The Corpse Corps: Role-Play

0400h. 8th JUN. 1944 - London. DDay +2

the.corpse.corps@gmail.com — Sun, 02 Nov 2008 12:03:54 GMT

Magda and Viola discuss the night's events, among other things.

It had been a long night. She had been insulted, demeaned, her CO had almost gotten killed, and Magda had shot a werewolf. Mentally, she was still chewing the evening over, and it didn't put her in the mood for a meal, or anything else other than a stiff mattress and a stiffer drink. While everyone else was worrying over Foley's injuries or the werewolf's accommodations, Magda bypassed them all and crawled into her bunk. She laid on her back, facing the ceiling. After a minute, she reached under her pillow and pulled out her flask. She gave it a shake, and the flask made a satisfying sloshing sound.

Viola stepped into the room, looking anything but composed. Her hand kept wandering to her hair to smooth stray pieces down, and she had an absent-minded look to her. The evening's events had left her more drained than anything else, her initial surprise at seeing the werewolf now dissipating towards acceptance mixed with a mild sense of disbelief. "Broken arms, but he'll be okay," she offfered in Magda's direction.

"Alive to taunt another day." Magda took a swig from her flask and hissed as the whiskey burned its way down her throat. This was the cheap stuff. "You look like hell, toots."

"Thanks. You don't look so bad yourself," Viola replied with a dry smile. She began to change for bed, "Fighting a werewolf does wonderful things for one's complexion." A beat, "Good job, today. Think you might have saved our lives."

"That Vetz. If he hadn't gotten me the silver bullets I requisitioned, we'd all be wolf chow."

"Ah, silver bullets. Good to know that fairy tales are also educational." Now in her nightdress, she crawled into her bed. "We should thank him in the morning."

"Already did. And they're not fairy tales." Magda's arm dropped down to Viola's level, flask in-hand. "You look like you could use a drink too."
Viola looked at it for a second, shrugged, and took the flask from her. "Thank you," she said and drank from it. "So you know a lot about these fairy tales that are not fairy tales?" She handed the flask back to Magda.

Magda's arm disappeared up to the top bunk again. "I've read up on it."

"I'm guessing you're not referring to story books."

"Nope." Magda took another drink.

"Care to elaborate?" Viola wasn't sure if Magda was being secretive or obtuse.

She didn't say anything at first, and it was difficult to tell if Magda was thinking over her response, or if she was simply not going to answer at all. "I'll put it this way. You were raised with Santa Claus, right?"

"I think most children are. Yes, I was raised to believe in Santa Claus."

"I was raised with Weihnachtsmann. Christmas Man. Same thing. And then one day I found out it was my parents all along."

"Everyone finds that out, too." Pause, "What does this have to do with your reading material, if you don't mine me asking?"

"You and the werewolf today, you were the small child who wakes up early on Christmas to discover her parents putting the presents under the tree. I'm the kid who finds out on her own at school. Fairy tales passed certain unpleasant truths from generation to generation, but they're the kiddie versions. Most people never have to get the adult version, and good for them." The sound of whiskey sloshing around in a flask punctuated Magda's last sentiment.

Viola mulled over Magda's words quietly, wondering what was behind the hard tone in the other woman's voice. On a hunch, she asked, "When did you start working for the 55th?"

"When I got off that airplane, same as you. Why, you think I secretly outrank Foley, but just put up with his shit for laughs?"

Viola shook her head, before she realised that Magda couldn't see her. "Point. You just seemed to have more experience in these matters."

"I guess they put me here for a reason," said Magda. "What about you? How'd you get stuck with us?"

"Got sick of being capable and still being treated like a 'skirt.' I volunteered. Ironic, huh?" Viola chuckled drily.

"I guess Foley missed that telegraph." Magda let out a long sigh. "I have to wonder, what Foley's plan was. Did he think that bit with the werewolf was going to have a happy ending?"

"He doesn't look stupid," Viola said thoughtfully. "I'm not sure what he was trying to do, but if I had to guess, I think that the plan was to capture the wolfman all along; he might have been trying to skip the fight part of 'fight and capture'." A beat, "I have a feeling that Foley's not the kind of man to share his plans readily."

"Or form plans at all," Magda added.

Viola chuckled, "Or that." There was a rustle of paper as Viola took a fresh sheet from her box and picked up her pen.

Magda took another drink.

0110h. 8th JUN. 1944 - London. DDay +2

the.corpse.corps@gmail.com — Sun, 02 Nov 2008 02:37:24 GMT

Foley, Magda, Rapp and Sienko apprehend the werewolf with the help of a large amount of girl power.

Foley watched as Sienko and Magda went to leave and turned his attention away from them. He looked around him for another cigarette, and upon not finding a single one, turned his attention back to the chimney to observe the slowly rising column of dark smoke exiting from it's mouth. He nudged Ben and pointed out past the column of smoke, squinting. "Rapp. You see that?"

Magda walked past, grabbed her carbine, and the ammunition. "On second thought, I want you to get eaten." She walked back off.

Rapp kneeled down and looked into the smoke. "Not quite. What am I looking at?"

Foley pointed to a building, its roof mostly torn off, where a shadow stood in what would have been an attic. It remained very still, except for a few seconds during which it would shift, and two specks of yellow light would appear for a moment.

Ben squinted. "I see it now. Our target?"

"I think so. Unless you know of anything else that has glowing eyes and hides in attics. Horowitz, Sienko, get over here," Foley hissed, his voice low. He reached for his Tommy gun, trying to keep his eyes on the creature.

Viola looked at Magda, "He's a fickle one," she said as she did an about turn and walked back to Foley. Foley turned to Viola with a scowl. "Shut up. Not the time. Look." He pointed off into the shadows again.

Tucking the spare ammunition in her belt, Magda walked over, still visibly pissed. "What now? Want us to get you a cup of coffee?"

"SHUT UP." Foley hissed again. He hunkered down by the lip of the building and nodded. "Tell me when you see it." Magda shut up. She looked where indicated, and then back at Foley. What the hell is that?

"I see it," Viola said, quietly, and relatively calmly. "That the thing we're hunting?" she asked, after a pause.

The creature moved again, its huge form visible in the darkness, its big eyes catching the light from the watch fire in the factory as it paced back and forth.

Foley nodded. "Looks like. We're going to come down off this post and circle around behind it. I want to hit it before it gets the men." He pointed out an alley way across the street at an angle where the beast likely could not see. "There. We'll cross there and make our way through that back street."

Viola nodded. "Now?"

Rapp placed his hand on his holster and nodded to Foley. "I'm ready when you are," he said.

Foley nodded and stood up, bringing his gun to the ready position. "Follow me in a line, keep your voices down." He turned to Jaxon, "Stay here, keep an eye out. Shoot it if it comes after any of is." Jaxon nodded quietly and maintained his perch on the roof top. "You too, Red. Keep watch."

Magda checked the safety on her carbine, and fell in behind Foley, as did Viola. With a few quick steps, Foley went over the boards between the roof tops and headed for the stairs that would take him down to street level. The street was utterly quiet, the wind fading, though still strong enough to whistle through the millions of burned down buildings in the area. Magda was close at his heels, trying not to make the boards squeak as she walked across. Rapp walked quietly, and followed Foley closely.

Foley led them through the street and then to the alley he had indicated, his boots crumbling some of the charred debris into unrecognizeable ash. He moved through a blown out wall, taking a second to note a family, huddled in the corner, their bodies nothing but burnt skeletons with a mockery of flesh still clinging to their blackened bones. The back door of the building opened easily and promptly came unhinged. Foley easily lifted it and moved it aside so it wouldn't make any noise, and continued. Behind Magda, Viola cast frequent glances around her. She visibly flinched at the sight of the burned family.

Foley stopped a few steps later and kneeled down in the spacious back yard of the building where the creature had been spotted. It was four stories tall, brick, probably an office of some sort with a meager park behind it. The building was charred, but appeared to still be in tact, save for the roof and the top floor which had obviously seen the brunt of the damage. Viola's grip around her gun tightened. It was probably her imagination, but she could feel herself being watched.

"We're going up." Foley whispered. "Don't shoot it unless it gets agressive. I don't want to provoke the thing if we can help it."

"You think you can negotiate with it?" Magda hissed.

Foley turned to Magda with a serious look on his face and said, calmly, "Question my orders again and I will put a bullet in your face before you can blink." He watched her face for a few seconds and then turned to the back of the building to observe it. "All I see is that door. The windows are too high, so were going in there, single file. Rapp, stay behind me. Horowitz, guard Sienko, and if it moves at you, fill it with holes." Foley stood up and began to walk at a brisk pace for the door. Rapp followed quickly behind Foley. He removed his pistol from the holster and held it aimed toward the ground. Magda gestured at Viola to follow Rapp. She'd take up the rear. Viola took Magda's cue and followed Rapp. Foley walked up the steps and pushed the door in easily, unable to avoid letting the hinge creek as he did. He entered the building with the others close behind, and looked around, quickly finding the stairs. Sound was unavoidable, especially with this many people and their gear, so Foley chose to move as quickly as possible without stomping. It was too quiet out here to do anything stealthily, anyway. The building was spacious and filled with desks on the second floor, the first appearing to be a reception area. Burned papers and tipped filing cabinets littered the space, and only three offices were visible at the back, the glass partitions blown out and littering the far end of the building's floor. The third floor was a bit more cluttered and Foley climbed over a desk that had been thrown infront of the stairs. As Foley slid over it, one of the legs splintered into ash, and he paused at the sound, looking around. He waited, and motioned for the others to follow. This floor was all that much more disturbing, bodies remained on the floor, burned or worse. Desks had been hurled towards the stairs from a bomb that detonated and took out the major part of the back wall. The offices that were there were gone, and a giant gaping hole to the outside remained. The smell of death was pungent and the place still smelled of burning wood. It had likely just stopped smoking. As the group rounded the final set of steps they came upon two vagrants, dressed in rags, both dead. They remained huddled beside one another in the corner by the stairs, mummified in newspapers and cast offs, their bodies gray with ash and cold.

As she walked past, Magda eyed each corpse, making sure each body was, in fact, a dead human. Viola looked closer, on her part trying to see if they had just died, or were like any number of the bodies downstairs. Both were human; one an older lady, the other an even older man. These particular bodies had died AFTER the rest of the corpses, and had died of different reasons, as they didn't seem charred. The final door hung on its hinges and the word "Records" was still printed on the smoked glass. Foley took the stairs quickly and entered the room slowly, disappearing from view around the bend. Viola turned her attention away from the bodies and followed Foley, not wanting to lose him. Magda brought up the rear.

