless pits of burning malevolence as he threw his head back and laughed, gripping the book in one hand.
PHOOM!
The Panzer tank’s firing brought John back into focus, and he saw the shell cut through a small tree just over the strange new guy’s head and right by Moose as he dove to cover Hank’s still form.
It entered one of the shattered stain glass windows of the church and discharged violently, blowing out the remaining windows and large sections of the structure. Their strange new ally was lifted off of his feet and thrown away from the church, Moose also rolling and bouncing away with Hank clutched protectively in his bleeding arms. The Panzer, realizing its main gun could not drop enough elevation to hit them, immediately roared its engine, jerking into gear and taking off at their prone, groaning forms. The tank’s coaxial machine gun sputtered fire at them as it made to run the stunned allied ESSes down.
John looked again at the tank, the troops, and the two Nazis with the book. He saw the Tiger that Hank had disabled finally bringing its main gun around at the three of them, the tank’s commander crouching in the open hatch and readying the turrent mounted MG42 to fire at them since they couldn’t turn the damaged tank to bring the coaxial machine gun to bear. He realized he had not heard Smitty or Moose fire in a while, and feared the worst for them.
It would be so easy to take off, to hide in one of these basements long enough to get out of town, thought John. I might live through this, and no one would be the wiser.
He shook his head, as if to clear it of the thought, and rubbed the moisture from his burning eyes.
That’s my buddies out there.
They’re all I have left.
John’s mouth became a grim line as he made his decision.
No one leaves unless we all leave.
There’s still a job to do, and I don’t hear no fat lady singin’.
Taking a quick stock of his remaining possessions for something to use to help him, John remembered the large pouch that Moose had given him earlier. A satchel charge; actually, a rather large one.
He glanced back, readied the charge as he heard more Germans coming up behind his hiding place, and formulated a plan.
“I hope the Krauts brought a fat lady with ‘em…”, John muttered to himself as he took several deep, bracing breaths and stood up, primed satchel charge in hand.
…
Moose shook his head groggily and glanced up with double vision at the tank bearing down on them. He tried to move, to grab Hank and get out of the way, but his muscles just wouldn’t obey.
Then Frogbot shot across the ground beside him on all fours, smiling, not even bothering to stand, like he was playing chicken with the Panzer. The Panzer had just crushed the curb as it hit full throttle and lurched towards them. The coaxial machine gun in the front of the tank stuttered fire at Frogbot but only managed to trace his path as the android streaked in at them.
Just as Moose was sure the crazy critter would be crushed, Frogbot sprung to the left, his right clawed hand extended.
The claws tore through the treads and tread wheels of the Panzer like a machete through wet toilet paper, sending shards of metal and tracks spinning off in every direction. The tank’s driver, having accelerated the Panzer to full throttle, yelled in surprise as his view port suddenly swung to the right away from the allied ubermensch he had been ordered to crush, as if the right-hand tracks had become stuck on something.
His yell of surprise turned into a scream as the tank easily tore through the remainder of the tree they had blasted and swerved squarely into the crippled and burning church, flaming timber and bricks showering his compartment hatch and viewport.
Moose was just getting up as the tank’s commander threw open the top hatch and came up coughing, trying to prime the top-mounted machine gun.
Frogbot was still on all fours in the street. He caught Moose’s eye as Moose looked around desperately for something to throw at the tank commander.
Smiling and shaking his head, Frogbot held up 3 fingers at Moose, then dropped them one at the time.
3… 2… 1…
The German officer yanked the slide on the machine gun and just as he swung it around at Frogbot, a shadow came over the tank. Frogbot waved at him cheerily. The tank commander looked back just in time to see the entire wall crumble and fall on top of the Panzer, heavy stones and mortar crushing him into the top of the tank without even time to utter a curse as the church fell in.
Just then Moose saw John sprint across the street as the wounded Tiger was bringing its gun to bear on Frogbot. John leaped on top of the Tiger, planting one hand on the tank commander’s head and pushing down. The Nazi disappeared with a yelp, and with his other hand John jammed some kind of bag into the hatch and slammed it shut.
