[h3][center]Jakob Norheim & Silvio Colani[/center][/h3]
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The time was right for the show to begin. And both of our two main badasses were ready for the task. Each about to commence their parts of the play, in their respective ways. Outside Silvio stood, while Jakob was inside. Let the show begin. 

Jakob, posing as that German Waffen-SS officer with the unhealable limp, made his way downstairs alongside the rest of their little team of misfits. He easily avoided the grasping arms of drunken German soldiers wishing to congratulate and honour the clear veteran of the East, while he preferred not to be eyed at by the higher officers, in line of not being noticed. But he smiled, which was a new feature to the Norwegian soldier in disguise, and one all the more frightening when considering what ran through his mind. He might have smiled and spoken friendly back to the Germans around him, but in his mind he was only imagining how best to gun them all down. 

While the conversation between Robert and the now infamously named Seal went on, Jakob made his way around the bar. He had to jokingly throw away the German soldier who wanted to mix drinks, promising him to make something that would blow his mind. Good thing he didn't have to shoot him, that would seriously screw up the planning of the plan. Because hidden inside various crates and bottles, were the different parts of a Bren-Gun, one which Jakob had specifically ordered to be planted there. And as the conversation came to a close, the Bren-Gun had been assembled in no time. 

The symphony, a piece of Grieg which only made Jakob smile all the more, reached its climax as the bullets began to ripple through the establishment. Robert and Lukasz seemed to have a field-day out there, at least from what Jakob could hear behind the counter as he hid from the bullets. The MG42 would have shredded him to pieces had he been standing up, but this was of course according to plan. As the gun fell silent, Jakob rushed up onto the counter and aimed his LMG down; a number of German soldiers were still lying at the ground, about to draw their weapons at the two Germans who clearly weren't German after all. Too bad for them, the Norwegian had them in his sight. The gun rattled, shell-casings flew to the side and bullets rippled through the sorry bodies of the Germans trying to make a last stand. 

They didn't stand a chance. 

It was a massacre, and a beautiful one too Jakob had to admit. The smile on his face didn't fade, it simply remained as it was clear that this part of the mission was done, and they had to exit. 

Silvio instead had the pleasure of shooting fish in a barrel, so to speak. As agreed upon, he had exited the bar and positioned himself outside somewhere on the street, overlooking the bar and several exits that might be used for an escape. As he assembled the Thompson SMG, his most trusted and favoured weapon, he couldn't help but wonder if this plan was going to work after all? Because how the hell was a group of three people going to gun down a whole two stories of German soldiers, before the alarm was raised and then get the fuck out of there? 

Then again, he himself was pretty good with a gun, and he himself knew he could have managed that himself. And that was good, because he soon needed that encouragement for himself. The gunfire was deafening, even for the battle-hardened Italian-American as he sat concealed across the street, watching the immense gunfire inside the bar. It was like the 4th of July, all compressed into half a minute of shooting in just a small bar. 

Luckily he would have company for himself. It didn't take long for Germans to start pouring out of the bar, heading towards him. Good for him, he wasn't alone. As he rose up from a couple of crates hiding him, he smiled brashly as he pointed his Thompson at them. 

"Sorry to run into you, you Kraut fuckers, but I've got a lot of lead to carry. Mind to help?"

The overwhelming firepower of the drum-magazined Thompson shredded through the fleeing Germans, all falling dead to the ground or leaned up against walls and other street-objects. "Thanks, your service to my family will not be forgotten. May God be with you, you sorry bastards." Silvio said to the large group of dead or dying Germans, saluting them and running down towards where thir escape vehicle was meant to be parked. There he met the others, though his eyes drifted first to the bell-towere where the gunfire had come from earlier, over to Simona who was looking half-panicked, saying something odd. 

"Cosa intendi? Sei male, caro?"