2271/Chain of Command

Chain of Command
Date of Scene:	31 August 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Sub-Mariner, Winter Soldier, Captain America

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Sub-Mariner has posed:
Time: 1941
Place: Soviet Union, Fifty Miles from Moscow

With the Axis Powers' Operation: Barbarossa fully underway, the seige of Moscow is scheduled to be completed within four months. Unfortunately for the German Army, Hitler's plan to shore up the fight in Ukraine has cost the Germans valuable time and weakened their forces, while the Red Army has had time to replenish the forces defending Moscow. Looks like both sides are looking at a long winter, and a war of attrition.

Fortunately for everyone involved, it's a relatively warm day. Mid thirties, only partially cloudy, and the mud is only ankle deep. The Howling Commandos are bundled up in gear that they managed to mooch off of the grateful Soviet forces, having left their lighter-weight American uniforms behind them. Their M1 rifles have been supplemented with a few Mosin-Nagants, but despite their Soviet gear, it's unlikely that anyone would buy the small squadron of hardened warriors as anything other than American. And it's not just because they've got soldiers from multiple races, but largely because at least one of their 'soldiers' isn't wearing anything close to resembling a uniform.

As the mud squishes between Namor's bare toes, he looks around in disgust at his fellow soldiers. Bundled up against the cold, they all look so pitiful to someone who is used to the freezing temperatures of the ocean's floor. The knife on his golden belt is covered in frost, as are some of the scales on his speedo, but his mostly unclothed body looks completely comfortable. Aside from the mud squishing between his toes.

"Accursed filth! There's no telling what has mingled with this muck which now defiles Namor's royal personage! The mind recoils at the very thought!"

Namor's mind didn't recoil much when it was time to add a few enemy bodies to the mud, but now that they're turning into compost the reality is setting in a bit more clearly.

Off to the right, Sergeant First Class Dugan enjoys the last few puffs from his very last cigar, while trying to get everyone up to speed on the actual mission. It'd be helpful if Namor would avoid having frequent outbursts, but it's worth putting up with outbursts to have a One Man Navy in formation with you when you're planning a sneak attack on some artillery emplacements.

"... no way to know what kinda screwy weapons the Hydra boys have cooked up to defend themselves, but all the intel we've gathered leads us to believe that these ain't conventional artillery units, they're... something we ain't seen before. Which means we gotta make sure they get good and blowed up, just to be on the safe side. They should be just over the next ridge, so after the brief we gotta be quiet as church mouses on Sunday...."

He goes on, giving the distance and direction for the upcoming target, how many personnel are rumored to be defending it, and all of the other vital information that a crack infantry unit would need to be successful. But Namor pays little attention to that, or to anything else that's going on around him. He just walks on, mostly out of formation, and muttering about the "damnable filth!" that's gotten him muddy up to mid-shin, and turned his prized ankle wings completely brown.

Winter Soldier has posed:
They call this kind of mud rasputitsa, in Russia: a slogging, disgusting, mess of sludge that has been the end of many an army. General Mud is far less glamorous a figure than the frozen scourge that is General Winter, but he's contributed to just as many Red Army victories, if not more. And Bucky Barnes hates the crap out of it, because he keeps sinking in deep with every step he takes.

It's really mostly his own fault, because in addition to his standard-issue Garand, he's still stubbornly lugging around a Springfield 1903, which he seems to prefer. Semi-automatic is well and good, he'll tell anyone who inquires, but when you're a sniper in a hide and you've just taken a shot, the last thing you want is some shiny cartridge flying in the air right when someone's looking for you. Then why not take a Mosin-Nagant, Bucky, that's bolt-action? he usually gets asked at that point, at which juncture he remarks acerbically that he'll trust American-made over that Russian stuff, thanks.

Might want to ask him that question again in another ten years.

He's one of the youngest in the outfit, no question, but wartime necessity gets the field promotions flowing fast. Young Sergeant Barnes is a scrappy lean figure bringing up the rear of the group, partially because of his burden and partially so he can roll his eyes about Namor's grousing where the Royal Personage can't see him. "I can take a couple guesses," he mutters at Namor's rhetorical outrage over what might have mingled with the muck, but thankfully he doesn't share the guesses.

He's paying more attention to the briefing. Quiet? Quiet he can do.

Captain America has posed:
No matter how many times the soldiers change their socks, the mud seeps through every layer of fabric, caking each flesh and material time and time again. No question, optimism has become a rare commodity among the ever-greying landscape. Perhaps unsurprisingly, in war time, even hope has use value.

