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RP (non-canon) 1st SORT: Monte Cassino

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Nika looked at the woman with a confused expression on her face. She was about to state that she had no idea what she was saying when the woman switched to english. "Uh I speak english but I don't know French," she slowly replied. "I'm Efreitor Nika Zaytsev and you are?" She was trying to be polite but she was slightly uncomfortable speaking to these people and wished some of her comrades were here with her.
 
.50 caliber bullets spewed from the two machine guns a small group of lost paratroopers had set up on top of a 4-story building with waning structural integrity. They had been raining lead on any Axis forces that traveled past them for 10 hours. The small cluster of buildings had been serving the weary group well until that fateful hour.

An M1 Garand echoed through the staircase he'd been using to keep the advancing enemies. The German soldiers rushed up the first flight of stairs only to be greeted by a .30-06 that passed through the first soldier's heart and stopped in the second's left shoulder. Another shot rang out of Alen's new, flawless rifle sending another bullet through the second's neck and into the third's flak vest, the third he'd seen that day. The timing had been convenient for only three to charge upstairs, an empty clip ejected from the rifle, his very last clip.
Alan made a thrust with his bayonet when…

Bunker
BOOM
Alan woke with a start clutching his 'well used' Garand. Not like it would help against the German artillery strike that blew the building he had been defending almost in half. Even being in a bunker underground didn't give him much comfort, though it made it easier to sleep. Sleep had been his other issue. He didn't dream about family, cars, or even women. Operation Torch seemed to be the only thing his brain could humor him with while he slept.

After a minute of heavy breathing he calmed down and tried to compose himself.
 
Bunker

"Well, it is good to meet you, Cowgirl" Clair said and sipped her tea as another shell exploded somewhere overhead, making the ground rumble and some dirt hiss down from the ceiling. She paid little attention, but some guy who had been asleep seemed not to take it well, startled and he had a gun in his hands. She got up and eyed the groggy looking soldier, clutching an M1 Garand.

"Oy, Corporal!" she called to Reece, "Listen pal, you might want to put that rifle down while you're taking a nap if you're gonna be that jumpy whenever the kraut's drop a shell on us. 'Might set that pop gun off and put someone's eye out."
 
Bunker

To Nika, Yvy steeled her resolve. The Russian woman seemed to be giving her a cold shoulder, but perhaps that was just her natural Russian-ness. "Excusez s'il vous plaît. I am-- Private Yvonne Héloïse Desjardins." She paused to make sure she used the correct english term for her rank. "As you can tell I am quite-- new to this unit. Happy to serve to help give Hitler the boot, though!" Yvonne's NECO ears twitched and her hands shot up to steady them. Sheepishly, she admitted, "Pardonnez, I am not quite used to being like this, either."
 
Bunker

Abbie looked over where Clair had and chuckled, shaking her head. She knew the signs of when a soldier was stressed very well, so wasn't laughing at the soldier, more just at what Clair had said. She was rather glad the guy didn't squeeze the trigger. She said softly, "Let him be. Though he is mighty jumpy, at least he ain't trigger happy."
 
Convoy
"Just never seen one of yous types before. So it is true they said, everyone is in this together, doin their part." The Americanized Irish driver replied sheepishly. He pulled a cig above his other ear and handed it over to Clayton. "Me? I'm just here for the free coffee and smokes."

The truck driver in front of the Scotsman didn't take offense at the witty retort, but rather held a thumb up before retreating back into his cab. It seemed like the entire episode was merely some kind of kinship by insult, after all there was nothing nice about war and being in one. Things got gloomier in any case as the surroundings became pockmarked with craters, ditches, wrecked vehicles and tanks from the battles before. In the distance two peaks of seemingly the same height appeared side by side, one was the hill that loomed over the Allied trenches, the other far away, a mountain that loomed over the entire battlefield, Monte Cassino, a large monastery occupied the peak. It was the perfect throne for the God of War, but the question is whose side is he on?

The trained and enhanced hearing of Clayton and Milena respectively heard a kind of low whistle in the air of something incoming at high speed.