The attic was big, as big as the floors beneath it, with the ceiling slanting inward. The beast was hunched at the far wall in the area which was bombed, the huge hole in the roof providing a more than ample view into the building where the soldiers were. The attic was suffocatingly dark, though the holes and lack of most of the roof left it lit by the light of the moon at the farther end. By the stairs, where Foley and his group were, it was fairly dark and hard to see. One could clearly make out where the wolfman was, however, and his form was hulking and massive, even in the dark. His head practically touched the cieling, leaving him at around seven feet tall and change. His silhouette was partially visible in the light of the moon, and one could see his dark fur catching the light. He wasn't dirty at all, and his hair was brushed and clean, not matted and dirty.

Viola's tightened her grip on the gun, preparing herself in case the monster makes a move. The werewolf shifted in the darkness, and his head poked out into the moonlight for a moment. He looked exactly like one would expect a wolf to look. He sniffed the air for a moment, narrowing his eyes, and withdrew back into the shadows with a snort that kicked up ash and dust.

Foley watched, silently, his gun pointed down. His other hand idly played with a grenade. Magda trained her weapon on the werewolf, waiting for it to make a move. She glanced at Viola, quickly. What's going on here? Viola looked back at her with the same confusion: Weren't these things supposed to attack?

The wolf's head turned in the shadows, leaving only its bright yellow eyes visible. It stared in the direction of the group for a long time, eyes narrowing before it turned away again. "Trivial." the wolf said, its voice deep and monstrous like one would expect Mr. Hyde's to be, only his accent is decidedly German.

Viola started visibly. This thing talked! She looked back at Magda, then at Foley. Magda looked at Foley, gauging his reaction to this latest development. Foley took a step forward, raising his gun slightly. "We going to have a problem here?" He asked, obviously not knowing what else to say. His expression was the same poker face it always was, but his voice gave out that he was at a loss.

The laughter that came from the creature was frightening. Frightening because it was human, but in a tone that was so low, no human could possibly emulate it. It turned in the shadows, its massive shoulder dipping into the moonlight for a moment as it turned to face Foley. "Denken Sie wirklich, dass Sie mich aufhalten kannen, Soldat? " came its reply.

Foley blinked and turned his head slightly, waiting for Magda to translate. "Do you think you can stop me?" Magda translated.

Foley nodded. "Yeah." He told it, and said nothing more, taking another step forward. He hoped, just then, that Rapp would call him Heroic in his report, instead of foolish.

Rapp raised an eyebrow. More like 'foolhardy.'

The creature laughed again and moved forward, and Foley did as well. It stood at full height, dwarfing Foley by a good two feet. Foley raised his gun. Magda chomped down on her lip. This was a bad plan. This was so very much, a bad, bad plan.

"Ist dies wirklich ein Ort, den Sie wenschen, zu sterben, Soldat? Ist Ihr Freundwert Ihr Stolz?" it asked, its pace still slow, but with its deep stride it had easily closed the gap between them less than thirty feet now.

"Is this the place you want to die? Are your men worth your pride?" said Magda, for the werewolf.

Foley paused at this, his gun still raised. The creature also stopped, and were it possible for a wolf to do so, it grinned, its heavy jowls pulling away from its bright white teeth.

Foley responded, the muzzle of his gun unwavering as it pointed at the creature. "For someone who seems so infatuated with my pride, you certainly think a lot of yourself." He grinned back at the creature. "You bleed, monster. You bleed, you breathe, your heart beats, even if it pumps that filthy gruel you germans call blood through your veins."

The monster's grin faded quickly.

"You even smell like wet dog." Foley continued. "What the hell makes you think I'm going to back down just because you've got two feet on me, and a smell like a mutt left out in the rain?"

The creature appeared to analyze Foley's response, unable to formulate one of it's own.

"Stand down, come with us, and you live. Or we can shoot the bloody shit out of you and haul your giant smelly carpet of a corpse back to HQ and put your hide out in front of our fireplace."

The creature showed its white teeth again, this time accompanying the show with a loud and deep growl that filled the empty space and set the floorboards vibrating. The hair on his back stood up like spikes and his muscles tightened as he lowered himself down like the wolf he resembled, his claws digging into the wood beneath his paw-like hands.

Viola threw a glance at Magda. Was the man serious?

Foley sighed. "Always with you Germans. Always the fucking hard way." He raised his gun. "READY ARMS!!"

Ben gritted his teeth, raised his pistol, took aim, and fired at the creature. The chamber made a satisfying click as it moved, but the shot didn't land.

Magda took aim at the monster's hulking form, and squeezed off three rounds in quick succession. "Auf weidersehen." The first shot went wide, and as she fired the second, the gun jams with a loud CLACK! Pissed at life and the universe and God, Magda tries to clear the jam. With a good hard smack to the forward assist, Magda cleared the jammed round out of her gun, the unspent cartridge flying out of it and landing on the floor. Cursing loudly in German, Magda raises her weapon back at the werewolf.

Viola raised her gun, her hands having been ready for this ever since they entered the building. She took careful aim at the creature's left knee, then right in rapid succession, hesitating--the thing was sentient after all--only for a moment before shooting. Sienko's shots rang out, one after the other, but neither of them hit the beast.

Foley and the creature are apparently standing off, both waiting for the other to make a move. With a loud roar and a lunge, the beast charges Foley, closing the gap between them. He rose up, almost like a gorilla, and brought both claws down on Foley who didn't even manage to get a shot off before he was thrown to the floor under the weight of the wolf-man's blow. The wolf-man snarled and roared as it swept its arm back, throwing Foley out the hole in the wall and into the second floor of the factory across the street. Foley's body smashed through bricks and glass outside, and the sound of along with the shouts and movement of the alarmed soldiers. It then turned towards the rest of the group, its mouth filling with white foam and its eyes burning with hate like a rabid dog.

Ben watched Foley make a hole in the wall and decided that this would be a good time to ditch. After all, hadn't Foley told him to keep close? He bolted for the stairs.

Ignoring the fate of the two men, Magda fired off three more rounds at the werewolf. Both rounds landed in the upper shoulder of the creature, and at first it seemed unfazed.

A second and a half later, the wounds begin to steam and bubble and the werewolf looked surprised. It thrashed at its wounds and howls, rolling around and smashing desks as it attempted to claw the silver from its flesh.

The monster stood back up on its feet and backed away into the shadows where it looked like it was gauging the distance of something through the missing part of the wall. It was likely plotting its escape. Magda wasn't interested in letting the wolfman escape again, to kill someone else. She fired off three more rounds. The first and second shots missed and the third one struck home, sending the monster to the ground with another squeal and utterly human cry of pain. After thrashing about, the creature slumped to the ground and fell quiet in a pile of splintered furniture and toppled filing cabinets, its huge form rising and falling with its laboured breath.

The sound of footsteps, lots of them, came from the direction of the stairs. Vetz and the team of soldiers on watch came up through the door, minus their medic, and filled the room.

"Hi, Vetz," Magda said, her gun still trained on the werewolf.

Viola, her gun also on the werewolf, Viola said to Vetz, "Foley's hurt. Building across the way," and fired off two more shots at the werewolf for good measure. The shots slammed into the desk and a filing cabinet, the first smashing into splinters, the second exploding in a puff of charred paper. Magda gives Viola a strange look. Viola shot Magda a look back, "I'm trying. "

Vetz nodded, stunned by what he saw. "What in the steaming bowels of hell happened?"

Magda's ears were still ringing from the gunfire. "Werewolf. Foley needs help," she repeated. She nodded in the direction of the hole in the wall. "A lot of help."

One of the other soldiers nodded to Magda and Viola. "We got 'im. Left Liberman and Nobel with him."

Magda looked around. "Where's Rapp?"

One of the soldiers smirked. A redhaired one. "Boy ran out of the building as we were coming in. I think he ran for Foley."

"Hilarious," Magda deadpanned, and returned her attention to the werewolf. To Viola, she said, "Good work. I think you scared him."

"Har har," Viola shot back. Inside, she wondered why she was so off her game. She never really was the best at firearms during her training, but she always managed to hit her mark... somewhat. This was just nasty work.

The soldiers fanned out, guns at the ready, and moved in on the werewolf. "Is it dead?" the redheaded one asked, and Vetz shrugged at him. "Fucked if I know."

Magda kept her gun trained on the beast. She said a few sentences in German.

"Mit was haben Sie mich geschossen?" came the wolf's response as he curled up a bit more, his wounds steaming as thick dark blood burbled from them.

"Aufz√§hlungszeichen. Ich werde schie√üen Sie mehr, wenn Sie nicht beantworten meine Fragen," she replied. To Vetz, she added, "He's not dead."

"Spielen Sie mit mir, Frau nicht! Ich bin unschlagbar! Die Geistmaschine des Fuhrer ist ¸ber hinaus Besiegung!" The wolf-man began to cough and attempted to lift himself up to demonstrate, his limbs shaking weakly. He held himself aloft long enough to growl in the group's direction, and then lost consciousness, his huge form going limp and his tongue flopping out of his mouth.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Magda looked to Vetz. "We're gonna need a cage. A big one."

Viola's grip on her gun remained firm for a few more minutes, until she was sure the beast was unconscious. Her arm with the gun falling to the side, she turned to look around at everybody properly. "We taking him in, then?" she asked, though she knew the answer.

The fur on the creature's back began to receed, along with the fur on his arms. His claws retracted and the dark color of his skin faded back into a pale, human white. After a few moments he appeared human again. Human, naked, and wearing only a medal around his neck: the Knight's Cross. The change caught Viola's attention, and she watched, mesmerized. Imagining this sort of thing from the stories one heard was one thing, but watching it happen was truly amazing. She noted the medal around his neck, though didn't think much of it. Then, she came to the realisation of how naked he was, and looked away.

Confident Vetz had the situation under control, Magda walked out, making her way to the building Foley landed in. Noticing Magda leaving, Viola followed, throwing back a quick and guarded glance one more time at the human sprawled on the floor, the human that was until a few minutes ago, a wolf.

Two soldiers lifted it up off the ground and its head lolled back. It was human, alright. Human and pink and cold and bleeding red blood.

The light of the full moon obscured itself slightly behind a cloud bank that had rolled in, and somewhere in the city search lights turned on to spot what might have been an enemy spy plane. Tomorrow was another night though, and tonight's business was through.

0100h. 8th JUN. 1944 - London. DDay +2

the.corpse.corps@gmail.com — Sat, 25 Oct 2008 02:10:39 GMT

Who: Magda, Foley
When: Night
Where: Rooftops of London
What: The reason Magda's going to go home and burn her bra

A little while ago, Foley showed up with Red carrying a big ass coffee machine full of hot tomato soup. Everyone is relatively on edge, sitting on the rooftops waiting for the werewolf to show it's face. The moon is waning at this point, but still visibly full.

Foley perched on the edge of the building near Magda and waited until Rapp and Jaxon found themselves further down the watch line before he finally spoke. He opened up the pocket on his shirt and stuck his fingers in to find his cigarettes depleted. He patted himself down despite knowing he was dry. "I need you to do something for me." He said to Magda, not looking at her directly.