Immediately John arched his back as the Germans around the tank opened fire, one scoring a glancing hit, then dove off into a roll as he headed for the front of the book store.
That bag looked familiar, was that a…, Moose began to wonder.
PHLANG!
The satchel charge detonated, the soldiers around the tank falling back. Immediately the tank’s shell magazine cooked off and it began leaping and jumping as the big artillery detonated inside of it, quickly igniting the fuel tank and exploding outwards with an impressive spray of concentrated firepower. Most of the Germans surrounding it were thrown back or set afire.
John rolled out of his dive and pounded straight at the two Nazi ubermensch. One of them made to do some kind of salute with his sword; John promptly stepped in and hit him full in the face, feeling bone give way under the snap of his fist. The Kraut swordsman grabbed his face and doubled over, then instantaneously disappeared from sight.
John spun towards the frail looking Cossack, who was looking at him with amused curiosity as he brought up his fists and called upon the frigid death stored deep in his bones.
“Give me the book, and I might let you live”, John threatened in German.
In heavily Russian-like accented German, the man replied calmly.
“I am Rasputinovich, and I vill do no such zing. You, however, vill stop annoying me. NOW.”
The last word reverberated like a struck church bell in John’s head, and he could hear nothing but the echoes of the strange man’s will as his hands began shaking and his knees suddenly went weak. John could feel the man, this Rasputinovich, exerting pressure like a ton of stones inside of his skull. He heard only a ringing roar as the street turned up crazily in his vision and then he was looking at the sky. The roar increased in pitch to painful levels and he felt himself grimace, heart hammering in fear, as the sky closed in under a shroud of horrifying darkness.
The last sound John heard was an evil chuckling laugh that seemed to emanate from his own mind before he spun away screaming, falling into the recesses of his own subconscious nightmares. As he fell he could see nothing but those two incredibly malicious eyes following his spiral into gibbering madness.
…
Frobot saw another unfamiliar man destroy a Tiger tank then strike a Nazi officer, confronting another before suddenly trembling and falling heavily to the sidewalk.
WARNING: Readings of Talent activity hitting extreme levels.
Sensor indicate concentrated usage of Talent, uniform and actions conform to ubermensch axis target. Target is holding object of mission, book asset ‘Von Unaussprechlichen Kulten’; translation engine determines name as ‘Nameless Cults’.
Query: damage target or retrieve asset?
Answer: BOTH.
The Cossack was directing more reinforcements, jubilant in his victory, as there was a sudden incredibly sharp pain in his left hand.
He brought it up to see what had hit him, when blood spattered his face.
Wiping it away, he saw his hand was spurting blood. The hand he was just holding the book in. Glancing down, he saw a strange man in an allied uniform of some sort with clawed hands resting on all fours, holding…
the book and several of my damn fingers!
Rasputinovich immediately concentrated on a building nearby, and there was a bamf of noise in the spot that Frogbot’s other clawed hand immediately swung through. The axis ubermensch was no longer standing there. Frogbot shrugged his shoulders and hefted the book as a groan came from the blinking John Brighton.
Just then, there was a roar of engines as two P-38 Lightnings tore across the sky and laid heavy fire into the buildings where the Nazi sniper fire had been coming from.
John sat up, shaken and battered, to see Captains Smith and Smythe moving from cover to cover down the street behind them, several other ESSes with them. One ESS moved around the other side of the church, his elongated neck and arms like elastic or rubber as he scanned the area.
Smith walked up to them, Moose carrying Hank in tow.
“It’s about time you fellas got done. Gather up and move out, it’s time to go.” he growled at them.
“Sheeezus dingdang ol’ I been dingdang saying that fer ten dang minutes now…”, came Hank’s weak reply as the others stared at both Captains in shocked silence.
...
…
John was up to his ears in Germans.
He had taken cover from the snipers in the remains of a badly shattered building, unslinging his M1 Garand and taking pot shots at the remaining Germans. Between the four allied ESSes the organized German counteroffensive had degraded to a swirling mass of confusion.
