The Terrible Face of Evil - Ch 2 - Into the Eye of the Storm

Cast: Madame Solace, Thomas Majors III, Gaston LaCroix
Premise: Agents of Britain and France act on their intelligence!

rating: 0+x

Maracaibo airfield, French Quarter.

Le Faucon, the massive four engined bomber glints in the morning light. It's skin polished to a high sheen, almost chromed. Its engines are sleek and angular, not the round, blocky things that power most Bombers or transports. It's guns are the only things that break its smooth, futuristic lines.

Gaston stands outside, near the main hatchway, a cigarette dangling from his lips. "Madam Solace…" He says, eyes drifting to Majors. "On two counts, you owe me considerable considerations.." A pause again. "On the first; I am up before noon." A heartbeat… "On the second, that man smells of boiled food and bad dentistry…"

"Well mademoiselle here I was thinking you rather enjoyed my company. And here you are forcing me to suffer the indignity of insults from your over perfumed effeminate countrymen? No wonder you spend your time seducing foreigners." Majors smiles as he starts towards the boarding hatch. "Shall we luv? You can stroke my ego and help me get over the slight to my Empire. We are but allies now aren't we luv?" Gaston doesn't get a second glance.

Madame Solace would easily be mistaken for someone else entirely; instead of her naturally dark, luscious hair, today she is a platinum blonde with distinctly Nordic blue eyes behind a pair of round glasses. And instead of the satin dresses she prefers, Solace is entirely covered by a long coat. Even as Gaston addresses Majors, Solace is carefully adjusting the hairpins that keeps her hair neatly tucked in a bun at the back of her head. "Gentlemen, let's save the insults for one another until afterwards, shall we?" She notes cheerily, as she turns to follow Majors. As she passes by Gaston, Solace whispers to the man, with a grin on her lips. "Do behave, Gaston. We /are/ allies today."

Gaston rolls his eyes, stepping up in to the plane. "Allies, they come and go like the tides. But good enemies are like Ex Wives." A pause. "They endure against all odds and all reason."

"Over 800 years my good man. Still bitter over the last time we beat you down? Or the last time we saved your arses from the Germans?" Majors laughs and slips into the ship. "Not the most diplomatic man is he? Good thing I rather like French women. So tell me about this thing we are going to dropping into." He directs to Solace.

Finishing her fussing over her hair, Solace enters the plane's main cabin behind Majors. "Gaston has his way with the locals, Mr. Majors. Especially the ladies." She turns and flashes a wink at Gaston, moving forward in the cabin until she stands outside the cockpit. "I wish I have more to share about our destination, but like I said, all I have are coordinates. Unfortunately, we are literally flying into unknown territory."

Stopping at the navigators station, he takes the Coordinates as provided by solace and starts to plot them out. "As I recall, it was the English who trembled before the might of Napoleon's Grande Armiee, negotiating a peace like mueling pups trying to avoid getting dirty. It was well remembered. But, no matter. We shall not speak again of our rivalries, much to my dismay." He looks to Majors then. "It -is- nice to have a -quality- rival now and again."

"And you forget Waterloo and the fact that Napoleon wasn't exactly a Frenchman." Majors replies as he eases back into his seat and rubs his eyes and nods to Solace. "I don't suppose you have some spare arms here? My pistol isn;t going to do much good if we run into mass of germans. My German isn't good for much other than telling you that you that your smile makes my heart ache mademoiselle.. So there is that."

Madame Solace takes the radio-operator's seat, on the other side of the aisle of Majors and behind the pilot's. "Mr. Majors, let's keep Napoleon out of this." She states simply, while reaching for a nearby compartment and pulls out a pair of pistols - one of which is offered to Majors, handle first. "The question is, what are we going to find at the coordinates? If it's a warship, we may have difficulty even doing an aerial reconaissance."

Dirk exhales… "Well." He says, turning to the others, showing his map work. "We are headed for open Ocean nearly 200 miles away. It's deep water, with no islands in the area. Maybe a warship of some kind, perhaps a German Zeppelin.. we will have to be careful."
Gaston exhales… "Well." He says, turning to the others, showing his map work. "We are headed for open Ocean nearly 200 miles away. It's deep water, with no islands in the area. Maybe a warship of some kind, perhaps a German Zeppelin.. we will have to be careful."

