[NOTES]
    I return, with more Snoots and World Wars.

    I don't have a set update schedule currently due to college, but I'll try to keep updates as regular as I can.

    Also for clarification, this is the Dweeb Division... not at their worst, per se - things could absolutely be more terrible for them all - but it is definitely them at low points in their lives, having ignored each other for all six of anon's months at Volcano High.

    Just something to keep in mind regarding their interactions; these kids aren't friends, nor even acquaintances, really.

    For now. :)

    Also tangentially related note: we come to the first multi-chapter mission! I'm trying to keep chapters between 3000 and 4000 words so that each chapter is more easily digestible and simpler to read in a single sitting.
[/NOTES]

 I jerked back to consciousness… definitely not on a beach. That's… inconvenient. Cool. No, no big deal.

 

It was a huge fucking deal God fucking dammit.

 

I was sardine-canned, again, and sitting next to the dumbass shitheel caveman. Again.

 

At least he wasn't puking on my shoes again. Fuckin' gross. What was his name, even? Anon Mous or some shit? Whatever. He was shaking himself awake in the darkened, cramped, and occasionally bumpy sardine can. And… apparently he was as confused as I was. Fun.

 

That freak "benefactor" and his stupid chat with us flickered across my mind, again. I'd been hoping this was just a cruel joke; that someone would jump out like one of those Candid Camera shows that Mom and Dad watch all the time and say, 'ha! Punked you!'. But as the sardine can lurched and rattled… yeah, that wasn't happening. 

 

What a lord of horse shit, it's like we're in one of Reed's shitty video games or something stupid, the way we basically respawn, every time we…

 

Shit, we are in some crappy video game, what the fuck.

 

The sardine can lurched and jostled, as muted thunder echoed outside its enclosed confines. The new sardine can was closed in on all sides, and while all the soldiers within were definitely carrying familiar guns - the same kinds the Caveman and I had been using on the beach - their uniforms were way different than the boring olive drab we'd previously been running around in. Cool, I guess? The boots were definitely more comfortable.

 

A red light flickered on, bathing the new sardine can (patent pending) in an unnatural crimson glow.

 

"Oh, shit." Anon muttered beneath his breath, sitting next to me.

 

"What now, Caveman?" I sneered, gazing past him to watch one of the other soldiers stand and move towards a door. They quickly slid it open, and - 

 

One, holy fucking Raptor Jesus on his cross of stone, we were flying .

 

Two, that's… that's a lot of explosions.

 

Three, did he just tell everyone to stand up?!

 

Anon nudged my wings roughly with an elbow from behind, and muttered in my direction. "On your feet, Aaron." He then mumbled again, much more quietly, "fuck me I was not trying to jump out a plane, like, ever."

 

I just rolled my eyes in his general direction. Whatever. 

 

"Hook up!" The soldier standing by the door barked loudly over the auditory hellscape echoing aloud outside the small, metal door frame. Shit, I wish Trish and Reed were here, those cannons could make a hell of a good drumline. Wish I had my phone so I could record it, but whatever. Fucking "benefactor" son of a bitch.

 

I copied what the other soldiers were doing and fiddled with my harness clip - a bit awkward with how it pinched my damned wings, but whatever, I wasn't gonna complain, I was going to jump . Apparently. Holy shit.

 

The light flicked from red to green, and soldiers in front of me began pouring out the open door. I reached the front and flinched, but with some help from a push from behind, out the door I went and into the pitch black night.

 

Wait fuck I can't actually fly! These wings couldn't support that sort of weight!

 

Oh shit. Oh fuck.

 

Something yanked on my shoulders - hard - and a billowing noise filled the momentary silence above me. I jerked my head upwards.

 

Oh, sweet and merciful Raptor Jesus.

 

I had a parachute.

 

The caveman was floating down by himself a short distance away, and both of us watched in muted shock as the large airplane we'd been riding on was bisected by an artillery - er, flak? - shell, caught fire, and fell from the sky in a blazing comet. 

 

Metal as fuck.

 

A deep, rising fear began to grow up in my gut though at the helplessness of it all. That stupid ass beach was bad enough, and here we were again, being shot at before we could even do anything about it.

 

I hate this shit already. Fuck.

 

Here I was - flying! Or at least, falling with style - and I couldn't even enjoy it. What a load of crap.

 

Machine gun tracers from smaller flak guns filled the night sky around myself and the Caveman - really they were sort of just everywhere - as we closed in on the ground, somehow not getting bisected ourselves.

 

The dumbass got stuck in a tree, as I splashed down into some fucking marsh . Fantastic. Feeling around to make sure everything was in one piece, I wrestled with the parachute, which began to drag in the night wind, fuck, ass, piss, shit.