Magda produced a rumpled cigarette pack out of the pocket of her fatigues. She held the packet out to Foley, without glancing his way. Her eyes remained locked on the shadows of the buildings across from them. None of them had yet resolved themselves into a monster, but the darkness had an unsettling tendency to move of its own volition when she stared at it too long. She was never quite sure if there was something lurking there, or if she was imagining it. Or perhaps the mutant hangover from the sixth dimension (as Magda had taken to calling it) was wrecking a new form of havoc on her mind.

Foley stopped patting himself down and reached for the pack. He took it from Magda gingerly, and tapped it on his knee until a cigarette finally produced itself. "I need you to take Sienko and bring the soup down to the boys, then skedaddle." He put the cigarette between his lips and lit it with a match, struck on the cement beside him. He shook out the match and inhaled deeply, still not looking at Magda.

Magda said nothing, her eyes still surveying the darkness.

"Now." Foley added, clearing his throat. The decision was because she was a woman. He'd never say it out loud, but he couldn't bring himself to lead a bunch of skirts into a firefight like this. Maybe some other fight when he didn't have fresh gunshot wounds and a piece of exploding 88 in his thigh. He hoped Magda wouldn't catch on, but he knew better. At the very least, Sienko wouldn't say anything if they talked about it.

She held out her hand for her cigarette packet. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

Foley handed the cigarettes back, and for the first time, sounded unsure of himself. "Granted," he said, his voice wavering slightly, apparently uneasy with the decision.

"Why was I chosen for this assignment?" She doled out a cigarette for herself, and lit it.

Foley considered his cigarette for a moment, as if it might have an answer that sounded more like an answer than a brush off. It didn't.

"Classified." he said, and put the butt between his lips, the cherry burning brightly like a beacon in the darkness. It cast an orange glow over his face momentarily.

"Fine." She shrugged the carbine of her shoulder and set it on the building's ledge. "You'll need these. Only silver bullets we have. The other guns might as well fire hugs and cuddles for all the good it'll do you." Next to the rifle, Magda placed two additional magazines. "I'll go get you your soup." She walked off.

"It's already here. I need you to bring it down to them." he called after her, pointing to the factory and then waved it off. The point was to get her and the other skirt the hell out of the line of fire. He hoped this would do it.

He grumbled under is breath, "You can lead a bunch of guys up a hill against a German emplacement, but you can't tell a bunch of dames to get lost." he snatched up the carbine, slinging his SMG over his shoulder. "Piece of work, Alton."

Magda lifted the thermos with a soft grunt, and made her way to the staircase. It wasn't the most direct path, but she made sure she passed near enough to Foley when she muttered, "Could have just told us to get lost if he didn't want a pair of skirts running around."

Foley rolled his eyes and groaned before shouting, "Take the other skirt with you." No sense hiding it now.

"Will do."

2300h. 7th JUN. 1944 - London. DDay +1

the.corpse.corps@gmail.com — Fri, 24 Oct 2008 02:59:01 GMT

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.

2200h. 7th JUN. 1944 - London. DDay +1

the.corpse.corps@gmail.com — Sat, 11 Oct 2008 05:29:05 GMT

You've all slept and been fed and had some time to yourselves. The curfew and the blackout have all gone into effect, which means the streets will be fairly empty with the exception of military patrols and the occasional soldier running errands. Foley came and kicked you all out of bed, and has dragged you downstairs to the basement.

It's time to go werewolf hunting.

Characters:
Magda Horowitz
Alton Foley
Ben Rapp
Viola Sienko
Nicholas Redman

Foley has issued you all uniforms which you woke up to on your floor in front of the door. He also instructed you while you were waking up to be down in the basement in 20. Most of you have managed to get there.

The basement has been converted into a supply depot. Vetz is here filling out paperwork and whistling to himself. Foley is standing near him with his arms crossed, waiting for all of you to join him.

"How was sleep?" He asked, not sounding the least bit groggy.

There are a few crates on the floor that you might find seat-worthy.

Rapp walked into the basement, wearing his uniform, and leaned back against one of the walls. He said nothing, but casually nodded to Foley and the others gathering in the basement. Unlike the night before, he was remarkably question free.

Foley looked Rapp over. "Can you handle a rifle?"

Magda followed behind Rapp, and picked a section of the wall to lean against.

Viola picked a crate at random, and examined it to see if it was good enough to sit on. It was covered with a thin layer of dust, as were the other crates around it. She decided to stand, tired as she was. She found a spot near one of the shelves to lean against, and did so.

Rapp shook his head no. "No training, sorry," he apologized.

Foley nodded and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and lowering his head. "Can -any- of you handle a rifle?" He asked.

Vetz pulled something out of a crate behind Foley and inspected it before shouting, "Horowitz! Mail."

"I can," Viola said. Magda raised her hand. Vetz then flung the box to Magda. Grinning, Magda catches it, one-handed. She looks like Christmas came early.

The box was small, and rattled slightly as Magda caught it. "Check it. Make sure it's what you needed."

Foley looked between Vetz and Magda before looking back to Viola. "What have you handled? A Garand? M1?"

Magda checks it, and nods her approval. "You're a life-saver, Vetz." Vetz grinned to himself and continued unpacking boxes. "M1," Magda added.

Foley looks over magda and nods, looking over to Vetz who's already moving to the back of the cellar.

Viola nodded, "Likewise. Basic training, nothing special."

Foley looked over magda and nodded before looking back to Vetz who was already moving to the back of the cellar. "Get two," he said. "And get Rapp a side arm."

Vetz shouted, "You got it, Sarge," and went to work throwing things aside. He came back quickly with two paratrooper M1 carbines and two bandoleers, setting them on the make shift counter. It was really plywood over two large barrels, but it worked.

Magda took a carbine and examined it. Viola came forward and took hers, handling it with the sort of familiarity reminiscent of a kid trying to remember how to ride a bike.

Both rifles are serviceable, and in pretty good condition, though obviously issued. They appear to have been recently oiled.

Judging it to be in good condition, Magda took one of the magazines out of the package Vetz gave her, and slotted it into the carbine.

The bandoleers each have 5 magazines in them of .30 cal.

Foley handed off the holster to Rapp. "Pretend you know how to use this."

Magda took the remaining magazine out of the package and put it in one of her hip pouches with the other ammunition.

Rapp opened up the holster, looked inside, and nodded. "That I can do." He snapped it across his uniform buckles.

Foley buckled on a harness and adjusted the empty pocket of it to sit by his hip. He then lifted his own bandoleer from the ground, strapped it on, and made sure everything was good and tight. "HEre's the story.." He began while he made final adjustments. "We're on recon tonight. We're -looking- for this thing."

Viola listened to Foley as she loaded her carbine with a magazine from her bandolier.

"What that means is don't shoot it. Don't shoot it, don't scare it, don't talk to it, don't sneeze at it.." He lifted his BAR off the ground and checked the magazine in it. "Don't.. do anything."

"And what happens when we find it?" Magda asked.

Foley pulled the charging handle on his BAR and put it over his shoulder with a grin. "You assume we'll find it."

"I'm an optimist," Magda said grimly.

"This is a goose chase. I know it, most of you know it. It's likely a bear, or something else similar. Some wolves, maybe. I'm not willing to believe it's a wolfman."

"Considering we're looking for it, I think it would be good to know what to do in case we're successful," Viola said.

"But if it is.." he shuffled past you all, heading up out of the cellar. "Then we'll just have to break orders and kill it 'till it's dead."

Ben muttered to himself, "Finally, some reason."

Magda followed. "I love this plan."

"I thought it up myself." Foley said to Magda, grinning back at her. "I'll make something clear to all of you."

"So these rifles are not decorative," Viola said with half a smile. "Nice."

He lead you all into the lobby from the cellar and reached behind the desk there. "I'll be straight with all of you. I'm not in the habit of getting people killed."

He produced a box of matches, shook them, and grinned, fumbling in his pocket for a cigarette. When he found one, he put it between his lips and lit the match, lighting the crumpled thing.

"I don't intend to let some crazy wolfman or whatever is out there change that."
"Follow orders.." he said, looking you all over. "And do what I tell you."
"If both conflict, follow the second one, and I'll take the blame."
He raised his chin, blowing smoke out of his nose like a bull. "Capiche?"

"Aye," Viola said. Magda grinned her assent. Ben nodded once.

"Good. Follow." he ordered, and pushed open the door, his rifle slung over his shoulder like some kind of hunter. Viola followed. Magda followed close behind, her rifle clutched in her hands.

The street was quiet, save for a few soldiers milling about and drinking. The occasional pedestrian is out, but nobody seems to be harassing them as they scurry to their apartments or wherever. A man reads a paper on a bench, and several soldiers are talking to what can only be a couple of hookers, dressed rather whorishly, not far off down the street in front of a closed down bar.

Foley took his gun from his shoulder and walked with it at his hip. He appeared to know the way, and lead you down the street, sticking to the sidewalk.

The night air is cold and the moon is waxing. In a few days it'll likely be full.

Ben took a deep breath of the crisp night air and fell into step next to Magda. "Nice night to be hunting a wolf man, wouldn't you say?" he quipped at her and smiled.

She returned a faint smile, but her eyes were elsewhere, scouring the alleys and shadows for anything out of the ordinary. "Like a walk in the park, with guns."

Viola walked between Madga and Ben, and Foley, her rifle also in her hand. She took in her surroundings as she went, keeping an eye out for anything peculiar.

As Foley leads you down the street, nothing really seems amiss. Nothing stands out, or catches your eye as being strange, save for a small pack of dogs rooting through garbage in one of the alleys you pass.

The town slowly gets more and more bombed out as you near it's center.

As you turn a few side streets, you notice that whole buildings have been crumbled to nothing but dust. Others are charred remains, skeletal structures that once housed people.

You pass an orphanage that the night before was filled with kids and now houses only the dead, it's walls bulging awkwardly from what can only be the concussion it held inside it. Glass litters the street along with debris.

It slowly smokes from it's center, though no fire is there to be seen.

Foley blew smoke out the side of his mouth as you pass this site. He eyes it over carefully and shakes his head. "Christ." he muttered under his breath and then tossed his cigarette into the pile of ashes as he walked past.

"Keep your eyes peeled and weapons hot. Around here is where it's been spotted."

Viola looked at the destruction around her with a practiced detachment, her eyes searching for their target.

Rapp sighed as he passed the orphanage. He had read about the bombing earlier, but was only now seeing it for the first time. He shook his head side to side and continued to walk.

Foley tucked the butt of his rifle into the small harness at his hip, adjusted it, and looked around as he walked, his pace slowing.

The center of town is a mess. A large circular area with the center of it a monument of debris and waste. Dust and grime cover everything, and broken glass sparkles all over like stars in the ashes.

"Maybe we should have brought a raw steak," Magda muttered, hardly louder than a whisper. "You know, for bait."