"Lets hope that damnedable Dark Water think that sea captain spoke of." Majors muses idly. "Solace luv, do be a dear and give me a small smooch. I want something to brag about to St. Peter if we get blown out of the air by some bloody Germans." He chuckles and glances out the window.

Solace leans forward and pats Gaston on the shoulder reassuringly. "If it is a German warship or zeppelin, we are counting on you to get us out of here quickly, Gaston." Sitting back, she turns a coy smile at Majors. "You'll get more than a smooch if we succeed in this mission. Now let's keep the optimism up." Lifting her chin, she adopts a more serious face. "I have their access codes. How do you gentlemen feel about landing on a German vessel if they let us?"

Gaston nods then, moving forward to the pilots chair. He spins up the engines, the propellers catching after a moment, each engine firing up one at a time. The sound dampening in the aircraft -is- remarkably good, so it's only 'really fecken loud' as opposed to 'can you hear me now?'. He brings the plane out on to the taxi way, roaring down the runway and catching the wind. The rear raises first, as the tricycle mounted aircraft's tail is lower than the wing center.

"I will most keep you to that luv." Majors says absently as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Do we all have cover stories?" He asks as his eyes slowly open once again. "Rather not go guns blazing." The man glances out the engine. "Should have put in a request for a Vickers or two." He chuckles. "To grand adventure."

Madame Solace leans back in her seat, mirroring Majors as she too closes her eyes as the plane takes off. This jet engine technology - it takes some getting used to. Reopening her eyes once they are airborne, Solace reaches up to slip her glasses off. "That's why I decided to be a blonde today." She points out with a grin, then unbuttons her coat to allow Majors a peek at what she wears beneath - no, no lingerie! It's a uniform of some sort, German, most likely. "It's risky, but the current identity is one Captain Elsa Wetzelberger from the Chancellory administration. My plan is to bluff our way on to their vessel; it's safe to assume any messages that need to be delivered had to be done in person, given the level of secrecy they are operating under."

The plane levels off at 15,000 feet. A good, high level. The plane is pressurized, unusual for a military air frame, but one that will allow for greater comfort of the crew. And warmth. "We will be about forty five minutes from the location, but the appointed time isn't for another hour. Do you want to remain on station, or..?"

"Then I am Giles More. Your latest in a line of dumb boy toys. My French is good enough by my German is rusty and I can't for the life of me hold up to playing a German without a knowledge of German." He muses. "I have a personal grudge against the Empire and a regard for German ideals. Racial purity and whatnot…. So I just a lacky. I suppose Gaston is just a hired man servent here to fly us without questions. Is that good enough?" Majors asks idly. "Should hold up Fraulein I think." He lets Solace reply to Gaston though he shrugs lazily. Eager beavers or punctual Germans?

"Gaston will have plenty of time to get into costume." Solace quirks a brow at her fellow Frenchman's back. "Trust me, he loves dressing up in a German uniform." Again leaning forward, she clasps a hand on Gaston's shoulder. "Can we take a look at the coordinates ahead of time, dear Gaston, then circle back at the designated hour?"

Gaston nods then. "Yes. I can take her up to 10,850 meters, if you like, Madam Solace…" he starts the long, slow climb. "But be ware that this ship is not a fighter, nor is she a ghost in the sky. She is also, shall we say, too pretty to ignore."

Majors nods absently as he leans back and enjoys the flight. "Lets hope we all come back from this. Drinks all around. So Mister… Gaston is it? How did you fair with that large Asian birdie?" He asks as a way to pass the time.

Solace gives Gaston's shoulder another pat and a squeeze. "She's also unmarked and an unfamiliar silhouette, Gaston. Perfect for a clandestine rendezvous." As Majors speaks to Gaston, Solace releases the Frenchman's shoulder and carefully puts her glasses back on.