"Well, at least you're not part of the muck?" Steve asks with a one shouldered shrug and a faint pull of his lips. His breath emits in visible puffs of moisture as he speaks, earning a nearly too-crisp shake of his head. "Could always be worse," his forehead crass. The landscape has a surreal effect on him, and irony of travelling as a soldier hasn't been entirely lost. Seeing countries, cities, townships, and landscapes for the first time amid the death and dying doesn't create inspiration. Maybe one day he'll find inspiration to paint this scene.

Probably not.

While most soldiers in uniform look much the same as anyone else, the shield fixed to Steve's back certainly calls attention to the squadron's American ties. Fortunately, his more colourful apparel has been muted by a layer overtop. Blending is a gift these days.

Rogers' head ticks to the side. Much like Bucky, he takes his peace, finding easy silence with the warning. But Namor's complaining earns a sharp lift of Steve's eyebrows, and a very uninvited (and likely unappreciated) quiet "Shhhhh."

Sub-Mariner has posed:
One of Namor's naturally-arched eyebrows arches even higher as he practically glares at the impudent surface dwellers who dare to 'suggest' that his royal input might be extraneous. Certainly nobody back where he's from would dare to shush the Avenging Son, further proof that the very idea of democracy is a pestilence that must be eradicated.

After the Axis has been defeated, perhaps.

"I do not understand the need for subterfuge. Simply point Namor in the direction of this mechanical monstrosity, and Namor shall see it demolished. Caution is for the cowardly, but the blood of Numenor, Harran and Thakorr flows in Namor's veins! We should not sneak toward danger, we should sprint toward it!"

It's fair to say that Namor's never been anything other than bulletproof, unlike most of his compatriots these days. It's also fair to say that Namor's still all manner of pissed about that time the Germans bombed his city and killed his entire family. The anger practically radiates off him so strongly that he could probably warm up anyone who was standing within a few feet from him. Of course, nobody ever stands that close to him. He's practically naked, and none of these soldiers are quite that lonely yet.

SFC Dugan looks back at Namor with an expression so pained, that it actually looks like his mustache is wincing. "You raise some interestin' points, yer Majesty. It's made me reevaluate my entire strategy. The German fortifications should be roughly southeast of here... I'm sure the Sub-Mariner would have no problem taking them out while us poor humans try to get there before all of the krauts are dead."

Folding his arms across his chest, Namor looks very pleased with himself. "They are 'already' dead."

Winter Soldier has posed:
Shifting the strap of his Springfield on his right shoulder, Bucky glances briefly in the direction of the indicated 'next ridge,' as if already mentally mapping a way to take a read on the target location. His eyes only turn back once Namor declaims that he does not see the need for subterfuge, and the young scout and sniper sort of sighs in that way people do when their entire raison d'etre is being dismissed as wholly extraneous.

"They'd probably die just from seein' him coming," is his initial remark, sardonic as ever. "It's a terrifying sight."

He grimaces, probably thinking about the particular imagery that would accompany the Sub-Mariner diving in and dismantling an entire German fortification. "Not that I'm not on board the idea of blowing them to hell," he starts, "but we might wanna scout ahead and ferret out any nasty surprises before we give up our element of surprise that fast."

But ultimately Bucky's slanting his gaze right, towards Steve, trying to catch the other man's eye for one of the wordless exchanges they've perfected over the years. This one, from Bucky's end, probably goes something like: I think maybe you oughta say something, Steve, now that people'll actually listen.

Captain America has posed:
Steve certainly feels Dugan's pain and it reflects back in his eyes when he casts a too-knowing glance towards Barnes. There's little question that even Rogers's patience has been tried over the last while. There's no course correction in his steps, save for the silent hope that a hush will naturally come over the group.

The wish, however, has no footing. The sarcastic change in Dugan's plan, Namor's agreement, and Bucky's echo all stop any movement towards the target.

He catches Bucky's look, and returns with one with a faint lift of his eyebrows: //Some people will never listen.//

Of course, that doesn't mean he won't try.

He stops in the mud and twists towards Namor and Dugan. "Bucky's right. We need to get inside the facility and see what they're actually working on and either disassemble or use it against them. We all know Zola has been busy at work and that nothing Hydra throws at us is conventional," a word borrowed from Dugan's own briefing, "these days. If we want to stay ahead of it, we need to know what it is."

And then, with a sense of renewed confidence, he adds, "We need to keep moving, and everyone," he looks pointedly at Namor, "needs to keep their voices down. We have a chance to do some real good here, especially if we can use whatever they're working on against them."