Sniper Hill
"All right gents, we're looking for sappers, snipers and artillery spotters." The radio crackled next to Jane, it was Richard the Britisher. "Jerry is either attacking or keeping his options open if he is sending out poor sods to cut barbed wire or dig for mines. They will also be covered by snipers so don't stay in the same place for too long." There was a brief pause, perhaps he wondered if he should also be moving already. "As for the spotters, well, a round of Italian cheese and some French wine to wash it down for the pair that spots and kills one. Buggers have been landing their shells perfectly these past few days. Too perfectly."

"I am moving, left side." Sam reported, even with enhanced eyesight Jane couldn't spot him, at this range she is almost blind without someone pointing out the targets.

"Got a sapper on the right here." Paulson pointed out, sloshing noises audible. "Pretty close too, there is half a low brick wall you should be able to see, the Kraut is 10 meters to the right, crawling."

Bunker
The LT left his SCR field radio propped up to the desk negligently in the ON state. "German battery just fired again, looks like they are overshooting our lines this time. Where the hell is our counterbattery?!"
 
Bunker
Despite the embarrassing spot he was in, Alan forced a smile. “Call me crazy but I can't sleep without it anymore. Damned war's made me marry a gun.” He said this in the most nonchalant way he could muster, but it was obvious he was still a little shaken. He didn't want to give the impression that he would be unreliable. Despite having grown up in Georgia, he did not have a Georgian accent, rather his accent sounded more like one from Michigan.

He reached into a pocket over his heart and removed a metal flask, a gift from the moonshiners he used to race back home. He'd been carrying it since he left home, so of course the original contents had long since disappeared but the current fluid would suffice to calm his nerves. He took a single swig of the 12 year old scotch he filled it with and offered it to anyone that wanted it.
 
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Sniper Hill

Jane slowed her breathing as she looked through the scope. NECO sight gave her a steep advantage, but she needed the spotters. She gently panned with her rifle until she reached the low brick wall, pockmarked with bullet damage and scored by fire and bombs. It still had enough of its red left to be visible. She panned a little farther to see -- yes, there. The soldier slogged along through a gravelly mud of brick chips and busted pavement. Instead of the usual grey-green, the combat engineer wore a brownish camouflage that didn't quite blend in, making his movements easy enough to track.

He also didn't move too fast. Why he was not in more of a hurry, Jane didn't know. The sniper cover the Germans had was pretty good, but then, they didn't expect a shot from so far away either.

She moved her finger to the trigger. Jane had to shoot far above him for the shot to land, but with the weak wind and dense air, she wasn't concerned about missing her target. Just a little longer. Her breathing slowed a little more. He stopped to cut some wire. She could see the vague shape of his face as he turned to it.

Enjoy hell. Jane fired.
 
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Convoy

Milena nodded to herself for whatever reason, then her head turned to the side and it was clear she was listening to something over the sound of engines. Her eyes suddenly opened wide and she spit the lit cigarette away. "Bugger," She said and turned to Willard. "Bloody incoming!"

She then stood up in her seat so both truckers coulds see her, she grabbed the side of UC to keep stead and shouted loud and clear. "INCOMING!"
 
Bunker

Clair frowned as Reece spoke his piece, then frowned much more as the booze came out. She could tell easily by the smell of alcohol that flooded out of the flask when it was opened, it screamed at her enhanced NECO sense of smell.

"I'll pass, thank you" she said, taking a long drink from her mug of tea instead.
 
"Oh, it's to be like that, is it? Can't even fuck face to face..."

Baird reached over the partition separating him and Milena and retrieved the phone from his radio set, which was in a decidedly non-standard mounting. One hand on the wheel, he began to talk into the radio phone. Shells began landing around them, doing little more than exploding near them and sending up gouts of pebbles and dust. Baird made sure he was on the right frequency, tuned to the allied general comms net, and keyed the handset.

"This is Sergeant Baird of the Desert Oasis II, part of the convoy rollin' in. If you lot just heard German guns fire, they are shelling us, repeat, shelling us. The target is the convoy, over." The voice on the handset, despite being punctuated by explosions, was perfectly calm and clear, almost eerily so. "I suspect the enemy has FO's in the area, over. Desert Oasis II, out."