"Fujiko?" he asks then, from the pilots chair, putting the plane on mostly auto pilot. The Altimeter slowly counts up the meters. "She's a nice enough girl. Enough padding to be fun, not enough mass to make me feel like less of a man. But a gentleman never tells, Master Majors… A gentleman never tells."

"Lets hope the poor girl had some sense." Majors chuckles lightly. "Ever learn what she does for a living?" He asks as he looks over at Solace. "Hmm I do thank you for the chat the other night. Not often one gets to drop the act." He adds then looks out the window. "My money is on.. some sort of Airship out of some hidden base."

Fujiko? That brings a curious quirk of Solace's brow towards Gaston. Deciding it's his private business, she just shakes her head, a bemused smile on her lips before glancing over at Majors. "The feeling is mutual, M'sieur Majors." With that, Solace, too, turns the other way to peer through the window.

"She's a bodyguard, as it happens." Says the pilot, looking out the window. "Perhaps some kind of under-sea boat." A pause… "Majors?" Comes his voice then, decidedly unhappy. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"A joke? I haven't the slightest clue what you mean my good man." Majors asks as he keeps looking out the window with a steady frown. "A grand U-boat.. wouldn't put it past those Mad Germans." A glance is directed at Solace for a moment then he looks about the plane. "No hostess with coffee and cocktails?" He asks absently. "Out of Hollywood wasn't it?" He adds about Fujiko.

The plane banks to the right then. "Look to the 4 o'clock low…" Says Gaston…

A flight of 10 or so fighters, low to the water, english by the outlines… "Care to tell me what your airforce is doing out here?"

Solace would quip back at Majors' comment, but with the appearance of a seeming British squadron, she goes into professional mode. "Bearing, Gaston?" She calls to the Frenchman. "Which way are they heading?"

Majors lifts a brow as he peers to spot the planes and make out their make and model. "I wasn't informed of anything.. perhaps they are a training…… hrrm." He rubs his chin and frowns deeply. "You don't suppose..?"

"Bearing is 293.. Air speed is… About average for your slow as syrup airforce." He says. "But they seem to be heading to where our friends are headed."

Unbuckling herself, Solace hops to her feet and makes her way into the navigator's seat so she can look out the front windows. "Let's stay up here and out of their sight, Gaston. Is there enough cloud cover to hide in?"

"Very strange. But we know the Germans had French planes. I wouldn't put it past them having some of my own." Majors frowns and peers out the window. "Bloody hell. If you can't make them out clearly are you quite sure they are ours?"

Gaston nods then, to both Solace and to Majors. "Yes." He says, hitting a toggle switch on the control pannel. "Solace, move to the nav-station…" he says.

In the rear, electric servos force open a recessed cabinet, doors sliding away and a shiney new Le Academie Mobile Radar Array's control units being visible. The radar is on, showing the range, heading and speed of the aircraft, along with a short list of 'like matches' spelt out on those flicker-half-letter displays like on old clocks or the count down timer in LOST.
Solace spins her chair forward and gazes down at the navigator's station…. and just stares at it for a moment before turning back to Gaston. "Just a thought: I don't know how to navigate." Ha! There is something the mysterious femme fatale can't do!

"You can plot a course luv. It cannot to hard." Majors says absently as he peeks at the likely matches and frowns. "Hmmmmmm… It is becoming more and more interesting isn't it?"

It wasn't so much a need for navigation, but to allow Solace and Majors access to the on board 'electric logic direction RADAR system' that had been recently installed. "Okay… we're on station and I think, we're above their notice… we can move in to the clouds, Solace, but that will limit our visibility as well."

Solace makes a face at that, and gets out of her chair. "Better limited visibility than being shot down prematurely. We /are/ an unmarked prototype aircraft, after all. Let's not give anyone any excuses to get triggerhappy." With that, she starts to move towards the rear of the aircraft.

Majors taps a finger on his thigh and shakes his head. "One wild evening." He muses and leans back. "Don't suppose this is just a show for us? How reliable was your source luv?" He asks the Frenchwoman. "You are stocked incase we need to bail yes?" He adds to the other French citizen.
From afar, Majors nods.