His head turns back towards Bucky, "Buck, any ideas on the best route to get over that ridge out of sight? Staying concealed," another pointed look is cast to Namor, "will give us better access to whatever they're working on."

Sub-Mariner has posed:
Though he constantly ridicules the customs of the surface men, Namor has picked up a few of their mannerisms. It comes in handy when trying to convey things that get expressed very differently when you're underwater.

Case in point: Namor expactorates on the ground, adding a pretty impressive wad of moisture to the already soggy dirt. It's a habit that he picked up by watching Nick Fury talking to his superiors. It's also something that you definitely wouldn't be able to do if your head were submerged. The saliva would just kind of float around your own face.

Wiping his mouth on his bare arm, Namor shoots eye daggers at the Captain, and the rest of the assembled men. "Skulk around if you will, human! Namor has spoken! Follow the sounds of battle, if you dare, and there you will find me!"

Launching himself forward, Namor flies through the air in the general direction indicated by Dugan. For a few hundred meters, he stays below the treeline, mercifully making it slightly harder for anyone to spot him, and figure out where the rest of his compatriots are. Perhaps he's actually starting to appreciate the necessity of caution after all?

Eventually, he rises above the treetops and adjusts his speed considerably, streaking away so fast that it'd be impossible for anyone in the current group of invaders to follow him with their eyes, let alone keep up.

Soon, the sounds of rifle fire can be heard over the ridge, followed by some explosions, more weapons fire, and a distant cry that sounds suspiciously like 'Imperius Rex!'. But then, suddenly, there's nothing.

Roughly two hours later, Namor stands with his arms and legs shackled in unbreakable metal chains, strapped to the foot of an enormous, aircraft carrier-sized artillery piece. The gun is so enormous that it would likely stand taller than most buildings in New York City, when aimed upward. It must weigh considerably more than a hundred tons, if the Germans are perfectly comfortable chaining Namor to it.

Surrounding it is roughly an entire brigade of German infantry, well dug-in, with about a battalion of Hydra soldiers and roughly that number of Hydra engineers putting the finishing touches on the giant gun.

Strapped to the artillery piece, if we're still calling in that, Namor strains to escape his bonds. To his right, Master Man watches gleefully as the Atlantean King tries to break his shackles, and occasionally blows cigarette smoke in his face.

Behind Namor, Warrior Woman releases another volley of whip lashes against Namor's back, a sadistic grin on her face.

"So tell me, mein little fish man... did you really think that you could stand against the Super-Axis all by your little fishy self?"

Although Warrior Woman's a total pro at inflicting pain with that whip of hers, the lashes don't really seem to phase Namor all that much. Instead, he mostly just looks... embarrassed.

Winter Soldier has posed:
'Some people will never listen' is quite right, because Bucky doesn't get much farther than shading his eyes and looking in the direction of the ridge before Namor has decided that he's had QUITE ENOUGH of milquetoast surface dwellers and their indecision, spits an impressive amount of saliva to the ground, and takes off.

Bucky finds himself shading his eyes to keep track of something very different: the distant form of Namor as it accelerates and -- after a brief flirtation with the 'idea' of stealth -- is promptly lost ot sight.

He finally lowers his hand right about when the explosions start. His arms slowly fold, as, just as quickly, they stop.

"...Who told him to come with us, again?" he inquires, probably rhetorically.

Approximately two hours later finds Bucky up a tree on the ridge, with a good vantage point of the very unfortunate sight spread below and before him. He's attempting to make an observation of the troops and their movements through his scope, reporting down any information to Steve via radio. Numbers and types of troops -- German and Hydra -- the number of engineers and their current activities, the general lay of the land, and the... unique tableau transpiring at the base of the great gun itself.

He would be tempted to find Namor's comeuppance funny, if the situation weren't quite so dire.

"Head-on hit's obviously no good, Captain," he muses. Brothers though they might be, Bucky's not going to be the one to undermine Steve by not giving him his due title in front of the men. "And I'm pretty concerned just what they intend to shoot with a gun like that."

Captain America has posed:
Defiance meets earnest irritation. Steve's eyes narrow, his forehead creases, and his stance changes as he quietly calls the Submariner back in a ludicrously hushed scold, "Namor!" Much like Bucky, his eyes track the Atlantean's movements until he loses all traces of their compatriot.

The familiar sound of artillery fire has his eyes rolling and his hands moving to return the shield to its place on his back.

