[center][h2]Beginning Descent, T-0.2 hours[/h2][/center]

The plane had now definitely begun to go downwards. After more than two hours in the frigid fuselage, it was probably a relief to most inside, especially what with the cramped conditions. To the pilot in the front however, it was the worst of times. The small size and lack of any lights on their aircraft had meant that it had snuck by German air and ground patrols without any problems, but now came the time when they were most visible. The co-pilot was frantically trying to identify the right place to land, the pilot having to take to hedgehopping in order to avoid any potential prying eyes in the sky. Then, at last, after a torturous amount of time circling the countryside, the exact position would be discovered.

Pulling sharply to one side, he would veer the craft around, before pulling up ever so slightly. They needed to... There! As the plane thundered towards one field, flames lit up. Hay bales, he realised, set alight so that they would know where to land. Circling around once to get a proper straight at the runway, the pilot would cut the speed down and lower the landing gears, holding their breath as they brought the plane down lower and lower. Then, with a thump and a screech as wheels came against dry straw, they would make their landing. Almost as soon as they had stopped the pilot slammed open the hatch between them and the fuselage.

"GO! GO! GO! GO!"

The second all crew and cargo were out, the plane would be off again. French partisans threw buckets of water over the hay, and as the first tendrils of smoke made their way up into the mightnight blue sky, the plane would already be in the air, whirling around and gunning the engines back towards England. Hopefully the boche hadn't noticed anything; especially with the low flying they had done earlier. "Best of luck chaps," the co-pilot would say to an empty cargo dock, before pulling the flaps of his hat down tighter and focusing on the sky ahead of them.

[hr]

"Oberführer, please."

"No." The cyborg would turn to look down at the besunglassed stand user, a faint scowl visible on his face. "If there is even a [i]mote[/i] that it may be [b]him,[/b] I refuse wholeheartedly." Blonde hair and blue eyes against blonde hair and blue eyes; two ideal Germans staring each other down... Although one of them had a rather interesting construction over his eye. "Besides, I am to be deployed to the Eastern Front soon. The Führer work in Russia is not yet complete."

"You were commended to me based on your courage, yet you refuse to do this?" Till's own scowl would slowly spread across his face.

"I do it not out of cowardice. I do it out of respect. Find someone else." The man would slam his mechanical hand down against the table, causing Till to raise an eyebrow. 

"Very well. As you wish Oberführer." Till stood up, adjusting his tie as he did so. Turning away from the cyborg, he would calmly close the door behind him, shaking his head as he did so. So much potential... But alas, he would just have to make do with what he had. How would this impudent fool targeting the reich feel when they had the power of multiple stands staring them down? They were already dead, they just didn't know it.