Here, there is no movement, there is no sound. Only the light of the moon shows off this grim no-mans land.

"We have Rapp." Foley said, looking around. "He's about as Fresh Meat as this company gets."

"Touche," said Magda.

Foley pulled his flashlight from the clip on his gear and turned it on.

Ben ignored the comment and instead scanned the buildings with a trained journalists eyes - remembering details, touches of color. He tried to reconcile what was once here, a few years ago, with what it had now become.

Magda made a mental note: From now on, Rapp's nickname was Wolf Bait.

The light coming from it was dark red and faded quickly from the center. Foley moved to the center of the monument o' dirt and hiked up it, easily.  He found a jutting piece of wood that had likely been a rafter of some sort and sat on it, making sure it wouldn't fold. He then sighed and looked around. "We camp here for a bit."

Viola stayed near the bottom of the pile, her senses on alert.

"Get comfy and stay alert," Foley said. "No telling what we'll see, or if we'll see it." A few minutes pass with the slowness of molasses over a block of ice.

It slowly turns to an hour.

You spot nothing at all. Not a thing.

Magda picked a spot on the opposite side of the rubble monument from Viola, leaning against a segment of pavement that now jutted out of the ground vertically.

Ben removed a cigarette from his pocket and smoked through it quickly. Its end making a tiny speck of red in the darkness. When he finished it, he tossed it into the pile of dirt and stamped it out with his foot.

Viola paced, so that her guard didn't relax.

After an hour had passed, Ben threw a few shadow punches into the night air. To keep his feet from growing restless, he bounced around in a stance for a few times and then dropped his hands to his side to look at Foley's chimneys.

"This wouldn't be so bad if we had a fire and marshmallows," said Magda.
"Maybe we should do more looking rather than waiting?" Viola offered by way of suggestion.
Foley grunted and pointed off into the sky where he'd been staring the last hour. "See those Chimneys?" he asked. He indicated a few chimneys off toward the south part of town. There were few places still standing, and few more were actually populated. Among these buildings were a few lucky enough to have a fire going. "Now look over there." Foley said, pointing off into the bombed out part of town to the west. The sky was utterly blank there, save for a whispy trail of smoke rising from somewhere in the ruins. "Just about everyone is living in the tubes right now. Underground. I doubt that thats just some camp fire."

"So the werewolf gets a campfire and we don't?" Magda asked.
Foley grunts and then slides off his perch. "Lets go check it out." As you begin to move out, something falls off a nearby roof. Twisting her arms out behind her into a full-body stretch, Magda yawned, and then followed Foley.

The sound of concrete scraping concrete echoes in the empty space as a large corner from one of the buildings roof tops cracks and falls away, smashing onto the ground.

Magda tensed, pointing her gun in the direction of the noise. Foley aimed his gun at it, and then up at the roof. Rapp opened up his holster and pulled out his sidearm. He aimed it in the direction of the roof.

You all wait a few minutes but spot nothing. Nothing at all. Foley throws up a hand and walks slowly, noting for all of you to walk very quietly. Magda walked very quietly.

Foley seemed to relax a bit after looking around, though his hand never left his weapon. "Lets go check that house." He said, sounding almost too anxious to get the fuck out of there. He began walking towards the nearest gap in the buildings which would lead to the farther part of the ruins. He watched the roof tops as he went.

Magda's eyes scanned the broken landscape, not reassured that the noise was the innocent decomposition of blasted brick and mortar. But she followed Foley. Viola did likewise, her eyes scanning the shadows between buildings in particular.

As you near a half-blown out building, you hear more shuffling and bits of debris fall from the roof, passing from one blown out floor to the other until they land on the large mound of upturned dirt where Foley is standing. Foley looks up and squints.

Magda leaned over to Rapp. "If the werewolf eats me, I leave to you all my whiskey and comic books."
"You've got comic books?" Rapp asked incredulously.
"Shut up," Foley hissed and took a few more steps until he could get into the bombed out building's second floor. He placed his foot on the broken floor boards and then pushed off, managing to not trip and die.

"BLAM BLAM!!"

You hear gunfire.

It echoes through the area, the flashes coming from an alley close by.

"Sarge?" Magda asked.
Foley steps back onto the pile of debris. "Sounded like a .45. American."
Viola turned sharply in the direction of the gunfire. "One of ours?" Her voice showed that she didn't really believe that.

As the question is asked, something bolts from the alley way and into the street. It crosses the gap in a sprint, and then disappears into one of the buildings across the way that still stands. It looked fairly man-shaped.

Foley nods. "After it."

But before he can step down from the mound, the roof above him makes am ominous cracking sound.

Viola starts running. Magda bolts for it.

Viola's attention is completely focused on the shape in front of her, and she didn't quite register the roof cracking. Magda did hear the roof cracking, and she wants to get away from it as soon as possible. Foley beat it to, running back to the center of the square just as part of the roof fell in. Ben stepped back and towards the girls and their rifles.

It hit the third floor, paused, broke through with a squeal of breaking boards, and hit the second floor in a cloud of dust and debris. Something kicks around and snorts in the debris.

Viola is still running towards the shape, making for the building that it entered. Viola disappears from view, entering the building where she saw the 'man' run.

Magda points her gun towards the shape moving in the debris.

"RAPP, JESUS, RUN!" Foley shouted as he ran past Ben. Whatever it is, it's fast, and it leaps from the cloud of dust, tailing Foley. IT's huge. Rapp hustled after Foley. Magda sprints into the building after Viola.

The creature is at least Twice the size of Foley, who's pretty big, and it's rapidly gaining on Ben and Foley.

"SHIT!" Foley shouts, running hard. "God damnit it's a fucking wolfman!"
Through grit teeth, as Ben chased beside Foley, the journalist asked, "So why don't we shoot him?"
Magda stops, aims her gun at the monster, and fires off a round.

The creature runs on all fours and it appears to be covered in a thick coat of fur, as described. It's white fangs glisten with saliva in the moonlight, and it becomes abundantly apparent that this thing is, in fact, a wolf of some kind, only it's as big as a car.

Not waiting to see if she hit anything, Magda ran away again.

It's claws make skittering noises as they find purchase on the stone ground, and they kick up debris behind them. Magda's bullet whizzes by the creature and it howls. It howls like a dog who's been kicked and abandons it's chase as you all enter the building where Viola ran. You spot it running for the shadows just as you enter.

You all pile into the main room of the building where Viola is standing. Foley waits for Rapp to pass him and slams the door shut behind him. As if that will stop the wolfman..

Magda wheezed, trying to catch her breath between bursts of very foul German. "Did I hit it? Did I hit it?"

Rapp leaned back against the wall to catch his breath. He inhaled deeply. Exhaled. Inhaled.

Foley braced the door, checking his gun and then looking through a small window at the top of the roof. "I think so." he responded, breathing heavily.

"Hit what?" Viola asked. "There was another one?"
Foley then turned to Viola and spoke, rather reluctantly. "The wolf man."
"Not at all like Lon Chaney." Magda said.
Foley frowned as if finally, he was proven wrong, and hated it more than the idea of a wolfman.
"Hollywood lied to us." Magda looked pissed.
Viola muttered something altogether unladylike.
"I just saw one run into this building," Viola said.
She turned to Foley, "Just how many of these are there?"
Foley sighed. "Where did it go?"
"I don't know. I checked around down here, but nothing. I was heading for the stairs when you all rushed in."
"Like I fucking know?" Foley answered, looking at the door as he leaned off it.

Viola looked at the door.  "Why is that door closed?"
Foley aimed his gun up the stairs and began to ascend. "Someone watch the door."
"Because there's a wolfman out there."
With a glance at Rapp and Viola, Magda followed Foley.
Rapp shrugged and pointed his sidearm at the door.
"No escape routes. Is that altogether wise?" Viola said as she ascended with Foley.
"The door -can- open, you know," Foley responded.
Viola shakes her head. "If you say so."

Foley made it to the second floor and then tripped with a loud cracking noise as the top stair buckled under his weight. Viola's hand lashed out reflexively towards Foley.

"Shit!" he uttered, and scrambled to pull his leg free. "Shit." Foley took Viola's arm and tried to wrench himself out of the hole.
Magda looked around the second floor, not keen on a werewolf taking this opportunity to attack when the Sarge was trapped.

Someone in the room asks, "You're not the most observant band, are you?" His voice is deep and coarse, like he drinks and smokes more than six people.
Magda points her gun in the direction of the voice.
The owner of the voice sticks his head out from behind a tipped couch, a gun in his hand. He keeps it lowered, and not pointed at anyone.
Foley does the same, his leg still stuck.
Ben considered switching targets to the voice, but keeps it on the door. He's been shot at by people before - the double-sized werewolf thing scares him more.
Viola, alert, keeps her eyes trained on the source of her voice, her rifle at the ready, though she hoped she wouldn't have to fire it as her other hand was occupied.
Foley gave a few tugs on his leg, and sacrificed his aim for a moment. He wrenched himself free, the top stair falling away to the ground below, and stood awkwardly on the top step as he readjusted his aim.

"That creature was a foot above your collective heads, ready to pounce. For a bunch of folk hunting wolfmen, you have a funny way of missing them." The man gave them a shrugging, half smile, his voice raw and rattly. He then walked off the stairs and into what was likely a den, making room for everyone else to join him.

"Funny, like ha ha?" Ben quipped.

"Who are you?" Foley asks, and looks out one of the bombed out windows facing the street.

Nicholas looks the group over once more, and holsters his pistol. Seconds later, it is replaced with a Lucky Strike, lit with a zippo. He stands up. Viola got off the rickety stairs, both hands on her rifle.

Nicholas then glanced at the rest of the room. A hallway leads to the rest of the upper floor, rooms on either side of it. A single door leads off of this room, nearer to the stairs.

Magda lowers her gun, but still keeps in pointed in the stranger's direction.

The ceiling is made of floor boards, and through them you can barely make out the night sky through the third floor, where the roof has been taken to pieces.

"This from the guy who ran away from the thing?" Viola muttered.

Foley repeats again, looking out the window a second t

1300h. 7th JUN. 1944 - London.

the.corpse.corps@gmail.com — Wed, 01 Oct 2008 07:05:27 GMT

Viola and Ben talk about their past, and how they feel about their impending mission.

It was an early afternoon when Ben Rapp decided to take his lunch out onto the street. The mess hall was crowded with busy elbows and half-chewed discourse, and Rapp needed some quiet moments to sort out his thoughts. Across the street he found a bench. He laid down a piece of the London Roost - he had picked up the paper earlier that morning - across the bench and sat down. He sat his lunch - a bowl of thin rations - in his lap, and the rest of the paper - Front Page up - across his knees. He ate.

"Mind if I sit here?" Viola stood in front of Ben, a mug of coffee in her hand.