"I don't know," he murmurs only to add, "but obviously whoever it was doesn't like us."

The tree line had provided ample coverage to slink ever closer to the fortification. And while the group had split to engage in reconnaissance, it doesn't minimize the sheer scope of the weapon nor the ability of the Axis to capture Namor.

Steve slides around a nearby tree and moves for his radio. "Yeah," Steve agrees with Bucky's assessment. "What do we have for firepower? I think we're going to have the sink the whole thing or someone is going to have to become adept at engineering--"

Steadily, he peers around the tree to study the enemies. "They've got some definite strength. If we're going to have a chance here, it's got to be concerted effort." There's a small pause as his eyes trail back to the trees, "Hey, we got enough extra ammunition to draw them out? Even a few of them could help--set some charges behind us to distract enough to get in and do something about the gun..."

Sub-Mariner has posed:
"Harumph! You will tire of this ere I do, wench! This is but a typical evening's entertainment to the Scion of Atlantis!"

When Namor speaks, his sentences are almost always ended with exclamation points, as if he were delivering a proclamation for the benefit of everyone within shouting distance. This works fine for him, usually, but most of the people in the German Army don't speak any English. So he could really have afforded to take it down a notch or two.

Most of the soldiers have put down their weapons for the day, and some have even already gone to bed in their miserable little issued bedrolls. It's starting to get dark, after all. But there are quite a few on guard duty, and about a platoon's worth of soldiers patrolling the perimeter, broken up into groups of three.

They're well dug-in, but the fortifications are still a work in progress. It's clear that the main effort for the engineer elements is getting the giant gun up and operational. Judging from the size of it, and the distance from Moscow, the plan is probably to entirely obliterate the city from afar. Either that, or they're going to be stuck in Soviet territory during the most brutal part of the winter.

"So arrogant! Are you sure you're not related to Master Man?" Most of Warrior Woman's sentences are punctuated by whip lashes. It's kind of her whole thing. But she's definitely getting annoyed that her go-to move isn't having more effect on the Atlantean. In fact, it's barely leaving a mark.

Winter Soldier has posed:
Having seen about all he's going to see at this range and from this position, Bucky lowers his rifle and balances briefly in place on his branch, considering Steve's thoughts over the radio.

"We've got explosive," he muses. "Probably enough both to disable the gun if we plant it in the right place, and also to plant some diversionary charges."

He slips down from the tree, reslinging his weapon on his back. "We'd need a diversion worth sending the bulk of those troops after, though, if we're going to advertise we're here in that way. It looks like they're bunking down for the night. We wait until most of them are asleep, we could probably get in pretty close, maybe get Namor loose, before shit goes tits-up. The patrols shouldn't be too hard to slip by."

He skates a glance over their assembled forces, then looks back in the direction of the gun. His left hand tightens on the strap of his rifle. "Or I kill their commanders," he shrugs. "They're not exactly standing in cover." Even he sounds dubious about that action, though. Kill a couple heads, there's still plenty others down there.

Captain America has posed:
Steve's teeth toy at his bottom lip and he peeks slowly around the tree. The comfort of that little cover wears as they pull together a plan. "Well the plan was always stealth," he returns through the radio. They hadn't intended on being seen until it's too late. His head cants at the notion of killing the commanders and his lips purse in silent consideration.

"And the less we can use of the charges the better. No signs they're about to fire with that thing immediately?" The fact that they're still building the fortification suggests not, but Rogers doesn't like gambling with cities.

"Alright. We'll wait until most of the camp is down for the night and then we'll try to give the patrols the slip. God-willing we can set those charges to take down that gun before they even know we're there." He rubs his chin. "Dugan, are the charges prepped?" He squints and slides around the tree slowly to get a better view. "Barnes, you're with me. We'll take the lead into the south. The fortification looks incomplete on that side. Barnes and I will walk the Eastern side and will lay charges there. Dugan and Juniper will follow one we reach the base of the East wall. They take West. When everything's laid, we'll send her sky high and actually converge on this thing. Jones can take Bucky's," it's a slip in a way to use Barnes' first name, "spot on the roof and give us cover if we need it."

His chin drops and he eyes the army-coloured jacket he's wearing over his highly identifiable uniform. They've been in stealth mode, prompting him to blend as much as he can with the scenery. But now that they're entering a camp he shakes his head. Hopefully no one will spot them, but on the off chance they do, Steve wants to give them a target. His lips quirk into a smirk and he shrugs off the jacket, leaving him in his red, white, and blue.

"Give it twenty."

