Centipede sat in the bomber. He wore his usual action gear, leather jacket and pants. His mask was off.

He went over the route for the 20th time. He’d helped planned it, using his expertise to help avoid any large collections of enemies and avoid routes that he would use for ambush.

He was nervous though, much more used to working alone than with a group.

Frank was flying the bomber, flying fortress, whatever. He had also helped plan the rout to conserve fuel.

He is in his fatigues, and he is smoking a cigarette. Being this far from home was bad, but it could be worse. At least these people didn't call him names.

Some years ago, the United States had become Barbara's adopted home.   In those years, she'd become quite fond of it.  Decided to grow some roots, and recently attained a dual citizenship, along with that of her native Britain.    Since coming into possession of the ring, she'd done only a little freedom fighting in the place of her birth.

That was now about to change.   It was not the circumstance under which she'd hoped to next visit...but, many things were not as one would hope, in these days.

Her trademark yellow & navy outfit was concealed beneath a camouflage jumpsuit, her hair pony-tailed.  She was smoking a Chesterfield, expression pensive.   She too had contributed to the route plan.   Indirectly, anyway;  the basis information her comrades had used came from her connection with Britain's War Office.

Unlike Centipede, she was more of a team player, by nature.   A group of powered heroes working together was a great thing, to her mind.   Also unlike Centipede, and Devil Dog, she wasn't military trained.   Mystic ring or no, she loathed combat, and heading into it always brought some anxiety.    She was trying to learn the best ways to deal with it.  She glanced toward Centipede, seated across from her, ventured a question-

"Sam, how do you prepare for it?  Psychologically speaking, I mean - going into combat?"
This message was last edited by the player at 20:44, Sun 06 Oct 2019.

Avram stared out the window at the ground below from the bomber window. He was not in his element. The air was opposite of the ground after all. That was very far down.

He stared at the others with his unblinking gaze. Myriam told him these would be his allies in the war, but she was his touchstone. Leaving her back in England was like leaving a limb behind. Or an a vital organ needed for life. For to him, she was his life-litterally and figuratively.

He moved about the plane, feeling something familiar and yet somehow distant at the same time. Disorientation. Helplessness. Fear...maybe. The living knew fear, as it was essential for life. A stone does not even fear it's own shattering.

"How soon till we land?" He asked anyone near by...most likely for the 50th time.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:46, Mon 07 Oct 2019.

The bomber is a true plane of war. At the fore, Devil Dog mans the pilot station. The bombardier, Flight Officer Alex Williams, is currently seated in the fore turret. Halfway down the corridor is another gun turret. Behind that is the bomb bay, equipped with huge, long bombs; it can be opened manually from here or electronically at the front of the plane. At the rear of the plane is the tailgunner's seat.

The squadrons of planes follow the route by Centipede and Devil Dog. The most recent information about German military positions is conjecture and possibly out of date. You leave the neutral skies over the Channel and enter enemy territory.

The ground is dark, illuminated only by the thin moon. Your course takes you away from towns and known bases. However, anti-aircraft batteries dot the countryside. Reports from spies and previous bombing missions are all you had to rely on.

Centipede or Devil Dog can roll Defy Danger + Investigate. The other can roll Aid.

12:45, Today: Devil Dog rolled 7 using 2d6.  Roll to aid.

Almost forgotten, the Kid sat silently in the back of the plane. Why the Navy loaned him out for this project he'll never figure out. He can do a lot of amazings thing, but fly isn't one of them.

Maybe if they were caught in a raincloud he could do something with the water droplets outside the plane, no, not in this situation.

"We get there when we get there, Rocky." He scratchily answered over the drone of the engine.

Peaceful enough, for now. Alex stared blankly across the expansive water from the fore turret between bouts of info review. He would review the mission parameters and targets more than a dozen times before they would cross the channel.

It was his umpteenth sortie, truly he couldn't remember how many he'd flown by now. Typically a pilot or navigator, he was assigned to be the bombardier on this run... on the bird "Nocturnaly Mission" this time.

This one felt different though. The crew was different and they were flying deeper into kraut territory than he had flown before. He'd be lying though if he said he weren't more nervous than a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

As soon as the coastline came into view his focus narrowed, searching the skies for air-Jerries and the ground for ack-acks.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:16, Mon 07 Oct 2019.