While talking, Baird turned the wheel, breaking formation with the convoy. He changed his radio set's freek to the convoy's local one. "This is Desert Oasis II, speaking to the convoy commander. My compliments, and I recommend you spread out. Double or triple the vehicle distance between each other at least. The enemy's probably got eyes in the area calling in fire. That first salvo was ineffective, but they're going to fire again, and believe me, they'll get you the second time."

Baird held the handset to his ear, driving as easily with one hand as he did with two. The UGC seemed to respond to even his slightest movement, the ungainly 3-ton carrier almost an extension of his body.

"Milena, do me a favor would you?" Baird said, still looking forward. He wasn't speaking into the handset. "Take those field glasses I got next to the control unit there, and keep an eye on any hills or mountains you can see. These bastards would need somewhere with good line-of-sight for their radios, so look for antenna, concealed or otherwise."

There was another pause. Baird swerved around a shell crater, and continued to talk.

"We're still heading for the objective, but it doesn't hurt having a pair of NECO eyes looking for whoever's trying to ruin our Italian morning." Baird said, by way of explanation. "It's not just us that has to reach the front."
 
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Milena slumped back to her seat and looked over the edge of the UC for any sing of a spotter. Antenna would be a good giveaway, but it depended if the spotter was Eye-tie or a Nazi. If he would be Eye-tie then the change of him getting spotted was good, since Italians were pretty terrible soldiers. But this guy was behind enemy lines and that does not sound like something Italian would do. He was probably nazi. SS or Wehrmacht reconnaissance. Those guys knew what they were doing according to briefing. Evil bastards, but they were good at war.

"I'll bloody try," Milena said back to Will and took the binoculars from him. Her eye-sight was great, but binoculars, were binoculars. Combination of both, she had best chance in the convoy to spot someone and then kill him. Unless he was like two kilometers away, on the radio. If that was the case, Milena had little chance of getting him. Jane or Catherine might, but Milena with her machinegun? Not likely.
 
Bunker

Abbie was still getting used to the enhancements, so when she smelled the alcohol, she had to cover her nose and turn her head. It was too strong for her. She shook her head as well. "N-No thanks." She wasn't drinking anything at the time, though maybe she should get something to hide the smell of alcohol. Even before becoming a NECO, she wasn't much of a drinker.
 
Bunker
His comrades responses to his offer confused him at first but then made sense. He quickly replaced the cap, "Sorry, I forgot about that nose thing they mentioned. I was only told yesterday about ‘advanced women’ or something like it. Is there anything else I need to be careful with?"
 
Bunker

"Attention!" Someone shouted as the LT walked right back into the room. Between then and now he had a quick shave, he knew it was going to be a busy today, tonight and tomorrow. He walked up to the front of the map and scanned the assembled soldiers. A mixed bunch again, but that means a lot more to surprise Jerry with. "At ease." Fian said, satisfied.

"Welcome to the 1st Special Operations and Reconnaissance Team. I am First Lieutenant Fian Vel Steyr of the US Army and your Commanding Officer." Regardless of what army or nation they came from, or mix and match of uniform the unit wore, all of them had 1st SORT printed or sewn down somewhere. Fian unfolded an official and tattered looking piece of paper from his pocket and read from it. "The purpose of the SORT units is to test the effectiveness of the New Enhanced Combat Operative or NECOs against normal soldiers in support of the war effort." The LT paused for a bit, sighing and then tearing up the paper. "But fuck that. The best soldier is the one that does his or her best. So I don't want any of you competing with each other. Just do what you can, and come back alive. That is all that I ask of you, that is all anyone has the right to ask of you."

"For the benefit of the men in the squad, and a refresher for the women. NECO technology, developed in the US of A in as late as 1943." Fian paused for a bit, it felt so wrong. "... Or so it is said, works only on the female of our species and through a classified and confidential process, which endows them with a pair of cat ears, improved reflexes, senses, strength and healing." He resisted the urge to throw the pieces of paper over his shoulder, and instead put them back in his pocket where it was safe. "All understatements of course, nobody knows for sure what the limits of a NECO are, nor do I presume every NECO is alike. As you 'cats' and boys alike discover your own potential, keep in mind one thing."

He banged the table angrily with one fist and pointed at Rikka, who had been stealing out of the base without permission. "Unless you have a stupid thick skull like Rikka there, you protect your goddamned head. If you take one in the braincase, no amount of regeneration, macho or fucking pixie dust is going to save you. Everyone got it?"
 