Rapp looked up at Viola and smiled. "Viola, right? Sure. Sit down. I was just looking over today's news. Most of it depressing. Did you hear that an orphanage got bombed out last night while we were coming into the city?" He scooted over to clear a space for her and placed down another sheet of paper for her to sit upon.

"It's war-time," Viola responded, as she took her seat. "It would be news if there was something not depressing." She took a sip of coffee. "So you don't like crowds either, hmm?"

"Generally don't mind them, but I have last night weighing on my mind and I wanted to sort out my thoughts," Ben said.

"Funny way you have of doing it," she offered by way of humor, indicating the newspaper.

Ben chuckled. "I can do both. Actually, the reading helps me clarify some things. Reminds me what kind of world we live in."

Viola was quiet for a moment, thinking about how lucky those people were that needed reminding. Then she nodded, "Although I'm pretty sure that none of us will need reminding soon enough." Another beat. "Not to be depressing or anything," she said with an ironic smile

"Why? You think this wolfman thing is real?" Ben asked, a little skeptically.

"I was talking more about the war, but yes, I do think that there is something to the wolf-man story." Viola quirked an eyebrow at Ben, "Frankly, if the stories are not to remain stories, I'd rather our wolf-man be a fairy."

"I'm afraid I don't quite get you," Ben said.

"Foley was sincere, and so was Vetz. The damn...excuse me, the government wouldn't go so far as to create a separate, classified division to deal with Hitler's Ghost Machine if they didn't think it was real. Governments are stubborn that way. Which means," she turned in her seat to look directly at Ben, "That we have a werewolf on our hands. I was simply remarking that if legends and fairy tales were true after all, I'd rather we be dealing with fairies than things that can only be killed with silver bullets. Mostly because we don't have silver bullets. Yet, I suppose." She took another sip from her mug.

Ben scratched the back of his neck as he listened to Viola. "You know how crazy that sounds, right? I've been running what you said through my mind since last night -- that there's no way the government takes a hoax this seriously. But a wolfman? We start believing that, we probably belong in an asylum."

Viola sighed. "Believing in the impossible? Yes, it's probably crazy," she said, with overtones of stiffness in her voice. "On the bright side, we can't be checked into an asylum." She gave him a sidelong attempt at a smile, "We don't exist."

Ben grimaced. "Right. Another disconcerting development. I wonder what they told my editor. This deal I made with the government better be worth it." He paused to consider something and then asked Viola, "I made a deal, and Foley said he made a deal. What kind of deal did you make?"

"None." She drained her mug. The coffee was cold. The military should really reconsider using metal cups.

"None? Why would someone agree to this sort of thing if they weren't getting anything out of it?" Ben asked.

"I had nothing to lose, and perhaps something to gain." Viola looked down. "If the impossible can indeed happen." She turned the mug around in her hands. "My husband... he's missing. Didn't think I'd find him sitting at home."

"He was a soldier?" Ben asked.

"In the Army, yes."

"Where was he stationed?"

"I stopped receiving letters from him a couple of months before I got notice of his disappearance, but his last letter was from Sicily."

Ben nodded silently for a moment - considering Viola's words. "I'm sorry to hear that," he finally said. "I hope you find him."

"Shot in the dark, if I am to be objective," she said, controlling the catch in her voice. She tapped a finger against her mug a couple of times, before standing up. "I suppose I'll see you tonight, Ben, and we'll find out if what we heard was truth or hysterics."

Ben nodded. "I hope for both our sakes it's just craziness," he said and turned back to his newspaper. His hot meal had turned cold over the conversation, but Ben suddenly found that he wasn't particularly hungry. He dumped the bowl out onto the sidewalk for solitary ants and birds to stumble upon later.

As she reentered the hotel, Viola swallowed the catch in her throat; tears never helped.

0200h. 7th JUN. 1944 - London

the.corpse.corps@gmail.com — Sun, 28 Sep 2008 03:15:46 GMT

Ben, Magda and Viola arrive in London, which is dark and overcast. They are unceremoniously brought to a hotel that was at one time whole and luxurious, but has since buckled against the advance of war. There, they meet with Sergeant Foley, man in charge, who tells them that they have been assigned to investigate Hitler's Ghost Machine. Their first assignment is to investigate something they've dubbed "wolfman." Shooting at them is like "sneezing" at them, and they reportedly attack with the ferocity of a bear.

In the words of our esteemed storyteller, "Welcome to London!"

The plane landed on a rather dark air strip near London, and a man and two women were standing about waiting for their transportation elsewhere. It was dark out, looked like rain, and the air was more than a bit chilly. A few soldiers were running about, prepping the plane yet again, though it appeared the pilot has been switched over as she was standing around close by. A few jeeps rumbled past with armed soldiers. It seemed everyone was on fairly high alert.

Magda lit up a cigarette.

Viola looked at Magda with an unlit one in her fingers, "Do you mind?" This is said politely, as Magda looks like someone you should be polite with.

Magda lit the pilot's cigarette. She pocketed the lighter, and continued to smoke in silence.

After a few minutes of standing around, it began to drizzle.

Viola nodded her thank you, and went back to observing the hustle on the tarmac.

Ben stepped off the plane and onto the landing strip. The air was chilly, so he pulled his trenchcoat closed and flipped up the collar. He extracted a cigarette, looked at it with longing (it's been a long flight), and then lit up. "London," he said simply and breathed in the air. "Haven't been here in months."

"Lucky," Viola murmured quietly.

"What's that?" Ben asked. He thought he heard Viola say something.

Viola looked back at Ben and gestured at the gloom. "I said, you are lucky. London's not a very cheery place in the best of times," she said a bit louder this time, her words only marginally eaten by the roar of aircraft.

"And yet," Ben said. He remained silent, observing the dearth of city lights in the far distance. "There's something about it. The stiff upper lip, maybe. The brothels. There's something wonderful."

A romantic, Viola thought.

"Sounds like a real party town," Magda dryly noted. She angled her fedora hat to keep the rain off her face as best as possible.

Ben took one last drag on his cigarette and then tossed it into a puddle of water by his feet.

As they waited, a truck with its lights on approached the plane, its engine rather loud, even over the plane's engine. It stopped a short distance away, and a soldier got out of the cab. The soldier quickly approached someone near the plane, holding his hat down with a hand. The two exchanged words, and he glanced in the group's general direction. As he ran over to them, it began to rain fully, as if the clouds opened specifically to herald this man's arrival. "Horowitz," he shouts. "Rapp? Sie--" he paused. "Something with an S and a K?"

"Sienko," Viola offered.

The soldier came to a stop close by and tried to read his papers with a GI flashlight. "Whatever," he said, still looking them over. He looked up and flashed the light in each of their faces, one by one. "Welcome to London," he shouted over the noise. "I'm here to take you to your accommodations."

"How about we get inside and hear some answers?" Ben asked, clearly a bit irritable. The plane flight, plus the rain, plus the lack of answers - he felt wet like a dog and just wanted to shake it off.

The newcomers were impressed with the distinct feeling that the soldier didn't much enjoy this task, or that something was bothering him. "Answers to what?" he asked Ben, and waved them to follow as he turned and headed back to the truck. "I don't know shit."

"Fucking hell," Rapp said and then, "Pardon my French," to the women. He followed after the man to the truck. "Like why we're in London when the war is, according to the papers yesterday at least, all over France?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Viola followed the man, grateful for the prospect of being dry. She tossed her half-finished and barely enjoyed cigarette aside and adjusted her pack on her shoulder. Hefting her duffel over her shoulder, Magda followed. The sky lit up with a bolt of lightning and one could see briefly in the darkness just how thick the cloud cover was, as it practically blotted out the sky. The moon, if it was out there, wasn't visible at all.

The others may have tossed their smokes away, but there was a war on, and waste of any form was bad. Magda kept smoking, although keeping the cigarette from getting wet was a challenge.

The soldier looked back, taking them in over a shoulder before moving to the back of the truck. "Get in," he said, pulling the canvas flap aside.

Ben rubbed his hands together, trying to keep them warm against the bitter cold and the rain. "I'm asking why we're not on the front." He pulled himself up into the back of the truck. "You don't know, do you?"

"Don't think he knows," Viola said to Ben.

"Don't know shit." the soldier echoed, waving a hand for you all to get in the truck faster.

Viola took her seat in the truck opposite Ben. "Rapp, right?" she offered, by way of introduction.

"Come on ladies," the private said, his accent clearly from the north east. "Ain't got all friggen' day."

Magda hopped in the back of the truck, irritated at the useless questions. They were obviously here for a reason, which would reveal itself in time. The sort of people they were dealing with didn't give away information until they were good and ready, and forcing the issue never helped.

Rapp took Viola's hand and shook it. "That's right. Call me Ben. You've got a first name, Miss Sienko?"

"Viola."

The flap fell closed, leaving them all in relative darkness, the only real light coming from the cherry on Magda's cigarette. Outside, the rain beat down on the canvas covering the back of the truck. The private's boots beat on the wet concrete. A door opened, and then slammed.

"Viola. Like the instrument?" Ben asked.

"Like the play, I'm guessing," Magda interjected.

The truck lurched into movement, took a rather sharp turn, albeit at a low speed, and then rumbled off to places unknown. It didn't promise to be a smooth ride; there were pot holes, lots of sharp swerves as if avoiding something, and plenty of bumps.

Viola nodded at Magda, "Like the play."

"Afraid I'm not familiar," Ben admitted.

Magda threw a smile at Ben. "And you call yourself a writer, Rapp."

Viola braced herself against the lurch, "And you are Miss Horowitz?"

"Mrs. Horowitz."

Viola nodded at Magda, a pang fluttering in her own chest. She swallowed it, and turned to Ben. "Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. I think it might have been my mother poking fun at my father for saying he always wanted a son."

"A journalist, Mrs. Horowitz. The writing is just a byproduct of the reporting," Ben flashed a smile back at Magda.

"Journalism is just literature in a hurry. I would have thought you knew that." She took another drag on her cigarette.

Outside, there were men shouting, and for the first time that night, it was British. It quickly got left behind as the truck took another turn.

"In a series of twelve," Ben quipped. "What do you do, Viola?"

"I fly."

"For the military?"

Viola gave him an ironic smile, "They just don't like to admit it."

"Shit," Ben said, and removed his hat to shake the rain off it. "Seems I'm the only civilian in this outfit."

"I promise not to hold it against you," Magda said.

Viola grinned in spite of herself. "So, what do you write for?"

"The Siren. Maybe you've heard of it. We print out of the Bronx," Rapp said and ran his fingers through his wet, black hair. He shook his fingers out and drizzles of water splashed against the floor of the truck. He replaced his hat back on his head.

"Haven't heard of it, but I never really spent much time in the East."

"Don't worry about it. I'm done with that for now. No more filing stories, least not for the time being," Rapp said.

The truck came to a stop rather abruptly, with the gears audibly shifting. The three at the back heard the brake being pulled, and a door opening.