18:12, Today: Centipede rolled 12 using 2d6+2.  Defy danger roll. I added the +2 for maneuver to show the route planning . - [roll=1570486362.81924.333882].

It should actually be an 11. I put the wrong modifier in.

---

The young man snapped out of his thoughts and mentally joined the team. Centipede... Sam thought for a minute, about Barbara’s question. There was plenty of ways and reasons he’d gotten used to battle, but for her, now , the answer was easy.  “It’s pretty straight forward actually. Preparation. We all did whatever we could to ensure the success of this mission. No action plan survives contact with the enemy, but if you’re ready and prepared, you’ll win.

Unfortunately, unlike some of us, you haven’t been, for lack of a better phrase, tempered for battle. You will be though, unfortunately. For now, have faith in your team and more importantly in yourself and your abilities. You’ve got what it takes. You’ll see this through and come out better on the other side. Just remember that once you’re in the thick of it, you’ll have to do what needs to be done to survive. “ His voice was relaxed and smooth. His accent was definitely midwestern and pastoral.

He thought to himself that this was a good sentiment and made a note to try to remember it.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:40, Mon 07 Oct 2019.

You buzz across the landscape, your planes' powerful engines drowning out all but the thoughts in your head. Through the canopy, you can see distant sources of light all around. Navigating to a specific target, even with a good course charted, is difficult in the dark. Pilots must trust to their headings and hope. Maintaining radio silence means that every plane must keep the rest of the formation in sight and hope that the leader knows what he is doing.

Hours pass, with the formation flying across the darkened sky. Often they drifted through clouds, which was good for cover but ran the risk of mid-air collisions and separation. Fortunately, the intel had held out and had been put to good effect. Your formation of planes makes it all the way into the air above Germany without encountering resistance.

Here in German territory, the defensive positions are much thicker on the ground. Luftwaffe planes fly through the air, patrolling or on their way to the front lines. Spotlights shine upwards, seeking whatever might be there. It is only a matter of time before your formation is spotted. Some way south of Hamburg, your plane is briefly illuminated by a brilliant light. Then more lights converge on you. Moments later, the first explosions begin. The enemy is firing flak guns at you!

This post has been moved in its entirety to the Great Responsibility thread, msg #3.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:38, Tue 08 Oct 2019.

Alex pressed the button to speak over their internal comms, "Gents, might I suggest we scratch the sky and climb to this gal's max angels? May be a bit close to the Archies below." Surprisingly, this was an environment he knew well enough by now and was, well, not comfortable in but at least used to.  Taking fire usually meant they were about to reach their target or already on their way home.

He groaned with as it again occurred to him just how deep they were flying. Possibly an hour from the coast and the same back out.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:49, Thu 10 Oct 2019.

Frank pulled back on the stick to as sharp a climb as he was comfortable with in this flying whale. He pressed the intercom button, "Flak Jackets on now ladies and gents, and hold onto something, this is going to be a rough ride."

The plane began to rock and bounce while he could practically feel the sound coming off of the flack rounds.  He did as Devil Dog said and pulled his flak jacket on over his suit and strapped back in. He closed his eyes and tried to meditate and prepare for anything that came next.

He tried in vain to put on the flak jacket, but it was too binding on the sides.

"How do they expect me to fit in This Man's Army if I barely qualify as a Man...? he grumbled. His helmet and his shimmering scales, mimicking the olive drab equipment around him, would have to do.

As for holding on? Yes, he could handle that with pseudopods quite well. He could even catch someone before they were sucked out the door of the plane if he had to.

In reply to Devil Dog (msg # 14):

Avram stared at the others, and then proceeded to help the Kid on with said Jackets. "Not enough openings for jacket..." He says, trying to get the outfit around the various tentacles coming out of the Kid. He tries not to force the thing on the man, but no doubt with all those extra limbs its gonna be a tight squeeze.

David seemed to hit it off well with Avram, with them both being not-quite-human, with Golem being linked to the earth and Kraken linked to the water, they were both out of their element here.

"Hey! Avram! No, it's fine really!"

This guy was strong, no doubt about it. If he put up a struggle they'd probably rip the jacket in half. Then he'd get yelled at for damaging equipment.

