Mage: The Gun Quarter

Session 96

Roots of Dissent

From the diary of Group Captain Reginald Darling, RAF

September 14, 1943
Well, it looks like we’re going up again. I’m to reconnoiter an airbase called Gioia Del Colle, as part of the ongoing landings at Salerno. I’ve just time for a smoke before we’re wheels up.

September 20, 1943
Jesus, but I’ve had a time of it. You’d think being shot down in some god-forsaken vineyard would be the worst thing to happen on the mission, but that’s not even half of it. I managed to deploy my ‘chute, and wasn’t too badly injured, but when I went to survey the wreckage, it was the damnedest thing – there was a Gerry pinned under the wreckage. He seemed mad as hell, but otherwise unharmed. I tried to put the bastard out of his misery with my knife, but after I stabbed him in the heart he still managed to get a grab around my throat. I only managed to get him off by sawing his damned head off, but he didn’t even have the decency to die! The head was spitting and cursing in German. I was in a bit of a daze at this point, so I just took the damned thing with me.

I remembered my friend Percy had admitted to me that he know a strange man named Karl Magnusson, who was the expert on strange things. I dragged that head all the way back and had Percy help me connect with this Karl fellow. He looked and sounded like a Kraut – though a damned strange one-, but he didn’t seem fazed by the damned head, so I let him have it, and figured that would be the end of it. When I tried to report what had happened, I was put on medical eval – can’t say as I blame the, as I’d have done the same, despite the fact it happened to me.

A few days later, I snuck out for a little R&R, so I was drinking the piss Sicilian’s cheekily call wine, when I see a Tommy with a few birds and some boffin or some such, arguing with one another about a head. Of course, my luck being what it is, it’s the same damned head! They proceed to interrogate me, and ask me to take them to where I found. Naturally, I refused, but that French bird was quite a looker, and the blonde one suggested Frenchy might fancy me if I helped them out. Well, I’ve always been a sucker for a pretty face, so against my better judgement I went along with them as they commandeered a car.

I lead them to the Gerry’s body, and they gave it a thorough ransacking. Found a postcard or image of some place in Bavaria called Neuschwanstein. Then the boffin started going off about an army of these damned indestructible Krauts, and that the four of them had to get to Bavaria to stop them. Now that all sounded bad to me, but I was still about to tell them to take a hike… then, I think the phrase “en petite dans la bouche” was thrown around. I have enough French for that. Besides, in for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose.

September 22, 1943
I’m starting to think that I had my wits knocked completely out of me when my plane crashed a week ago. I actually helped these miscreants by stealing them a plane, then flying them behind enemy lines! That French woman is too persuasive for her own good…

At any rate, I stole them a plane and flew them right over the Alps to Bavaria, so they could get to this Neuschwanstein. They wanted me to land right next to a forest, so they could head up to the castle. Well, I warned them it was a bad idea, and sure enough, the landing did a number on the plane. Well, what do you know, but that that Blondie was a dab hand with a wrench. So Blondie and I fixed up the plane while the boffin prayed in Hebrew, of all things, and Frenchie snoozed. Meanwhile the Tommy (Jack, I guess his name is), went out scouting. Of course, he came back covered in blood, so I think I’d rather not know what he was doing up there.

Now they’re up at the castle, and I’m left with the plane. Nothing to do now but write in my diary and wait for them to come back.

September 25, 1943
I never thought I could say I’d had the honour of seeing the inside of a stockade, but I’ve been experiencing a lot of firsts of late. I’m to be court-martialled, and summarily executed for treason for, amongst other things, dereliction of duty and absconding with military equipment. Of course, if the Marshal’s had seen what I had seen at Neuschwanstein, they’d be thanking me. At least I’ll go to the gallows a patriot in my heart, even if everyone things I’m a traitor and a madman to boot.

It was just like Avi said – there was practically a whole army of those “berserkers”, and they were chasing after Jack and the girls like bats out of hell. One hell of a bloody firefight ensued, and I thought for sure Betty was a goner. Somehow Jack got her on her feet though, and we all got away with our heads on our shoulders. I don’t quite know what happened up there, just that there were plenty of explosions and that Avi assured us that the threat was done. I got them all home, safe and sound, so they could continue to do their behind-the-scenes work.

So there. Let this diary be a testament to the small part I played in winning the war. I know I’m going to the gallows a hero, even if I’m called a traitor.

Darling out.

September 27, 1943
Wonders never cease. I swear, I’m in awe of Betty and her bombs – she managed to blow a hole the size of Gibraltar in the wall of the stockade without hurting me, or anyone else. So, needless to say, I was rescued at the zero hour by Yggdrasil Unit. I guess that makes me a member of Yggdrasil Unit too. I feel like a different man to the one I was two weeks ago, but this feels good. It feels right.

Tally ho.



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