Sub-Mariner has posed:
Juniper and Gabriel Jones look at each other, and then back at Captain America. Dino Manelli is the first to speak up.

"Hey, yeah, so... Dugan snuck off with Morita and Cohen a few minutes ago. Probably doing... something sneaky."

The patrols are dismounted, and seem to be following some basic variation on a clover leaf pattern. So it was only a matter of time before one of the groups got pretty close to the little gathering of heroes and Howling Commandos. Apparently Dugan knew a soft target when he saw one.

A rustling in the bushes can be heard, followed by a series of low whistles that sound 'almost' like some of the local birds. Dugan emerges from the brush with Morita and Cohen, and each of them are carrying a German Army soldier over their shoulders. Two of them have broken necks, while the other one looks to be knocked unconscious. The unconscious one gets dumped in the midst of the group, while the Commandos set to field stripping the two dead bodies.

"Dammit. No cigars. Just these French cigarettes. Probably stale." Dugan looks pretty disappointed with the haul, but he pipes up when one of his men fills him in on the plan.

"We might have to move our time table up juuuuust a little bit. Near as I can figure, they change out their patrols every four hours, which means we've got less than two hours before somebody misses these boys. But we'll be able to tell better once sleeping beauty wakes up." Dugan pulls out his Fairbairn-Sykes fighting knife, and checks the blade for sharpness. Looks like he isn't planning to ask the soldier nicely.

Back down in the encampment, things are starting to quiet down. Dinner chow has already been served, and there isn't any alcohol, or any women other than Warrior Woman and a few of the Hydra officers. It's the perfect environment for going to bed early, which is exactly what many of the soldiers are doing.

Aside from the ones who still have some alcohol left. They're playing cards, and making crude jokes about the only women in the camp. No matter which army they're fighting for, soldiers are pretty much always the same...

Warrior Woman has gotten tired of trying to break Namor for now. She'd never admit it, but she's pretty much tuckered out. This has given Master Man a chance at interrogation, which he'd been hoping for all along. His methods aren't any more subtle than hers, pretty much just punching Namor over and over. But he's got quite a bit more muscle behind his attacks, and is actually doing some legit damage to the Atlantean. Not that Namor's giving him the satisfaction of crying out in pain.

Winter Soldier has posed:
"No signs," Bucky affirms. "Near as I can tell they're still hammering away at it. Engineers are still workin'."

It never really ceases to impress Bucky how quickly Steve thinks now. It took only a week of quiet coaching sessions, maybe two, to catch him up on the particulars of how things ran out in the field versus whatever he'd learned in basic, and only a week more after that for him to start strategizing better than most of the brass Sergeant Barnes has run into so far, out here. He listens in silence as Steve works his way through their options and quickly formulates a course of attack and a set of orders.

"Roger that," he says, though he eyes the way Steve sheds his jacket to bare his uniform. "Steve," he says, sotto voce so the men can't hear. "You can wait at least five minutes to become a bullet magnet."

Plan laid, he turns -- towards the dotted outline where Dugan used to be. A frown crosses his features, but they don't have long to wait before the man's back, with company. His sigh is good-natured. "Well, if you're gonna tighten our timetable for just a couple Gauloises, at least give me half," he ribs, moving closer to the unconscious captive. He doesn't look in the mood to be playing nice, either. "Stale or not, I ran out of my ration two days ago."

He watches the German soldier a moment, before -- clearly thinking this isn't going fast enough -- he gives the man a sharp kick in the side. It's nothing heavy enough to damage, but clearly meant to accelerate the waking-up process. "Let's get whatever we can out've this guy before we go anywhere."

Captain America has posed:
Getting so easily called out by his oldest (or youngest, depending on how you define old) friend on the team, causes Steve's gaze to drop to his feet and his lips to draw into a small self-deprecating smile. "Maybe I was just hot," he offers back to Barnes with a quirk of his lips, prompting them to hitch up on one side. It's a likely story considering the freezing temperatures they've been facing all along the terrain.

But the disappearing act of the men causes another quirk of his features, this one tinged with vague amusement dancing in his blue eyes. "I think they call that insubordination," he actually shrugs, but the humour in his voice and gaze is unmissable. "Mind, do it enough, they'll give you a medal of honour for it." Although the humour fades with the bumped up timeline.

Bucky's efforts to wake their prisoner has him crouching down to eye the man on the ground. "Hey, buddy," it'll be a wonder if the fellow speaks a lick of English, but it's where Steve starts despite being able to speak German. "What's the gun for?"