[center][h2]Beginning Ascent: T-2.3 hours[/h2][/center]

Everyone was loaded into the plane. In front, the pilot and co pilot clambered in, the latter opening a small hatch in the back to stick his head through. "Just a warning folks- it'll get cold, windy, and probably a little hard to breathe back there. We'll try to make the flight as quick as possible, but there's not a whole lot we can do about that. If you feel dizzy, give a bang on this hatch and we'll see if we can't take her a little bit lower for your sakes." The airmen didn't know much, but they knew these agents were important.

"Once down, we'll need you folks to take that pallet there." He pointed towards a small crate, fragile stamps across it. It wasn't a big box- only around 5lbs, but apparently it contained vital cargo. "When you have it, clear the plane as quickly as possible. Every second we shave off of our transfer is another second the boche don't have to locate us. Understood?" He nodded at them all, and then would draw the hatch shut again with a quiet thud. The cargo loading door was lifted up, the only light now coming from a number of poorly-repaired bullet holes in the fuselage. 

The twin engines of the plane slowly began to rotate, and then they would trundle down the runway. Seconds ticket away as the intensity of the propellors grew and grew, until the plane would begin to tilt skywards, carrying itself and its passengers up, across towards where the midnight black water of the Channel lay.

[hr]

"Lindmann?" A smartly dressed administration member would appear at the door of his quarters, holding a clipboard. 

"Jawohl?" The stand user would raise an eyebrow, although the fact that he was facing away from the man meant that the gesture was worthless.

"You are being deployed as per Bluthund protocols. I am sure that you know the drill." The man would tap his clipboard authoritively.

"Jawhol." This one was far more of dull sentence. Heaving himself to his feet, Till would pace towards the door. Slowly, he would roll his sleeves down, covering up the marks on his arm with each quick motion of his wrist, thread his cufflinks and button the last few elements of his shirt. He would take his coat down from the wall- holding it almost gingerly, and then finally he would take his glasses and slide them into his breast pocket.

"Actually, you have been reccomended to wear the sunglasses." Till would turn to look at the admninistration staff, seeing him properly. Tall, lanky, bespecled, brown-haired. He would consider it for a moment, before shaking his head a little to clear his mind. 

"Jawohl." He would say for the third time, unfolding the glasses and slipping them over his eyes.

As Lindmannn walked through the bunker complex, he would idly draw a cigarette out from his pocket and place it to his lips. Trailing tobacco smoke, he would enter the armoury and take the few pieces of equipment that he needed, before at last emerging into a crisp clear autumnal evening. Crunching across orange leaves, he would take a set of keys out of a small box by the side of a hangar and clamber into a 1930s Peugeot, the sound of a car's engine splitting the serenity as he peeled away.