2300h. 7th JUN. 1944 - London. DDay +1
The night was cold and dark. The full moon was waning slightly in the sky, a giant disk of light with not a cloud in the sky to obscure it. Even with the black out, it was like having a spotlight on the factory, the only thing resembling a cloud was the steady stream of smoke from the chimney which snaked it's way into the sky.
Characters:
Alton Foley
Ben Rapp
The watch point consisted of three roof tops, two of them touching, as the center building had leaned slightly after being bombed, and the third and farthest on the corner of the road linked up by several planks of wood stretched from lip to lip.
Foley was in the middle, sitting on a pile of rubble attempting to smoke a cigarette behind the wall of sandbags which lined the buildings edge. He grumbled as he burned his fingers on the match before finally lighting the tobacco. He looked around, shaking his fingers along with the match, and took stock of where everyone stood. When he spotted Rapp close by, he offered his pack of lucky strikes to the journalist. The first friendly gesture Foley had shown him all day, if ever.
Rapp crouched by the side of the roof, staring out over the ruins. He collected images in his memory before heading back towards the center and Foley. He took a cigarette from the man, nodded his appreciation, and lit it up. The night air was cold, and Rapp's fingers shook slightly as he placed the cigarette in his mouth. Holding the cigarette in the corner of his lips, he exercised his finger joints which made soft popping sounds.
"So why the hell would you opt to be part of this, Rapp?" Foley asked, eyes still forward, peering over the barricade of sand. "I mean.." He looked at Rapp, studying the man for a second and then nodded down the line to where Jaxon was perched vigilantly. "I get him." He nodded then to Horowitz. "I get her.. sort of." He then jerked a thumb at Sienko. "And her, I kind of get too. But you? You I don't get."
He drew in on his cigarette, his eyes moving to Rapp's as his hand moved to take the butt from between his lips. He exhaled, watching Rapp as though it were an interrogation, though this was likely just how Foley operated.
Rapp settled back against one of the sandbags and rubbed his hands together. He removed the cigarette from the corner of his mouth and exhaled. "You ever heard of a guy named Post, Foley? Robert Post?" The smoke from Rapp's mouth dissipated into the evening air. "New York Times reporter. Flew bombing missions with the Writing 69th last year over Germany. Eighth Air Force. Post's B-17 was shot down two Februaries ago. Man never reached the ground."
Rapp looked over the other members of the team carefully while he took another drag or two on his cigarette. "You know I was in Spain before this station - covered the Civil War. Can't see where else I'd rather be than with the military. I don't belong anywhere else. Also, my recruiter may have insinuated that I wouldn't be the only civilian on this team." He chuckled softly and his laughter created a buffer of visible cold air. "Heh. How about that."
Mr: Foley grinned, thinking of the whole process that got him here. "Yeah." he said, scratching at his chin which showed the slightest bit of stubble. "We've got a few civvies on the team, though it's hard to tell which is which. We've even got a scientist among us, crazy wacko. Got him delivered in a straight jacket." Foley took another hit of his cigarette and exhaled sharply, the blue-grey smoke dwindling with the steam of his breath. "Did you ever think that it'd turn out like this? With you standing on a roof, waiting for a fucking wolfman to rear it's fuzzy, wolf-shaped head?"
"Hell no," Rapp said. "They said this would be an interesting beat to cover, but they didn't let on how interesting. I thought it'd be more espionage. Less fantasy. " He shook his head as if in stunned amusement. "How could I have guessed interesting is a synonym for unreal?"
Foley nodded. "Unreal says it all. I didn't think when they made me sign those forms that this is what they were talking about. I figured I'd be doing something insane, like dropping behind enemy lines to kidnap Hitler, not fighting off Captain Wolfman." He chuckled. "It's like something out of a comic book."
Foley inspected his weapon out of habit, drawing back the bolt to look into the gun. "Regretting coming yet, Rapp?"
Mordechai: Rapp finished his cigarette and dropped it to the ground. As he rubbed it out with his boot, he said, "Nah, not yet. This isn't even the most my life has been threatened. By contrast to some bombings I've lived through, it's practically a cakewalk." He blew into his hands, trying to warm them up. "You regret it, Foley?"
Foley paused for a minute, watching the cherry on his cigarette burn closer to the tips of his fingers. He lifted it to his lips, drew from it one last time, and let the butt fall to the roof where he crushed it under his boot. "No." Came the answer, plane and practiced, followed by nothing else except Foley putting on his poker face and casting his glance over the small fire burning inside the bombed out factory.
Rapp fell silent as well for a few moments and then asked, "Foley, where were you before Normandy?"
Foley blinked a few times, his eyes shifting as he studied the ground, a sign that he was more-or-less searching his own mind for an answer, or fabricating one. "I can't tell you that." He blinked once more, his eyes going back to the normal, hardened stare which he placed back on the factory once again. "It's classified. Nothing special or strange or even related to this.." he gestured. "Mess."
He sighed. "But classified, none the less."
"But for some reason, they thought it qualified you for wolfmen. And I've been thinking, what was I in - knowingly or not - that put me on their radar. What qualifies a man to hunt for this thing?" Rapp folded his arm and turned his head to scan the ruins once more. "I've seen some weird things, I'm thinking, maybe I didn't even understand them properly when I first saw them."
Foley responded without looking, as if reciting something; "A willingness to put ones self in danger, a lack of a morale compass, a strong mental resiliance and resistance to mental stresses, lack of any ties to civilian life."
"Your dossier? Guess they've got one of me too, then. Have you seen it?" Ben asked.
Foley nodded. "I picked it."
"So then you know why I'm here," Rapp said.
"To an extent." Foley admitted. "But I don't know why you were on the list. Thats what they handed me. A big list of occupations, ranks and descriptions and had me pick. No names or genders involved." Foley grinned to himself. "You won the lotto, I guess."
"Any other journalists on there?" Rapp interjected.
Foley nodded. "A few. Some from your agency, had similar qualifications, but you fit the bill better than anyone. Added bonus that you're a boxer. Means you have stamina." He spoke of Rapp as though he were some kind of baseball star with his stats written on the back of a card with his picture on the front.
Rapp nodded. "Gotcha." He fell silent for a minute, started to say something, and then decided to just stay quiet. He didn't have any more questions at the moment.
Foley sighed quietly, though the steam from his breath gave him away more than the sound. "Sorry." He muttered, hoping it would get lost in the wind.
