"[i]Schieße[/i], is that a volcano?"

"[i]Verdamnt vornehmwaffen, kann es nicht einfach machen, oder?[/i]"

The soldiers packed into the battered AW139 laughed, gripping their lifelines as the chopper suddenly dipped beneath the ash cloud, the sky between them and the war-torn beach mercifully clear. Shouldering past his men, a silver-haired captain with his eyes hidden behind tactical goggles leaned into the cockpit, thick with the pungent scent of tobacco and gun oil.

"Didn't think zis death trap would make it," the captain remarked, looking disapprovingly at the warning lights flitting across the console.

"You want a first class flight, go beg the virtues for a private jet," the pilot shot back, stubbing out his cigarette on the dash. "We're a minute from touchdown, you and your Laelaps boys better get yer boots on."

"[i]Ja, ja[/i]..." The captain smacked a hand against the empty co-pilot's chair and ducked back into the body. "[i]Achtung[/i], we are coming in at high speed, drop and move up the beach to cover the retreat!"

The soldiers immediately straightened out, going over last minute checks before entering the fray. One soldier casually leaned out to catch a glimpse of the rock golem wreaking havoc before making sure his rifle was loaded with armor piercing, reminding the gunner of the team to do the same. Any other soldier would have been terrified going up against a beachhead like this, but the hardened veterans of Wachturm were of a different cut. The transfers had a reputation among the Laelaps Units for being few in number but punching well above their weight, armed with the best weapons and gear and facing every obstacle with cool heads and confidence. Hell, one of them hadn't even looked up from her book the entire trip.

Sitting on the metal floor, her legs folded to make space for the others in the team, a blonde-haired girl in a combat beret quietly flipped through a pocket-sized book, lips moving slightly as her blue eyes darted back and forth, translating phrases in her head from Quechua to German and back again. Seemingly unaware of the tummult, she was stuck on a troublesome stress when she felt a tap on her knee. Glancing up, a private trying to fasten his helmet with his free hand flailed around a moment before roughly signing.

[i]<We're hitting the beach, ready?>[/i]

[i]<Already?>[/i] Marlena Dorn signed, tucking the book into a tactical pouch. [i]<Short flight.>[/i]

"[i]Gott verdammt[/i], is she even ready?" the seargant called out, pointing a finger at Marlena as she got to her feet, stretching out her neck. Pushing her tactical shades up the bridge of her nose, she reached out and grabbed the air, producing a sound like thunder and bringing back a glistening blue-handled halberd. The cool mist of the ocean seemed to brush her face as the chopper crossed from the ocean over the retreating soldiers to the sand.

The soldiers followed her lead as Marlena bounded from the chopper, landing a few feet below with a flourish of her polearm, the familiar rain starting to drip down her glasses. Spotting a medic trying to lift a wounded patient onto his shoulders, she broke into a run as a boulder tumbled toward them, and a sillhouette of water shot forward, slicing the stone in half and breaking as it deflected the deadly projectile. The medic looked frightened as he looked up at his savior's towering figure, Marlena giving him a smile and a wave as strode past, moving up to cover more of the retreating soldiers.