"The French never surrender." Intones gaston, moving in to a cloud bank…

Solace pauses as she passes by Majors, hands grasping the back of the seats for balance. "It's as reliable as any piece of unconfirmed intelligence, Mr. Majors." She answers with a wry smile. "But we'll know soon enough." Not very reassuring, isn't it? Either way, Solace continues moving towards the rear of the plane…

"That is what I was thinking you might say. Don't suppose you think we were double crossed in that case?" Majors asks as he frowns deeply. As Solace passes though he tries to slap her rear. "A fine day to go down in anycase…. But I believe we can will victory out of this."

"I really do not plan on going down, Master Majors." Says the pilot then, looking out the window. Then, the radar bleeps plaintively, some unhappy noise.

Madame Solace makes her way to some rear part of the aircraft, grabbing on to handholds along the way. What is she looking for? Evidently, it's a secured briefcase she has left there among other items. Making her way back to the cockpit, she plops down on to the radio operator's seat across from Majors and lays the briefcase on her lap. The locks are opened, and the briefcase opened, at which point Solace carefully flips through a stack of paper while sparing an occasional glance out the window.

"A bad time for catching up at the office I would say luv." Majors says as he glances over at the frenchwoman. Gaston gets a glance as well and a small nod. "I do not plan on dying so lets hope that our combined wishing gets us through this."

Gaston glances back down the lenght of the plane. "Does one of you want to check out what the Far-Seer is complaining about?" he asks curiously.

Solace pulls out several of the papers and slips them into a file folder; the rest goes back into the briefcase and put aside. "I took the liberty of preparing some fake documents, in case we need to bluff our way into… well, whatever it is we are going to find." Gaston's comment redirects Solace's attention, and moves towards the radar station to have a look at what the ruckus is all about.

"Grand. Lets hope that we get far along that those might come in handy." Majors says absently. He doesn't do much else than look out the window.

THe radar is reporting that a large German Transport aircraft has entered the airspace… the English Fighters are moving to intercept.

Solace isn't much of an aviator, so it takes her a few moments to decipher the radar message. Turning to call back to the others, there is a sense of urgency in her voice now. "We have a transport coming into range; German, from the looks of it. I think the fighters are on an intercept course, Gaston!"

"Well." Says the Frenchman. "Now we get to see just who is who, now don't we?"

Majors hmmms. The British man murmurs absently as he waits for something to go down between the fighters and the transport.

Solace now remains at the radar station, monitoring what's going on down below. "I don't like where this is going…." She says, mostly to herself. Surely, the roar of the jet engines would drown out her voice completely.

Not really, because of the thicker insulation. The plane moves in to the clouds then, cutting off all visuals..
The English planes hold formation, then come about to 'escort' positions. Gaston puts the plane on slow auto pilot, then turns in to the back area..

Majors turns his head slightly and then checks his nails for a moment. He peers out the window for another moment then shrugs. "Well.. shall we give it a bit more time?"

The Frenchwoman watches the radar screen with distinct interest, lifting one hand and idly tapping her cheek with a finger. "It looks like our British allies down there are getting quite friendly with the Germans." She muses, turning a quirked brow look at the others. "We should follow along and see what happens. I don't feel particularly safe with those fighters in the vicinity."

"We're above their operational ceiling, is the good news." Says Gaston then, eyeing the read out.

Three points pop up on radar, all the sudden. Two points nearly a half kilometer apart, and then, one kilometer away, down range but between the two points, a third… they rise up from the ocean. At first the radar identifies as a submarine, then it ceases being abel to process…

"Oh how daft of you luv. I could very well say you sold those planes that attack our ship to the Germans. Do grow up and wait for the complete picture before jumping to conclusions. Gut feelings are rarely right in this line of business." Majors leans up to look over the woman's shoulder and lifts a brow. "That is not something I am overly familar with. Do have to say the Germans do have the best toys."

"Mr. Majors," Solace now rolls her eyes at the Englishman. "I didn't enlist in the service yesterday. There is something to be said about sarcasm." She is only sparing an occasional glance at the radar screen now, but wait, the unusual blips on the radar screen certainly catch her eyes. "Come have a look at this, Gaston. /This/ certainly doesn't look good."