"Doesn't stop you from writing them, does it?" Viola asked, as she threw out an arm to prevent herself from being hurled.

"Stops me from filing them. Only person gets to read them now is myself," Ben said.

The flap was thrown back and the private was there to greet them with a firm, "Get out."

"Hello to you too," Magda muttered, and hopped out. Her boots made an impressive splash on the pavement. Viola, who stepped out after Magda, looked at the private pointedly and said, "Thank you."

The private groaned at Viola, and shook his head. "Pleasure." he said, rather flatly. Viola ignored his tone, and busied herself with straightening herself out, adjusting her uniform, her cap and her pack.

Ben hopped out of the truck after the two ladies.

"Where are we?" Ben asked.

"London." was the response from the private, along with a tip of his hat. He then walked back to the front of the truck, got into the cab, and drove off. They stood in the middle of a street, though it's rather difficult to tell what's around as every single window is blacked out.

"The raids are still going on?" Ben asked, noticing the blackout.

The building that was closest to them was a rather large hotel with more than a few military postings on the front designating it the property of the British army, and a US installation.

Viola took a step towards the hotel. "Looks vaguely like accomodations," she said to the other two.

"Good enough for me." Magda headed towards the hotel.

The double doors out front were mostly glass, but judging by the shards that have been brushed away into the corners of the entryway, they no longer are. Beneath the flyers, the windows have been boarded up.

Viola tried the doors that used to be glass.

"And I here I thought we'd be sleeping in tents," Ben said. "God bless America." He entered the hotel. As he entered, he bumped into two American GIs on their way out. They both grinned politely and tipped their hats to Viola and Magda before walking off down the street holding a rather large box of cigarettes and a typewriter.

Magda looked longingly after the boxes of cigarettes. Ben looked longingly after the typewriter. Meanwhile, Viola looked around the lobby, trying to find someone who could point them to the person in charge.

Inside the hotel it was significantly warmer than outside, and far less damp. The lights were on, and the whole place had the appearance of a war-time office, even at this hour. A GI was behind the counter, sorting mail, and off to the right was a salon with a fire, as well as a few men in various chairs and on the floors catching some shuteye.

Viola headed towards the mailman. "Evening, officer."

The guy sorting the mail looked up and nodded, not stopping in his task. "Who are you looking for?"

Polite. "Whoever's in charge."

He furrowed his brow a second, as if to ask, "Officer?" He checked his shoulder to make sure he's still a private. He shrugged. "In charge of what," he asked, amused. He looked up at you all, trying to answer his own question. "Got papers? anything?"

Ben took the opportunity to remove his jacket and shake it out. He then folded it over his arm.

The GI sniffed loudly, obviously effected by the rain with some kind of cold, and waited patiently. "What unit are you with?"

Magda spoke up. "The 55th."

The soldier looked at Magda for a moment and then raised his chin slightly, peering from Magda to Ben and Viola. "Ah." He wiped his nose and pulled a rotary phone out from beneath the desk. He quickly checked a page of the current log and dialed a four digit number.

Viola gave Magda a sidelong glance which said "Thank you," and "Are you sure?" at the same time.

If Magda was worried, or unsure of her answer, she didn't show it.

"Delivery," the GI said into the phone. "Yeah.. No, it's two birds and some skinny looking guy who's too pretty for bullets." He covered the phone and nodded to Ben, "Who does your hair?" He then went back to his phone call, not bothering to wait for an answer.

Ben touched his unshaven face with his hand and grimaced at the description. "Having a barber is a crime?" he wondered out loud.

"We only have the one room extra, and the scientist is already there. Him and your buddy you came in with," the soldier said into the receiver. "Look, Sarge, You gotta' deal with this one. I really can't do anything unless I get it from the Captain." Pause. "Fine. Yeah, sorry to drag you down." He sighs into the phone. "Yes, I know what time it is." He quickly hangs up and puts the phone away, looking at the bedraggled group all over. "Got any food?" His brow raised as a hopeful look crossed his face.

"Only if you can eat paper," Ben replied.

"Depends. It taste better than K-Rations?"

"Nah. It tastes like paper."

"Vetz," a voice came from the stairs behind the counter, followed by slow, but deliberate footsteps.

"Sarge." replied the Private, standing up straight.

"Shut.. the fuck.. up." the man said as he came into view, his shoulder designating him as 'The Sarge' from the phone.

"Yes, sir." Vetz said, and went back to work, grinning like an imp who had managed his bit of mischief.

The man came down the stairs, limping slightly, favoring his right leg. He looked at the newcomers all over with tired eyes and nodded politely. "Sergeant Foley." he introduced himself. "You must be the replacements."

Viola inclined her head, "Sergeant," she said, standing up a little straighter.

"That sounds about right," Ben said and extended his hand to Foley to shake. "I'm Rapp. This is Siedko and Horowitz," indicating the two women. "We landed a bit ago."

"Sienko," he said, correcting Ben as he took the mans hand.

A quick grin flashed across the woman's face.

"A pleasure to meet you all. Sorry to have it all come together like this. Today is a shitty day," Foley continued.

"Yesterday wasn't much better," Viola murmured.

Foley waved at them to follow, much like the private had done, and limped the opposite direction from the salon, heading into what would be a large-ish dining hall on the other side of the building. "Tell me about it.." he said, briefly touching his buttocks.

Rapp followed, pausing only to shoot an apologetic look at Viola for butchering her name last. Viola shrugged her forgiveness.

The hall was very large, and the tables are all rather messy. Chairs were clustered around other tables, and there was a general acceptance of the disarray; this was likely the locale's makeshift mess hall.

Magda followed along. Her eyes passed over everything in the room, as if trying to commit every private, pencil, and wad of paper to memory.

"Have a seat." Foley said, and limped over to the kitchen, poking his head through the swinging doors.

Magda let her duffel slip to the floor, and she grabbed the nearest chair, never once taking her eyes off the sergeant.

Ben rested his jacket across the back of the chair and then sat down, leaning back just a bit - the front two legs of the chair lift off the ground slightly.The floor is a bit dirty from foot traffic, and the windows are all boarded up, but despite this, the room is very grand. This hotel likely fetched a small fortune for a night, and that more than a few famous people have likely enjoyed this particular room.

Viola looked closely at the sergeant as she took her seat. Recently injured, it seemed. Hardy. Sincere, but with that air of keeping things to himself that shrouded all men of rank and leadership.

The fire in the fireplace was burning down slowly and you can easily make out the leg of a table along with some of the other burnt pieces of wood. With a few words, Foley came back to the table with a few plates and a rather large can.

Viola settled her pack carefully on the floor, in perhaps the only patch that was relatively free of the mess that men seemed to inevitably make.

Foley sat down at the table, adjusting his leg and grimacing slightly. "Sorry, only have a little bit of stew left from dinner. One of the guys will bring it out soon as it's hot again."

"So, Foley," Rapp said. "Can you tell us what we're doing here?"

Foley set about opening the can with an ammo can cutter, the white label reading 'Peaches' though barely anymore.

Foley looked at Rapp and chuckled quietly, his deep voice sounding slightly condescending.

"Yes and no." came the answer, and Foley set the can down in the center of the table, reaching back to grab a few forks from a cart not far off. He handed one to everyone. "I don't know the scientific reason, or the mumbo jumbo they tried to feed me." He took his fork and casually spears two big peach quarters.

Viola carefully folded her cap and placed it inside her bag, before proceeding to wipe her hands with her handkerchief, lingering over some spots.

"Scientific reasons?" Ben asked.

"I just know that I got put in charge of some group thats s'posed to watch your asses while you stop Hitler's ghost machine, or whatever crazy word he calls it. I don't speak German."

"Ghost machine?" Ben sputtered. "What the hell is going on?"

Foley shrugged and ate one of the peaches off the fork, obviously enjoying it by the look on his face. "You wouldn't believe the chow in this place.."

Magda took a fork and a speared one of the peach quarters. She plugged it into her mouth and chewed with an expression close to bliss.

Viola left the fork offered to her on the table, and took out her own, wrapped in another cloth, from her pack, before settling down to eat her share of peach.

Ben left his peaches momentarily untouched. "Foley, that's a euphemism, right?"

Foley watched Viola quietly, noting the use of her own cutlery before going back to Ben's questions. Foley was obviously a man unconcerned with time, or at least at this moment, rather relaxed.

"Rapp, something you need to know about me right off the bat for the sake of this all going smoothly." A beat. "I don't joke."

Magda laughed. Then, she went back to enjoying her peach.

Foley took another peach quarter from the big can, smirking at himself, and obviously glad that someone found him amusing. "And no, it's not."

"Clearly, as I'm the only person who finds the term 'Ghost Machine' surprising, I'm assuming this is something military insider. So who wants to fill me in?"

"No sense of humor, but you do smile. I can work with that," Viola remarked.

"Geistmaschine." Foley continued. "And something called Projektverwalter. The formation of the 55th was specific to stopping this, and any other threats from Hitler's paranormal devision. It also--" he stopped as someone came into the room from the kitchen, carrying a large silver pot.

"Project Curator?" Magda asked

Foley shot Magda a soft look as if to silently tell her to shut up. Magda shut the hell up.

The GI placed the pot down on the table. "Get you bowls in a sec, Sarge." He then ran off back into the kitchen, reached for something while in the doorway, and came back with a few spoons and bowls.

He put them down on the table and then stood by Foley. "Permission to turn it in, Sarge."

Foley nodded to the man. "Yeah. Get some sleep. We've got work to do before dawn."

"Yes, sir." Said the private, and then walked back into the other room, stopping briefly to talk to Vetz.

Magda helped herself, and started shoveling food down her throat at an alarming rate.

"Project Curator." Foley said, looking at the door for a long minute before turning to Magda. "I didn't know what it meant. Only read it on a report issued to me on my way here."

"Paranormal." Viola said it with the air of someone trying to taste something. And if one will forgive the pun, it did not taste peachy.

Foley took the supplied ladle and stirred the stew. He paused and offered it to Viola before taking for himself. Viola gestured, letting him go first.

"Paranormal," repeated Foley. Foley shoved the spoon in his mouth. "I suggest you do eat, Miss Sienko." Foley said around his food. "Hot chow isn't something we come by frequently."

"You mean like that Bela Lugosi guy?" Ben asked. "That's fiction."

"We're an investigative branch as well, hence the civilians with us; though, Rapp.." Foley looked across the table at Ben. "I don't know why in gods name you're here."

"Search me. I wasn't told why I was wanted. Only that I was," Ben said.

Foley scooped some of the too-thick stew from the pot and filled his bowl almost to the brim before fishing out a piece of meat and a carrot. "I was told you all but volunteered."

"Forgive me, but don't journalists have some skill at investigating?" Viola said, while still trying to digest "paranormal."

"Maybe. I guess thats why they call it an 'Investigative journalist.'"