He peered over the broken wall and saw Hank exiting the book store, but just as he was about to provide him some cover fire he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.
Just around the opposite corner he was crouching at, two Germans jogged by in the direction that he could now hear Moose firing from again.
Glad you’re ok Moose, John silently gave thanks as his rifle impulsively came up and snapped a shot at the first German to trot around the corner. The man grabbed his ribcage and grunted, falling to his knees and rolling. The second German glanced at John astonished, and tried to backpedal the way he came.
John fired again, seeing blood spray from the German’s arm, and then fired several more shots in rapid succession into the wall the wounded Nazi had just ducked behind, judging where he thought his head might have been. One of the rounds must have found a weak spot in the mortar as he heard someone scream “meine augen! meine augen!”. The German stumbled from his hiding spot, potato-masher grenade in one hand and the other clasped over his eyes, masonry dust plastered on his sweaty and bleeding face.
John heard something scrape the bricks back toward the street. He quickly fired at the blinded Nazi and then spun towards the sound as the German doubled over. As he brought his rifle around he saw the surprised face of another German soldier just peering over a hole in the broken wall, leading with his MP40. John immediately continued the swing of his rifle, falling back on his behind as the tip came up right under the goggling Nazi’s chin.
SNAP-SNAP! Ping!
John fired twice quickly, his first round grazing the Nazi’s neck but the second hitting him under the jaw and sending a small shower of pulp out of a new hole in the top of his helmet. He realized the “ping” sound was his empty clip ejecting and swore as he scrambled another out of his ammo pouch, slamming it into the rifle. Aw Jeez I hope they didn’t hear that!
Just then he heard something clank back towards the Nazi he had blinded and glanced just in time to see the German stick grenade bounce over the top edge of the ruined wall headed right for his lap. Aw swell, there was a third one.
“Cripes!” he swore as he reflexively swung his rifle backhanded, slapping the grenade back over the way it came and throwing himself face down into the wall nearest the street.
He heard the BOOM of the grenade and was sprayed with bits of brick and mortar as the wall blew inwards towards him, a muffled scream indicating success.
Glad I played a little baseball back home, he thought, sitting up, just as the tip of an MP40 came over the wall next to the street, just above him, and began firing wildly into the ruined room.
He threw himself flat and grimaced against the noise as a two rounds from the long burst managed to ricochet into him, one tearing a furrow across his leg while another snatched a piece of his earlobe off and crashed into the wall just by his head.
He reached up just as another machine pistol poked its nasty head in, firing, as the first began to withdraw.
The two Germans taking cover behind the wall he was pressed up against had no idea what was happening when each of their MP40’s suddenly were grabbed and pulled inwards.
The first soldier tried to pull back, and looked at the second as he gasped in pain and surprise.
Looking to his companion, he saw frost instantly form over his gun, his hands becoming fixed to it as the temperature plummeted. The cold then bit into him full-force and he made to scream, but could not free his frozen tongue from the roof of his mouth.
John laid his frigid death into them as hard as he could until he felt them stop resisting, then, still prone, he pivoted and yanked both machine pistols inwards as hard as possible. Both Nazis, now semi-rigid, flipped over the wall and smashed into the ground head first. The first one’s neck gave an sickening wet crack as his head turned in an impossible angle under the weight of his half-frozen body, while the second one’s un-helmeted and flash-frozen head broke into several pieces against the hard stone floor like a dropped lamp globe.
Weary, John willed away the frost. He began to pick up his rifle, but noticed it had been damaged in the last exchange.
Glancing carefully back over the wall, he saw the Panzer line up it’s shot, infantry in close support right behind it.
He spied Moose standing over Hank, and a strange… man… tending to Hank with an allied uniform on. He also spotted an odd German officer taking a black book from the hands of a even stranger dressed German with a sword in his hand, the sword wielding Nazi panting and bleeding from several wounds. As he watched the officer his form shimmered slightly, changing shape.
Standing in his place was an even weirder sight.