Gaston looks it over. "I have no… no idea what that is. We need a visual." he looks to Solace then. "THis is your operation, Madam."

"Think you can get close enough for a picture or two and not get shot down there Frenchman?" Majors asks as he pulls a small camera from his inner pocket. The wonders of modern tech! It is only the size of a small brick.

Madame Solace eyes Majors' camera, the gears in her head turning in contemplation. Is this worth the risk? "Alright. Gaston, take us in for a closer look." The woman slips out of her chair to make her way back to the navigator's station. "Fall in behind the other planes, and get ready to make a break for it if things go sour." Taking a deep breath, she adds. "We'll soon find out if the codes work or not."

Gaston nods to Solace as he moves back to the forward. "Alright. Put on air masks! I'm going to open the bomb bay doors. Thats your most advantageous position for photography, Master Majors!"

"I am not ordnance. Do keep that in mind good sir." Majors says as he heads back and starts to root around for air masks and for a parachute if one can be found.

Of course there are parachutes; despite protestations otherwise, death is an avoidable malady in many situations.

Assuming there are air masks handy in the cockpit area, Solace grabs one and puts it on smoothly… even if it means messing up the blonde bun she spent so much time perfecting. Once it's in place, she peers eagerly out the window, making sure she'll get a good view of whatever sight is going to greet them…

The light in the craft goes red, as the klaxon sounds… "While the doors are open, we cannot go to full speed! So while you're snapping away!" he shouts now, over the absolute roar of the wind as the doors open; engines now -maddeningly- loud as the insulation is bypassed… "We have our tits hanging out! Make it fast, Englishman!"
With that Gaston angles the plane down, the altimeter counting down from 10,304 meters…

The Englishman opens his mouth to say something vulgar but thinks better of it at the last moment. He shrugs his shoulders and down goes Majors to the bay. The man waits for the moment to snap away with his camera.

Solace will start monitoring the radio now, as she assumes - and indeed HOPES they will be hailed, instead of being fired upon straight away. After a backwards glance at Majors, she turns her attention back towards the window, expectantly. Whatever it is, it has to come into view soon.

And then, the clouds start to part. They rush past as the plane heads lower. To the forward, the English squadron can be seen in the far distance, escorting the German transport. They seem to be getting lower and lower. Headed for the two spires that seem to be jutting up from the water.

Majors breaths long and deep behind his mask. He seems to be calming his nerves before he moves into action. His gaze moves towards the fighters for a long moment, trying to make out the markings on them.

Markings? From this altitude? It will be a bit before you can get THOSE. The plane continues to decend lower. "Their ceiling is 20,000 feet. Naval fighters arn't bombers, so if we want we can get pretty close…"

Gaston said that.

No point in shouting now; Solace just points towards the window, indicating to Gaston the spires that stick out of the sea so ominously. "Let's get closer and have a look at those things!" She finally decides to shout.

As you come out of the clouds…. you start to see it. Dark water. Like a shadow from above, a roughly triangular shape with irregular edges underneath the water, giving the appearance of dark water. The three spires appear to jut out of it.
"Oui, Madam… going lower. Setting flight for 15,000 feet…"

"Seems to like that crazy captain was half right." Majors calls out cautiously. The man brings the camera up to his eye and snaps a picture. "Who would have thought..?"

Dark Water — the words come quickly to Solace's mind when she sees the darker shade of the sea. Of course, at this altitude, it's obvious Dark Water isn't water at all. "That cannot be a submarine. It's far too big." She mutters in disbelief. "Keep an eye out for those fighters." She hurries to ask, in case Gaston is as awed by the view as she is.

The fighters and the Transport seem to be coming in for what could be called a landing vector on the water. The radar reports they are at only 100 feet… And then the water.. Juts upward. Like a pressure wave bowing up from the surface… it's an amazing sight as what would normally be a generously sized island thrusts itself up in to the air. Water sheets away, revealing…
A field of three Aztec pyramids linked by a courtyard some kilometer long… the planes seem to disappear in to a hangar built in to the island between the two main pyramids…

Majors is snapping away with his camera, this eyes wide in awe. "That.. is certianlly something new I should say." He calls out with a frown behind his mask. "By jove it has be tracable somehow… can not hide something that big even under the waves."