"Not sure what that means. It took some encouraging for me to sign on. The military had to make some promises first." Ben considered the stew and took in a mouthful. After swallowing, he said, "I wasn't looking to join this operation on my own."

Foley reached back and looked over the cart once more, pulling something out of a wooden box. He flopped the paper bag on the table and tore it open, revealing a half loaf of sliced white bread. He quickly took two slices of this and began dipping them into his stew, chowing down hungrily.

"Actually, Foley, I was hoping you'd know a bit more than I did about why I'm here. Seems you don't, though."

Magda quickly reached over for a couple slices of the bread, and tore into them.

Viola took her own spoon out of the cloth, and dipped into her stew.

Foley watched Magda eat as he spoke around a mouth full of stew-flavored bread. "They had me sign in exchange for medical treatment." He swallowed and dipped his bread again.

Ben tore off a piece of bread and chewed on it. He seemed tense.

Taking up his spoon, he ate some of the floating bits while his bread soaked up as much of the thick brown liquid as it could carry. "Though if you ask, I volunteered as well."

Viola chewed thoughtfully, "Going back to the paranormal bit. Care to expound?"

"I was told to convey two things to everyone in the unit, though." If he heard Sienko over the sound of his own chewing, he didn't acknowledge her. "You no longer exist."

Magda stopped chewing.

"As in, you make no phone calls, you write no letters, you forward all inquiries of who you are to your C.O. As far as paperwork is considered, you no longer exist. Most of you are already showing up on MIA lists."

Ben dipped some bread into her stew and took a bite. "How'd I die?" he asked.

"Your flight never made it here." He said calmly, as if it was no big deal. "MIA, though, not KIA." He ate a few more hasty spoon fulls of stew.

"Goddamn. I knew those Caravans couldn't be trusted."

Viola's spoon paused in mid-air for a few seconds, as her mind ran through a list of what she would have liked to have accomplished before the curtain fell. She then mentally shrugged them off as unimportant.

"Well," Foley said. "Those big American designations on the wings look an awful lot like targets to me."

Magda pushed her half-eaten bowl of food away form herself.

Viola's spoon resumed its downward journey.

Foley reached over to Magda's bowl as soon as it was abandoned and dumped it's contents into his own. "It's not so bad." he told Magda. His voice was anything but consoling. In fact, it was notably vacant.

"Is there anything else?" Magda asked.

Foley raised his head. "I think we have some coffee in the back." He gestured with his spoon.

Ben finished his stew and placed his bowl aside. "So, why are we in London? If I'm not wrong, the invasion started yesterday in France."

"France is still being invaded." Foley said, spooning food into his mouth between words. "And we're here because we're needed alive. France is a nightmare right now."

"Is Dracula in London?"

"Don't be stupid," Magda said. "That's Transylvania."

"If I were a blood sucking monster," Foley said, sipping the last of his soup from the bowl. "I'd be on that beach right now."

Ben chuckled. "But seriously. What exactly are we investigating?"

Foley looked Ben dead in the face. "Do you really want to know?"

"Of course I do. I wouldn't ask if I didn't."

"As do I," Viola said.

Magda looked to Foley intently, but in silence.

"There was a sighting of some kind of creature in the ruins this week. Big thing, moves fast. The boys said it was just a big stray dog gone ferral. Now we have men missing. One survivor, came back with a story of some kind of wolf man. Sounds like malarkey, except he looks like he got mauled by a bear."

Viola sat still, listening, her stew forgotten.

"You ran him through some psychological testing of course."

"We spotted a German scout plane before the sightings began." he says, ignoring Ben's comment. "Too high to drop troops, but it was here."

"So either there's some new breed of bear-dog out there, or we have some kind of monster running around London." And with that, he stood up and filled the bowl once more. He grabbed four pieces of bread and nodded. "Ask Vetz for the room key. Get some sleep. Tomorrow night, we have work to do."

"Wait a second, Foley," Ben said, leaning forward on the table on his elbows. "We don't really believe there's a wolfman out there, right?"

Foley began to limp off toward the entry way. "Believe it or not, we're going to go find it and blow it's fucking brains out."

"Is it going to be just us, or are we working with people who have more experience with this ghost machine?"

Foley shrugged. "You know what I know." He rounded the corner and disappeared from view.

Ben frowned. "Magda, what kind of jargon is that anyway? What's a Ghost Machine? Some type of tank?"

Magda shrugs.

"Wonderful."

Viola, lost in thought, took her spoon from the bowl of stew and set it next to the fork in the peach bowl.

"Did he mention what the rooming accommodations are?" Ben asked.

Other than the crackle of the fire, the only real audible sounds are Foley walking up the stairs, and Vetz hungrily devouring the stew. The city around the hotel is utterly quiet.

"No, he didn't." She paused in the midst of her thoughts and glanced at Ben. "Try not to worry too much."

Ben shrugged. "I'm just trying to figure out what we're doing here. Wolfmen?"

"Like normal men, only hairier." She attempted a wry grin.

"Unless I'm much mistaken," Magda said, "we're here to either prove it's a drunk guy in a fur coat, or find out if it's a wolfman... and kill it. Seems straightforward to me."

Vetz entered the room, making his presence known before walking toward the group.

"Except for the part where he might be a wolfman," Ben retorted.

Viola shot him a look. Ben noticed Vetz walking towards the table and stopped talking.

Vetz nodded, filling his bowl with the very last of the stew. "It ain't no guy in a fur coat." he offered quietly, looking a bit more serious.

"That a fact?"

Viola raised an eyebrow.

Vetz nodded. "Thing took five rounds like it was nothin'. Like I sneezed at it." He reached into his pocket and placed a key in between Magda and Viola, and tossed one to Ben. "Whole damn clip outta' my M1. Nothin'. Big dog, my ass." As he turned to walk away, they noticed the badge on his arm: a blue pentagon with yellow trim and a second yellow pentagon inside it.

"I guess that takes care of my hairy man theory, too." Viola looked grim.

"We're going to need bigger guns," said Magda.

"Or something."

0834h. 6th JUN. 1944. - Omaha Beach

the.corpse.corps@gmail.com — Fri, 26 Sep 2008 16:12:39 GMT

D-Day, Omaha Beach. Jaxon and Foley shake hands, kill people, and are reassigned just a hair too late.

The landing craft bucked in the waves, white foam rising up in sharp walls each time it sank back into the water. It was cold, the sky was grey, and the only sound other than the ocean and the whimpering of some poor guy in the front was the loud sputtering of the ships engine.

Someone standing at the back was talking. The stream of orders hadn't stopped since land came in view, and not a single bit of it was useful information. Keep running. Don't stop. Listen to your commanders and you'll make it out alive. The grim truth was, half of the people on the boat were going to die and thats if the rest were lucky.

Alton Foley made one last check of his weapon, making sure the bag was still sealed, his ammo still protected from the moist air and the water beneath his feet. He took a look around him, taking stock of who he was with, who was in charge, and mentally made a note of the chain of command. If Carlson died, it was Munson, if Munson went down, Taylor. If Taylor went down.. He sighed. "Me."

Jaxon's fingertips slipped across the patch on his chest. "McDowell" it read. He gazed across the grey sea at the even darker grey shore. His ammo was good, his rifle was sound. All that was left was blocking out the drone of useless prattle and waiting...
His eyes flicked from face to face around him. Some scared. Some angry, some blank. A small smile spread across his lips at the grotesque comedy they all were.

The voice finally stopped giving orders. Foley sniffed loudly and adjusted his gear, counting his grenades. This was far too much to hump considering he'd be crossing a beach with little to no cover. Leave it to Higher to make such a stupid call.
Quietly, he leaned to the guy next to him and asked, "Got a cig? Shame to face the firing squad with out one last cig." A joke. A stupid joke, but a joke no less. The other soldier looked at Foley with fear in his eyes, his mouth half agape.
The kid couldn't have been more than 17. Lied on his application to get in. Probably from some bumfuck town in Georgia. His storey was the same as everyone else's, Foley decided, and so he didn't bother asking for it. He read the name. "Duffy." he said out loud.

Duffy swallowed hard and held his gun tight to his chest like a child with teddy bear, and turned back to the front of the boat with out any sort of verbal response.

"Does anyone here have a cigarette?" Foley shouted, and was quickly met with some superior officer telling him to shut his trap. He did so, not because of the request, but because of the loud grinding sound of their hull scraping the land beneath them. A few seconds later, the whole boat tilted backward and then lurched as it made contact with the beach. This was it. "May the Devil know I'm dead thirty minutes after I've gotten to heaven.." he said to nobody in particular.

Jax felt the sand beneath them grind and offer them up to the battle. The doors whined as the arms prepared to drop, releasing them onto the beach. The chatter of Machine gun fire filling the air. He sat, waiting, unspeaking.

Foley got ready to run. That was his plan for now. Run. Run until you can hide behind something. A good plan.

The door fell open and everyone began to pour out into the beach. This was it. This was the end, he told himself. If we live past this day, it'll be some kind of miracle. His mind raced, but his feet were faster. He didn't even bother to stop when the guy next to him took a hit. Two to the chest, and then one to the helmet, the loud CLANG! and the quick crumpling of the body clear signs that he was beyond help, anyway.

The Machine guns opened up, their landing craft depositing them right in front of a raised pill box. The bullets tore through the men like a hot knife through butter, the sand beneath them turning a sick red and dotted with OD green corpses. This was hell. It had to be. Foley reasoned that he had likely died on the way here, and now he was in hell.

Jaxon piled out with everyone else, the bullets chewing paths through sand and man alike. He tripped over a corpse that had previously been a comrade and shipmate on their little landing craft. The Gore shifted and slid beneath his feet as he tried to regain his footing. A sick feeling in his stomach made him roll to the side. The chatter inside the pill box opened up again, and the man Jax had fallen on shredded under a horizontal hail of lead. With a grunt and a heave he found his feet and continued his charge up the beach, weaving in and out as his gut told him too, slowly making headway.

Foley's mind finally caught up to him as the first explosion went off nearby, throwing black dirt into the sky and deafening him slightly on the left side. He was showered in gore and dirt alike and slowed down a little as his lungs began to burn from running. The machine gun was still going, pouring rounds into his fellow troopers. He looked from side to side to try to find any semblance of his command and saw none at all. Figures.
He tore open the plastic bag he was carrying and pulled his Thompson out, having forgotten it briefly in the chaos. He raised his head just in time to hear a round whiz by his ear, close enough that it burned his lobe slightly, and as he reached up to touch it, he was flung forward by an earth shaking explosion, his legs lifting off the ground, hands moving wide as if he might just learn to fly at that very moment.
Instead of achieving lift, he was hurled face first into an embankment, razor wire running along the top of it. He pulled his face out of the sand, adjusted his helmet and looked back, staring dumbly at the carnage, his ears not picking up any of the screams or the clatter of the MG, just a high pitched ringing. He blinked a few times and wondered if he had left his brain out on the beach someplace.

