Totenkopt's Adventures in New London

[Koolmo]

30 Minutes after crash-landing...

Totenkopt fired the last round from his grenade launcher into the doorway, then backed away from the bellowing smoke, dropping the launcher as he crawled. This is officially the worst day ever... He tossed his pistol from his right hand to his left, and began firing at the flitting shapes beyond the fog.

"Well comrade," he said conversationally to PO O'Toole, "It looks like they've decided to stop with the unarmoured cops, and toss in the Royal Marines. I think we need a new plan..."

"Yessir, we do. They've decided that we're bluffing about hostages for some reason, probably because the only one left alive is shooting at them..." O'Toole gestured to the young Dr. James MacMillan, the only one of the medical staff to swear allegiance to the Coalition, who was currently sheltering behind a regen machine, reloading his new rifle with precise, unfamiliar movements. "Meybe if we toss a body out, and pretend we just killed them?"

"Naw. They're a little too smart for that one, and god knows the civilians would've been screaming their balls off with all the gunfire. Nope, it's time we moved. How's Machia?"

"Uuuh, Comrade Captain, he's dead, sir." Reported MacMillan, leaning over the corpse. " I believe that the last attack managed to get some shrapnel lodged into his head. The arm won't be bothering him anymore, though..."

"Right then! O'Toole, take some grenades and blow a hole in... that wall over there. We'll set this place on fire, then move through there, and try to break out into the hallway."

"Gotcha, Comrade. I'll just be a second then..."

As O'Toole started placing the grenades, Totenkopt looked at the base schematic he'd downloaded from the computer before it was hit by incoming fire. As he'd suspected, that wall led directly into a hanger for medical craft, normally reached by going into the hallway and taking an immediate right. However, the Royal Bretonian Marines, Bretonia Police Authority SRD team, and the handful of Bretonian Land Forces personell outside might make that a bit of a problem. As he turned around to look for something to light on fire, the clatter from the hallway outside went down to a dull roar, and a voice yelled through the murk.

"Captain Totenkopt! We know you're in there, and we know you've killed the hostages. Surrender now, and we'll let you live! Keep fighting, and we're not going to have a choice about it, we'll just blow the room from space and be done with it!"

Totenkopt considered for a moment, then called back. "All right comrades, we've all thrown our weapons away, come in and get us."

As the first Marine stepped over the threshold, Totenkopt shot him in the face, and his companion behind him with a chuckle.

"Morons..."

---

<span style="color:#FFFF00">&quot;General Solo, is your strike team assembled?&quot;
&quot;Barely, they're pretty drunk.&quot; </span>
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I can picture in my mind a world without war, a world without hate. And I can picture us attacking that world, because they'd never expect it.