Gaston, flying the plane, cannot see what is happening directly below him…

"Mon dieu." Solace whispers incredulously at the unearthly sight. Her awe is quickly pushed aside, though, as she peers over to Gaston's dash to check the plane's altitude. "Do you think they might have spotted us?" She asks, at the same time taking the radio headset from her station, just in case they get hailed.

Altitude: 5,000 meters and holding. "I don't know. We are high in the air, they have always lagged behind Le Academie's prowess with ranged detection… it is possible they are unaware, but by the very bones of science that should NOT be possible!"

Majors is making short work of the reel of film in his camera. The man tries to get a picture of every major feature on Dark Water. "Are you getting any signals from it? See if it gives anything off.. something we can use to find the damn thing… we need to get a strike force ready." He calls back into the plane.

"We don't even know what the hell that thing IS yet and your making plans to blow it up? How English!" Calls Gaston then… "And I do not have that kind of gear aboard!"

Solace listens to both Majors and Gaston, but she seems rather torn and contemplative at the moment. Finally, she turns a meaningful look to the pilot Frenchman. "We need to find out more. What it is and who it is, not to mention *proof* that someone is trying to stir up trouble between France and Britain." She quirks a brow in askance. "You with me?"

"I'm not landing on that thing. I can't see an air field and landing in their hanger seems like an INDUBITABLY bad idea!" Responds the frenchman over the roar of the wind.

"Ever made a Airdrop luv?" Majors calls out as he shoves his camera away. "If we can't find anything out.. it needs to be taken out or captured. I very much doubt that thing is here to host the next League of Nations and bring peace and whatnot."

"Fine!" Solace calls back over the noise of the blowing wind. "We are not taking it out or capturing it with the three of us! Mr. Majors! Are you done with the pictures back there?" She shouts back over her shoulder. "If you are, we should get ourselves some altitude!"

"We can not loose this bastard now.. God knows if we will find this thing again?" Majors calls out with a deep frown. He straightens up heads to the main compartment of the plane. "Bloody beastie of a monster."

Reaching over, Gaston hits the switch to close the bomb bay doors, and they start to close at that command. The noise level starts to drop, and then is gone as airspeed picks up. The engines start to whine, and not a moment too soon as the Radar beeps angerly. "We got fighters!" Says the pilot, putting the plane in to as steep a climb as she can make. And let me tell you; It ain't much.

That abruptly gets Solace's attention. Pulling the air mask off as the bay doors close, she scrambles out of her seat and back to the radar station. "Four of them!" She shouts back. "Where are the gun turrets?"

"Belly, Tail and dorsal! Forward was removed for the radar gear!"

Majors yanks off his mask and takes a deep deep breath and rushes over towards a window. The fighters get his attention and then he starts to move towards the belly gun. "Well bloody hell." He calls out.

"I hope you realize I'm not much of a gunner either." The Frenchwoman calls towards both Gaston and Majors, before she hurriedly makes her way to the rear of Le Faucon again. Once there, she slips into the cramped space of the rear gun turret, pulling the headset on before gripping the handle of the twin machineguns.

Gastoon stays at the controls. One hand reaches over with a small key, opening a locked compartment. Inside is a glass sheet. He punches the glass sheet, drawing a trickle of blood from his knuckles, but engages the hyper-charger for the engines. There is a mechanical count down in the aircraft, counting down from 15 seconds. The fighters however, will be on you in 5 second… four… Oh look.


Fighters will have 10 seconds before the super chargers lift them to higher altitude.

Majors pulls the lever back on the machine guns and turns the turret towards the nearest fighter. The Englishman's lips twist into a cruel smile as he waits for his moment. A bead of sweat starts to roll along his brow.

Solace gets the first good look at the approaching fighters, since she is sitting in the rear turret and the fighters are right on their tail. She blinks when she recognizes the markings on the…. are those Morane-Saulnier M.S. 406's? "Hold your fire!" She shouts over the internal intercom. "French markings! Gaston, hail them on military frequencies! If nothing else it'll buy us some time!"