Jaxon's boots churned up the sand and rocks as he tried desperately to gain ground up the slope towards the enemy. He saw few men in front of him, and he daren't look back to see the situation behind him. Some 20 paces in front the ground erupted in soil and bodies, showering him in blood stained earth. His lungs pumping with his legs, determined to reach his objective.
He gripped his M1 in his hands, looking from side to side for anyone who had made it to the embankment. There were a few bodies far, far to his right, to his left there was a Coporal further up the earthen ramp. Jax smirked and headed that way, anyone made it this far could be given respect, even if they were a coporal. "Sir!" with the last few steps Jax threw himself up and onto the ground near the Coporal "Orders, Sir!"

Foley looked over at Jaxon, still stunned and then surveyed the men around him. Nobody huddled against the sand outranked him. Joyous day of all days. He looked back at Jaxon, reading his name badge. "Stick with me!" he said, and crawled along. "YOU!" he shouted to a soldier close by as another mortar landed a bit too close for comfort, sending the already familiar wave of man parts and dirt in all directions. "You! Stick a fu--" his words were interrupted by a spray of machine gun fire across the top of the ridge that caused everyone to duck. "GOD DAMNIT!!"

"YOU!" he shouted again, and finally, the young man he was trying to get a hold of turned around. "Give me that claymore on your back! And go get those three further down, tell them to come up here!" He shouted to him, reaching out for the explosive. As the soldier did as he was asked, Foley turned to Jaxon, prepping the claymore. "We're taking out that fucking pillbox." Foley said, jerking his thumb up and over. "Don't die."

Without confirming his orders, Jax pulled a pineapple grenade from his belt. Laying his rifle next to him on the embankment he recalled the pill box and pulled the ring and with a shrug, tossed the grenade over his head and into what he approxomated to be the opening in the front of the Bunker, before it ever landed he had his rifle back in his hands and was crawling up the embankment.

"Jesus, H!" Foley shouted, and tried to keep up with Jaxon, stuffing the long pipe bomb between his back and the ruck sack. He shimmied up the embankment until he came to the razor wire. "Cover me." he told Jaxon, and began to dig a hole beneath the wire. When he was satisfied, he jammed the long pipe into the dirt and tapped twice on Jaxon's helmet, pointing DOWN the slope.

Foley turned after hearing the grenade explode. He ducked slightly, made sure his helmet was on, and checked the pillbox. The ledge had crumbled slightly and there was a black scorch mark on the lip, but the gun was still firing.

Foley sprayed it with a few rounds, just for good measure, and rolled back down the slope where the soldiers were gathering. He grabbed jaxon's boot and gave a good hard tug to expedite the other man's descent and shouted, "FIRE IN THE HOLE!"

Grinding his teeth in frustration that the grenade hadn't done its damn job, Jax started to pull his rifle to bear when two smacks to his head, a chatter of an automatic rifle and then a heavy tug at his leg conveied a general Get the fuck outta dodge sense of urgency and he found himself rolling down the hill close behind the Corporal. Rifle wrapped close to roll with him. He slid to a halt next to Corporal Foley and turned, flashing a grin at the Non-com.

Foley winked at Jaxon just as the explosive went off, sending a huge plume of dirt and debris into the air. The razor wire and the wooden struts that held it were flung forward, creating an opening for Foley, Jaxon, and the rest of the troops. "CHARGE THAT FUCKING MG!" Foley shouted, and led the way, clawing his way up the hill.
His hand instinctively went to his bandoleer and pulled one of the grenades from it's hook. As soon as Foley cleared the embankment, he bit down on the ring and pulled away, moving his thumb to release the safety. He began counting in his head as soon as he heard the 'pting!' of the grenade's lever, and then hurled it like a baseball. It pegged the top of a sandbag, rolled over and behind, then exploded. A German helmet flew up into the air like a party favor. Foley grinned at his achievement and turned to order his men up, but before he could even get a word out, he was hit in the leg, the burning sensation positively amazing.
"SON OF A CLAP RIDDEN WHORE!" Foley screamed, looking down at his calf which was now bleeding. The men promptly opened fire and charged past him, snapping off shots as they went.

Jaxon had clawed his way to the apex of the dirt mount only to fall to a prone position and start picking off visable targets, giving cover fire to the rest of them. He watched in almost awe as Foley became an almost unstoppable agent of war. When the clip from his M1 popped out the top of his rifle he slammed a new one home and continued to pick of any and all targets that presented themselves.
Jaxon rolled over the top of the rise and continued to roll down the other side, he popped up long enough to body check Foley, knocking him over, and down the slope towards the base of the bunker.
Letting his feet fall out from under him, Jax continued his speedy, if ungainly decent out of the line of fire, skidding to a halt just shy of Coporal Foley.

Foley Growled and righted himself in the dirt. He adjusted his helmet once again and looked up. They were now safely out of the range of the MG and the men were ambling up the hillside to the German trenches.
The Corporal nodded to Jaxon, thanking the other man silently, and then got to his feet. He looked down at his calf, took a few steps, and then began to move forward. While not at a run, his pace was admirable. "Them or us." He said, planting his 'bad' leg and pushing forward. "Thats all it is."
He slipped his hand in his pocket and dug his fingers into the holes of some brass knuckles, grasping them tight as he brought them out. He adjusted them on his hand so he could support his Thompson, and grinned. "Hope Fritz has a good dentist."

A smirk flashed across Jaxon's face unbidden. It was them or us. Good and Evil had no place in this. It was men, fighting men, at the bidding of more powerful men. All that mattered was that the "us" servived and the "Them" didn't. He followed behind Foley, rifle not quite raised to his shoulder, but ready and alert, watching for movement.

The two sauntered into unknown territory, ready to paint Fritz's wagon for him.

Coming Soon

Introductions

the.corpse.corps@gmail.com — Fri, 26 Sep 2008 01:59:30 GMT

Who: Ben and Magda
Where: Somewhere over Europe
When: Day
What: Introductions

Magda lit another cigarette. They weren't serving drinks on this flight, a critical oversight in her view, so she would have to make due with her rapidly diminishing pack of Chesterfields. The aircraft hit another pocket of turbulence, and the turboprop engines let out a sputtering hack, as if they had a cold.

Ben was sitting near a half-ajar door, holding an oversized tape recorder and speaking into it. When he was finished, he shut it off and placed it back into his backpack. And then, holding onto a rail on the side of his seat to keep balance, he moved through the plane and found a seat next to Magda. He removed a cigarette and placed it in his mouth when one of the soldiers on the plane shouted over the rattling of the plane, "No smoking here. Fuselage issues."

Ben smiled a half-cocked grin and put the cigarette back into his front pocket. "No smoking," he commented to Magda, trying to make conversation. "Painful for a trip this long. Where'd they pick you up? I've been flying from Spain for hours now."

She took a long drag on her cigarette, tapped her ashes into an empty paper cup that balanced on her armrest, but made no move to stamp out the cigarette. "France. Who's idea was it to make planes out of scrap wood? This thing’s a soapbox derby with wings."

"An enterprising industrialist, no doubt. We've got all that wood, we should put it to use." Ben looked longingly at Magda's cigarette. He lowered his voice and said, "I heard a rumor about another one of these Caravans just split open over the Ocean and dumped its cargo out. An unfortunate way to go." He tapped his fingers against the armrest nervously. The armrest, as if in response, rattled along with the rest of the plane.

"I've got a theory about that." Magda offered her new friend the lit cigarette.

Ben took a clandestine tug at the cigarette and secretly blew the smoke out the corner of his mouth - on the opposite side of the plane, away from the soldier's view. He passed it back. "Thanks," he said. "Let's hear it."

"Someone out there wants us dead, so they stuck us on this deathtrap to make it look like an accident." She pointed off to the soldier. "That guy, the kill-joy, he told one too many people to quit smoking." The hand she used to point turned into a mime-gun. "Pow."

Ben chuckled. "Morbid, but I wouldn't discount it. Either that, or they just aren't willing to foot the bill for a real plane." He squinted his eyes in mock fury at the soldier, but his smile gave away his real feelings - he was more amused than angry. "Before we start talking mutiny, figure I better introduce myself." He offered Magda his hand. "Name's Rapp. You can call me Ben."

Her hand gripped his and gave it a firm, well-practiced shake. "Horowitz, Magda."

"Magda. You're German?" Rapp asked.

"No, I'm American." She took another drag from the cigarette and looked out the window.

"No frets. I wouldn't hold it against you either way. I'm not military, and all blood bleeds red as far as I'm concerned," Rapp said. "Jaw breaks the same way against any fist, but I'm being crude in front of a lady, so you'll have to forgive me. I saw you asking a soldier about alcohol earlier. I've got a little bourbon left if you want to finish it with me."

"Please. I don't mind being stuck in a deathtrap derby box, but it's cruel to make us do it sober." She offered the cigarette to him again. "Being a lady is overrated."

Rapp pinned the cigarette against the corner of his mouth and used his free hands to dig out his bourbon. He unscrewed the cap and poured a shot into it. He passed it over to Magda and then, finally, took a pinch on the cigarette and inhaled deeply. "I'd suggest a toast but I don't bloody well know what I'd be toasting to," he said after exhaling. He snorted and some smoke drifted out of his nostrils.

She mulled it over a moment, and then held the shot aloft. "To flying: Being able to throw yourself at the ground and miss."

"I'd drink to that. Or to the warfront, digging the Grand Old USA out of the depression one bullet after another. And giving us all wonderful work abroad. Quite a life - I met the great Hemingway a few months ago in a bar in Seville." He took the cap back, trading it for the cigarette, filled it again and took a drink. Only a shallow amount of liqueur remained in the bottom of the bottle. "Figure I should ask you, Miss Horowitz, what do you do?" Ben asked.

"Mrs. Horowitz, and I'm with the Army. Serving my country, like a good American." Magda tapped a few more ashes into her makeshift ashtray. "I could ask the same question of you. You're on a military transport, but unless I'm much mistaken, you don't look like the soldier type."

"My apologies, Mrs. Horowitz. And your eyes don't deceive you. Before joining this outfit I was a card carrying member of our Press. No more, though. Now my soul belongs to Uncle Sam. Even though my liver belongs to Wild Turkey." He closed up the bottle and replaced the little alcohol left back into his backpack. "Which may explain my nosy questions. Afraid it's a bad habit I need to break."

"I don't mind. There's no crime in asking questions. I rather think this war might not have gotten this far if only more people had asked more questions sooner."

"Ah, but then I'd still be in the Bronx, and that sort of thing wouldn't be good for anyone. Least for me," Ben said. He cupped his hands behind his head and leaned back in the airplane seat. "So this sort of secrecy protocol normal in the military? This is my first jaunt."

"That would depend on which part of the military you're dealing with.”

"What part are we dealing with?"

"The scary part." Magda stamped out her cigarette.