A tall, thin man, wearing strange dark robes, pants, and fur lined boots, similar to some pictures John had once seen of Cossacks. Cossack Priests, actually. No matter, he’s got the damn book. He was bald with a long thin beard, and his eyes were like gazing into endless pits of burning malevolence as he threw his head back and laughed, gripping the book in one hand.
PHOOM!
The Panzer tank’s firing brought John back into focus, and he saw the shell cut through a small tree just over the strange new guy’s head and right by Moose as he dove to cover Hank’s still form.
It entered one of the shattered stain glass windows of the church and discharged violently, blowing out the remaining windows and large sections of the structure. Their strange new ally was lifted off of his feet and thrown away from the church, Moose also rolling and bouncing away with Hank clutched protectively in his bleeding arms. The Panzer, realizing its main gun could not drop enough elevation to hit them, immediately roared its engine, jerking into gear and taking off at their prone, groaning forms. The tank’s coaxial machine gun sputtered fire at them as it made to run the stunned allied ESSes down.
John looked again at the tank, the troops, and the two Nazis with the book. He saw the Tiger that Hank had disabled finally bringing its main gun around at the three of them, the tank’s commander crouching in the open hatch and readying the turrent mounted MG42 to fire at them since they couldn’t turn the damaged tank to bring the coaxial machine gun to bear. He realized he had not heard Smitty or Moose fire in a while, and feared the worst for them.
It would be so easy to take off, to hide in one of these basements long enough to get out of town, thought John. I might live through this, and no one would be the wiser.
He shook his head, as if to clear it of the thought, and rubbed the moisture from his burning eyes.
That’s my buddies out there.
They’re all I have left.
John’s mouth became a grim line as he made his decision.
No one leaves unless we all leave.
There’s still a job to do, and I don’t hear no fat lady singin’.
Taking a quick stock of his remaining possessions for something to use to help him, John remembered the large pouch that Moose had given him earlier. A satchel charge; actually, a rather large one.
He glanced back, readied the charge as he heard more Germans coming up behind his hiding place, and formulated a plan.
“I hope the Krauts brought a fat lady with ‘em…”, John muttered to himself as he took several deep, bracing breaths and stood up, primed satchel charge in hand.
…
Moose shook his head groggily and glanced up with double vision at the tank bearing down on them. He tried to move, to grab Hank and get out of the way, but his muscles just wouldn’t obey.
Then Frogbot shot across the ground beside him on all fours, smiling, not even bothering to stand, like he was playing chicken with the Panzer. The Panzer had just crushed the curb as it hit full throttle and lurched towards them. The coaxial machine gun in the front of the tank stuttered fire at Frogbot but only managed to trace his path as the android streaked in at them.
Just as Moose was sure the crazy critter would be crushed, Frogbot sprung to the left, his right clawed hand extended.
The claws tore through the treads and tread wheels of the Panzer like a machete through wet toilet paper, sending shards of metal and tracks spinning off in every direction. The tank’s driver, having accelerated the Panzer to full throttle, yelled in surprise as his view port suddenly swung to the right away from the allied ubermensch he had been ordered to crush, as if the right-hand tracks had become stuck on something.
His yell of surprise turned into a scream as the tank easily tore through the remainder of the tree they had blasted and swerved squarely into the crippled and burning church, flaming timber and bricks showering his compartment hatch and viewport.
Moose was just getting up as the tank’s commander threw open the top hatch and came up coughing, trying to prime the top-mounted machine gun.
Frogbot was still on all fours in the street. He caught Moose’s eye as Moose looked around desperately for something to throw at the tank commander.
Smiling and shaking his head, Frogbot held up 3 fingers at Moose, then dropped them one at the time.
3… 2… 1…
The German officer yanked the slide on the machine gun and just as he swung it around at Frogbot, a shadow came over the tank. Frogbot waved at him cheerily. The tank commander looked back just in time to see the entire wall crumble and fall on top of the Panzer, heavy stones and mortar crushing him into the top of the tank without even time to utter a curse as the church fell in.