Gastoon does as ordered, moving for the radio. "Bonjour es amies le air!" He butchers the french, on the principle that these assholes wont' understand it anyway. "Please don't shoot at our civilian tourist plane! We are just sight seeing! It is a fine day, non?"

"Well.. I do have to ask how many of your planes did you misplaced." Majors calls out to the other two. "So where is the sweet spot on this model? Might come in handy to know."

"One squadron was reported missing a few months ago." Solace replies over the intercom, and despite her plan to distract the fighters, she is prudent enough to train her machineguns on the lead approaching fighter-craft. "C'mon, c'mon, how much longer?"

A few seconds later, the lead aircraft's wing mounted guns open fire, sending shining pellets of light ripping forward.
"I dont' think they liked my accent!" comes Gaston's statement from the cabin. "Buy me ten seconds and keep them off the wings!"

Majors opens fire a few moments after the fighter opens up. The Brit grunts in approval as things start rolling. "Well… damn it… are they from that monster or were they in the air already?" He calls out.

Madame Solace is a spy, not a soldier. Her immediate response to flying bullets? Is to duck and cover her head. She recovers quickly though, grabbing the gun lever with both hands and aiming the guns in the pursuing fighter's general direction. "I don't know! But let's make sure they don't go home!" She pulls the trigger, and just hopes it hits something!

Gaston attempts to disrupt aim as the engine whine grows more powerful. The plane seems to shudder as the turbofans power up… The lead plane executes a perfect German charge, heading straight for the fusillage, guns blazing, zeroing in on Major's area…
The Englishman's fire however, tears a chunk out of the left wing, silencing one of the guns and drawing a line of smoke from it.
Solace however, is far more ineffective, simply creating large areas where aircraft simply don't want to go.

Majors keeps his turret aimed at the lead plane even after the smoke starts to appear. "Do you think they will give me a medal for a… Would it be a German or a Frenchman?" He growls as he keeps the lead flying at the other plane. Spy he maybe but the man has training in various fields.

It's not that Solace is a stranger around guns, it's just that… machineguns are so inelegant. Not to mention, her goal is to buy time, so the way she is laying down a curtain of lead can keep the pursuing fighters from lining up a shot. "Let's go, Gaston!" She calls into the intercom again, attempting to shout over the loud echo of gunfire.

The lead plane's wing snaps, a crippled bird sort of thing that sends it spinning downward in to the sea, but only after its forward momentum carries it forward enough for Majors to see the whites of the mans eyes, and right now, they are very very large.
The engines come to full power, and then gouts of flame jet from the back of the engines, the thrust like rockets have been ignited, pushing the plane faster and higher than normal, climbing above the operational ceiling of the other planes…

"Germanic eyes." Majors offers as he relaxes in the turret. "That was good fun I would say." He murmurs over the comm. "I do suppose we should get this film out to command." The Brit then lights a cigarette up and closes his eyes. "I will take a martini now if you would be so kind."

When Le Faucon's incredible engines roar to full power, the thrust it generates forces Solace to let of of the gun levers. Instead, she hangs on to the seat for dear life, just trying to avoid being thrown through the glass of the turret. Yes, that's the disadvantage of sitting in the rear turret with no seatbelts on.

Gaston turns the plane then for the mainland, the other fighters falling away, unable to maintain lift in the thinner air.. "Get your own martini, there's a small wetbar in the navigators cabin." Of course there is. Do you have any idea how many women get positively -lathered- at the thought of romance at 35,000 feet?

Gaston does.

"Well I can not say I approve of the service here on French Airways but lets hope the flight time makes up for it." Majors eases himself out of the belly turret and rubs his lower back. "Quite alright Solace luv?" The man then tries to make his way to the wetbar. "Get you anything?"

"No!" Comes the Frenchwoman's call from the rear turret, her knuckles turning white with the death-grip she has on her seat. "I can use a little help here!"