"Do we have to...? I don't really need... But thanks though!"

Ugh, too late. It's on, but it feels like a damn strait jacket.

In reply to Kid Kraken (msg # 18):

Avram seems to ignore the Kid's complaint, and seems very eager to make sure the flak vest gets on. Avram nods, and pauses. However, he nearly rips the jacket in half while trying to get it around said tentacles. Even Avram's pale human hands had power to them. "Need...tailor. I knew a...Tailor." He says in his monotone voice.

He seems confused as he tries to make sense of the hazy memory. If only Miriam was here. She could tell him who this tailor was. It was not him...as he worked with gems. Maybe.

Even those memories, linked directly to what he did for a living, where like trying to see something through thick fog. He got some ideas and names, but only intense emotions made any sort of real impression. Anything short of that was barely there.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:34, Tue 08 Oct 2019.

The guns scrape the sky, but the planes in the formation go into a full-power climb. One of the bombers in formation flashes their lights; they are requesting permission to break radio silence. It would make it much easier to locate any stragglers and confirm the course with the entire formation, but it would also make it much easier for the Luftwaffe planes to locate you.

The anti-aircraft guns fill the sky with explosions and shrapnel. Distant booms are audible behind, before, around, and underneath your planes. You are at very little risk, but your position is being tracked. It will still be an hour of flight time to get to Berlin!

Barbara uttered a purely British "Bloody hell!" under her breath, as she too followed Devil Dog's advice, slipping on her flak jacket, and holding on. And recollecting what Sam had said about being prepared.

Suppose we're going to find out, pretty soon, now...

Hearing them speaking and struggling, she spared a glance back toward Adam and David.  In less dire circumstance, she'd have smiled, finding it touching.     She worried about the two of them, in spite of how physically powerful she knew they were.   She hoped to understand more about them both.    Assuming, of course, the whole team wasn't blown to smithereens, here.

She'd considered trying to use the ring's shields...but, the situation and the force of the attack was unlike anything she'd dealt with before.    This is *not* a good time to experiment, I think. 

And, anyway, she had faith in Frank's skill as a pilot.

Frank put on his own flak jacket after he had finished the climb. Handing off the stick was not his favorite thing to do, but he had to in order to put on the armor. After a moment’s hesitation he signaled that radio silence was to be maintained. They had trained for this, everyone knew their jobs, there was no need to give away their position. He nodded to Alex, ”Keep us on course.” He dabbed out his smoke and turned around, seating himself in the jackseat just behind the controls. He looked over the men and women on the plane, giving each one a confident nod. ”I’m not much on speeches. All of you know your jobs, and how important this mission is. This old gal will get us there and home as long as we treat her right. Combat positions.” With that he climbed back into the pilot’s seat. He had done his ghost dance when he first woke up, but he had not put on his death face. He began the chanting song, just loud enough for the others to hear or ignore as he smeared white paint all over his face, paint made mostly from the ash of the fire he had danced around the week before. It had an eerie cracked look about it. When his face and neck were covered he wiped the excess on a handkerchief.

Centipede dons his mask and moves to his rehearsed position and straps in.

In reply to Devil Dog (msg # 22):

Avram nods, and proceeds to sit on the required seat. He still has not put on his own flak vest. Mostly because he knew only light clothing would change with him into his 'true' shape. The flak jacket would be wasted on him, and was best served on someone still breathing.

That being said, he adjust his hat, holding it in place on his head while he balances himself with his free hand. As a man, Avram seems tall, lanky, but not very imposing. He seems somewhat out of place, given the military garb most of the others where wearing. He was still dressed in the typical outfit of his people. Jacket, hat, overcoat, simple pants and plain shoes. All black. Hardly something someone would wear into a warzone.

Out the viewport, you can see the lights of the city of Berlin getting closer. This makes it much easier to be sure you are in the right place. Your target is a factory, apparently producing munitions of some sort, to the west of the city. That area is substantially less illuminated at this hour, so dropping the bombs accurately may be difficult.

To make any kind of accurate attack, the bombers will need to descend. This will expose them to the anti-aircraft weapons below. It will also make it easier for any Luftwaffe fighters scrambling to attack.

Frank spoke over the intercom, "Bombardier at the scope. Everyone else hold on to something, it is about to get very ugly."