Just then Moose saw John sprint across the street as the wounded Tiger was bringing its gun to bear on Frogbot. John leaped on top of the Tiger, planting one hand on the tank commander’s head and pushing down. The Nazi disappeared with a yelp, and with his other hand John jammed some kind of bag into the hatch and slammed it shut.
Immediately John arched his back as the Germans around the tank opened fire, one scoring a glancing hit, then dove off into a roll as he headed for the front of the book store.
That bag looked familiar, was that a…, Moose began to wonder.
PHLANG!
The satchel charge detonated, the soldiers around the tank falling back. Immediately the tank’s shell magazine cooked off and it began leaping and jumping as the big artillery detonated inside of it, quickly igniting the fuel tank and exploding outwards with an impressive spray of concentrated firepower. Most of the Germans surrounding it were thrown back or set afire.
John rolled out of his dive and pounded straight at the two Nazi ubermensch. One of them made to do some kind of salute with his sword; John promptly stepped in and hit him full in the face, feeling bone give way under the snap of his fist. The Kraut swordsman grabbed his face and doubled over, then instantaneously disappeared from sight.
John spun towards the frail looking Cossack, who was looking at him with amused curiosity as he brought up his fists and called upon the frigid death stored deep in his bones.
“Give me the book, and I might let you live”, John threatened in German.
In heavily Russian-like accented German, the man replied calmly.
“I am Rasputinovich, and I vill do no such zing. You, however, vill stop annoying me. NOW.”
The last word reverberated like a struck church bell in John’s head, and he could hear nothing but the echoes of the strange man’s will as his hands began shaking and his knees suddenly went weak. John could feel the man, this Rasputinovich, exerting pressure like a ton of stones inside of his skull. He heard only a ringing roar as the street turned up crazily in his vision and then he was looking at the sky. The roar increased in pitch to painful levels and he felt himself grimace, heart hammering in fear, as the sky closed in under a shroud of horrifying darkness.
The last sound John heard was an evil chuckling laugh that seemed to emanate from his own mind before he spun away screaming, falling into the recesses of his own subconscious nightmares. As he fell he could see nothing but those two incredibly malicious eyes following his spiral into gibbering madness.
…
Frobot saw another unfamiliar man destroy a Tiger tank then strike a Nazi officer, confronting another before suddenly trembling and falling heavily to the sidewalk.
WARNING: Readings of Talent activity hitting extreme levels.
Sensor indicate concentrated usage of Talent, uniform and actions conform to ubermensch axis target. Target is holding object of mission, book asset ‘Von Unaussprechlichen Kulten’; translation engine determines name as ‘Nameless Cults’.
Query: damage target or retrieve asset?
Answer: BOTH.
The Cossack was directing more reinforcements, jubilant in his victory, as there was a sudden incredibly sharp pain in his left hand.
He brought it up to see what had hit him, when blood spattered his face.
Wiping it away, he saw his hand was spurting blood. The hand he was just holding the book in. Glancing down, he saw a strange man in an allied uniform of some sort with clawed hands resting on all fours, holding…
the book and several of my damn fingers!
Rasputinovich immediately concentrated on a building nearby, and there was a bamf of noise in the spot that Frogbot’s other clawed hand immediately swung through. The axis ubermensch was no longer standing there. Frogbot shrugged his shoulders and hefted the book as a groan came from the blinking John Brighton.
Just then, there was a roar of engines as two P-38 Lightnings tore across the sky and laid heavy fire into the buildings where the Nazi sniper fire had been coming from.
John sat up, shaken and battered, to see Captains Smith and Smythe moving from cover to cover down the street behind them, several other ESSes with them. One ESS moved around the other side of the church, his elongated neck and arms like elastic or rubber as he scanned the area.
Smith walked up to them, Moose carrying Hank in tow.
“It’s about time you fellas got done. Gather up and move out, it’s time to go.” he growled at them.
“Sheeezus dingdang ol’ I been dingdang saying that fer ten dang minutes now…”, came Hank’s weak reply as the others stared at both Captains in shocked silence.
...
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Frogbot rules!! 