Putting the plane on autopilot, Gaston moves back to the belly turret, opening the hatch. He looks down, a grin on his rakish features. "Now Cher, I would think you were more adept at tight spaces. Come now, lets get you out of my ball-turret…"

"Right there luv." Majors calls out.. though he trails off as the Frenchman beats him to it. "Well.. it would seem… Hmm." The Brit glances over at the woman. "Well luv.. drink? I think we should have a bit of a toast."

Solace rolls her head back to glance up at Gaston, upside down. "Non, non. It's not tight spaces I have troubles with tight spaces travelling at six times the speed of sound…" Her quip trails off as Gaston presumably helps Solace out of the turret. "Remind me never to do that again." She murmurs, taking a moment to undo the bun and shake her hair loose. "A drink would be lovely."

Gastoon assists the woman from her position, then comments… "We barely approached even one speed of sound. No known aircraft can broach that barrier, much less a craft of -this- size." he commentary does not prevent him from allowing his hands to slide down the curves of her body; taking a bit of liberty, but then, Liberte is one of the founding principles of the Grande Republique.

"The wings would sheer off at those speeds. Some say it can't be done." Majors offers up as he starts to mix himself a drink. "What will you have luv? I am a martini drinker myself.. but I won't even hazard a guess about you." He yawns lightly and samples his drink to test its flavor. "Now you said something more about a smooch if we made it out alive." The Englishman chuckles. "One bastard of.. a whatever that is. I am sure Intel will have fun with the film."

Madame Solace is as much a child of the Grande Republique as Gaston is, so a little touchy-feely hardly fazes her. Still, she obliquely jumps and makes a noise when Gaston's liberal hand slides down her shapely rump. "Gentlemen, I must again point you both to the art of sarcasm. I -know- we weren't flying at six times the speed of sound. But thank you for the helping hand, Gaston." Taking a moment to straighten and compose herself, Solace starts to make his way back towards the cabin. "A martini will be fine, Mr. Majors." Stopping next to the Englishman, she tilts her head at him expectantly.

Solace senses "Gaston in the course of his handling, murmurs.."Get the film"."

Gaston turns offering a smirk, for the cockpit. "Maracaibo in an hour. Do enjoy the flight."

"You must forgive me luv. You understand we Englishman don't you? We have manservants to do the humor thing for us. We can't be bothered understanding sarcasm and all that." Majors says witha subtle little smirk. He bets started on another martini, offering Solace the one he has just made. "I would tell you the joke about about English Colonial Offical that hired a local to service his wife because he couldn't even be bothered with that.. but it is a bit lewd." He winks then studies the other spy. "No. .you are far better with dark hair. At least you can not cover up other assets." He comments. "And you Gaston, what will you have? Toliet water? Wine? … No nevermind. You are flying after all."

Solace arches a brow at the 'cannot cover your other assets' and 'lewd' comments, but a bemused smile is now curling on her lips as she takes the offered martini. After a sip, she turns to watch Gaston take the pilot's seat again, before inclining her head at Majors. "So, Mister Majors," Trailing off, Solace leans down /close/ to Majors' face, so close her perfumed scent cannot be missed. "How are we going to share what you have in your camera?" She whispers, pausing to brush her lips playfully against the Englishman's.

Gaston settles in to the cockpit for the long ride home, closing the cabin door… giving the two secret agents of their respective empires the time to get more comfortable.

Majors half closes his eyes once the woman nears, perhaps filing the scent of her perfume away. "Chanel?" He asks absently before bringing his own martini to his lips. "I can send you prints of what is developed if you are a good lass." He says as he fully reopens his eyes. "But.. you would have to convince me to cooperate of course. Film is an expensive thing after all." He says in a slightly teasing tone.

Solace's lips spread into a smile, even as she continues to brush them against Majors' lips. Somehow, she has put down her martini and her hands are now on the armrests of Majors' seat. "No…." She replies quietly, a playful tone in her voice. "…considering this is /our/ plane, I think it's only fair if we develop the film and send you the prints." Wuh-oh, is this a spy-negotiation here? It's hard to tell, considering how Madame Solace now leans forward to kiss the Englishman urgently.

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