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Sniper Hill

Jane's shot pierced through the dawn, over the trenches, bounced off a pebble and right into the German Pioneer's helmet. His back arched and his head raised itself two inches before both slammed face first into the mud. His body would still be there three days later. "Nice one, cat lady." Paulson reported, slosh slosh.

The NECO's ears could hear a low whistling noise far above her that increased in intensity and then faded away, there were artillery shells passing through the airspace overhead.

"Hey Captain just out of curiosity, what cheese is it? I hope it isn't Casu Marzu."

Sam's question went unanswered for about ten seconds. "Captain? Jane lass, check on Richard."

Sure enough there was another Teuton crawling just next to the Panzer IV Richard was hiding inside. This Kraut wore a familiar looking grey jacket with shortened long sleeves together with a cloth cap that helped hide the outline of his face. He certainly didn't look like an engineer.
 
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Bunker

Abigayle stood at attention, as she was trained, and then relaxed when the LT had allowed them to. She listened carefully to what was said and nodded just slightly in agreement to wearing a helmet to protect her head, making note to get hers as soon as she could. Her hair was braided in a way that was easy to put up and under it for added padding. She glanced around at the others, slightly curious to how they were taking the LT's attitude. She, herself, liked it just fine.
 
"I've almost adjusted to mine. It takes a bit but hopefully it won't be too much longer," Nika replied to Yvonne. She might of been french but it would appear they had at least found something the Russian couldn't disagree with. "Don't worry though, soon enough you'll get used to these special new ears. How long have you been in the french army anyway," she asked. For a moment Nika had considered to mention her actions when the shell had shaken the bunker but decided against it. There was plenty of time to be rude later.
 
Sniper Hill

Jane licked her tongue along one of her incisors as she watched the German move through her rifle scope. He paused and lifted his head from the ground, then angled it a bit as he glanced toward where the captain hid.

He sees the damn antenna, Jane thought as she cycled the bolt of her rifle. She settled to take better aim.

The German, who was about 750 yards away, effortlessly pushed himself up with his arms. He pulled his legs under him and slowly stood up. He pressed a hand against the wrecked tank, but even from a distance Jane could see it wasn't to balance himself. He kept his fingertips there for a moment, ignoring the MP 40 on his back. Jane didn't understand quite what he was doing. She saw the captain's antenna twitch from his hiding place in the tank, which caused the German to swiftly swing his weapon around his body and square it onto his shoulder.

He stood there, blended against the blackened and rusted metal of the tank, and waited. He kept his weapon right above the captain's hiding spot.

She had him in her sight. The wind died down a touch. She fired.

To his credit, the German didn't twitch, even though he had a second to do so. However, Jane "missed" putting a bullet through his temple or forehead.

Instead, the slug beautifully sailed through the mist and right behind the German's jaw, blasting out of the soldier's neck and lodging into his shoulder. Gobs of thick red flowed from the holes before the German reached for them. With her helmet on she couldn't quite catch the initial sounds of him choking on his own blood, though she thought he might have kept himself silent enough to not be too grotesque. He soon let go of himself and clutched the side of the tank with his bloody hand, his other keeping his submachine gun shouldered.

Even as the life drained from his face, he didn't lower his weapon. He hardly thrashed at all. Jane watched, mesmerized, until he finally dropped head first 30 seconds later.

"Captain is clear," she said into the radio.
 
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Bunker
Valerie only turned her head a little to the side to hear Riikka coming in, letting the Finn watch the new recruits get broken in for themselves. She stayed striaght in her chair listened to the LT's briefing, keeping her fingers drumming against her helmet, keeping the fingernails away from the metal so a series of rhythmic plinks didn't interrupt the briefing. She didn't really have much to contribute; Valerie had heard it all before from the LT.

When Vel Steyr slammed his fist against the desk at Riikka's expense, she took her helmet out of her lap, inverted it, placed it on her head and tied the straps under her chin, giving her ears a fluff in the process so they didn't chafe. "Hear that Riikka?" Valerie turned around gently, still keeping her back straight and her feet on the ground, "Your head's thick enough to bounce .303. Maybe all of us should strive to be a little more like you."
 
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