 

It pulled me over, as I uh, squawked , and flopped around in the muck water, wrestling with the piece of shit for a fat minute until I finally ripped the cords apart with my claws, standing back up in a muddy, filthy, and victorious mess. 

 

"Yeah! Fuck you, parachute!" I jeered, hands on my hips as I turned around to where the Caveman had landed.

 

And immediately came face to face with a German infantry squad. 

 

Oh shit.

 

Bullets fucking hurt.

 

===

 

"Well, that happened." Caveman sighed, shaking his head clear of any spider webs growing in the corners.

 

"Yeah." I said, simply.

 

"I uh, didn't know that pterodactyls made that sort of noi-"

 

" Shutthefuckup. " I hissed, as we stood again, and prepared to jump. "You could have helped you know."

 

"Lost my gun when I hit that tree." He shrugged. 

 

"Then like… don't?" Duh. He just sort of shook his head at me, as we were jostled out the door. My heart leapt into my throat again as I rolled out the door of my own accord this time, and into the night. The parachute bellowed above me, as I looked down at the rapidly approaching marsh. Blech.

 

Anon hit a tree again, smooth fucking moves, genius, and I wasted no time ripping the parachute cords off myself as I hit the marsh this time, and instead of just standing up like an idiot, I used the berm of a slightly raised road to block myself from the view of what was likely to be a rapidly approaching German squad.

 

I went to grab my tommy gun from it's dangling position around my waist.

 

Where the fuck was my tommy gun?!

 

Oh shit, I didn't have a gun. Well isn't that for dramatic fuckin' irony. I flinched, as rifle fire cracked out in my direction, German bullets flinging into the muck behind me. Deciding discretion was the better part of valor, I ducked down further into the berm, as the angry Germans moved in my direction across the marshland. 

 

Fuck.

 

Seven - no, eight - Rapid fire rifle barks and a resounding ping noise cut the angry German rifle fire off at the source, and for a minute or so, I just sat there, waiting, crouched in freezing - ass bog water, armed with just my claws and maybe my teeth if I wanted to go that route. 

 

I chanced a look over the berm. The five Germans were now corpses lying strewn about the marshland. I blinked. 

 

"Hey, uh, little help over here?" Anon's voice called out lamely, as I shook myself out of my stupor. There was no way he'd-

 

"Yeah," I began, popping fully up from behind the low berm, and slogging my way over through the gunk. Damn, I was soaked like, all the way through to my fuckin' underwear, these pants were cold as shit. Thank you cool dino genetics for fluffy feathers? Definitely something to thank Mom for, that was for damned sure. "I'm coming." 

 

I worked my way over to Anon, keeping low to the ground in case any more Germans decided to shit in my wheaties. Reaching the base of the tree he was dangling from, I noticed he had an empty M1 Garand cradled in his arms, a spent bullet-holdy-thing-I don'tfuckingknowguns- dumped unceremoniously on the ground nearby. He waved at me as I approached, gesturing to some sort of haversack looking thing dangling in front of him from the same tree's branches.

 

"Lucky break this time, that leg-bag there apparently had my gun in it, and I just didn't notice it last go around. It must have come loose this time when I got intimate with the tree here." Ew. Did not need that mental image.

 

"Smooth. I uh. Think I broke mine in the bog back there." I attempted to play off, hoping he wouldn't think back to the snark I'd thrown at him back up on the plane. His shit eating grin proved that to not be happening, though. I just gave him a death glare, which he matched with his stupid fuckoff smile until I gave up, groaned, and started fishing around my uniform pockets.

 

Reaching down to the big leather hip pocket - I think Dad called these like… holsters or something? I withdrew from it a vaguely L-shaped rectangular object that looked like a teeny version of a gun. Weren't these called handguns or something? Pistols, that was it! Yeah. I pay attention, Dad! Sometimes. Occasionally.

 

I inspected the pistol after handing Anon a sheathed knife I had in one of my other hip pockets, and he began to cut himself down from the tree. It was apparently a "Colt Government Model 1911", whatever the fuck that meant. It shot bullets though, which was important enough to me.

 

I slid the thing back into its holster as Anon slid to the ground, landing on his ass with a groan as I laughed quietly at his misfortune. He handed me back my big pigsticker knife, so I took pity on the sad caveman and pulled him up off the ground. He could dust himself off though- and he did.

 

"Okay," I began, looking around the small copse of trees we found ourselves in. Flak fire filled the sky and our hearing, off in the distance. Definitely not in friendly land anymore, and a far fucking cry from that shitty beach we'd been on. Was the "benefactor" teleporting us like some cheap sci-fi movie? "So what now?" I asked the Caveman. Anon might not know much more than I did, but he did know a little bit more than I did, which was better than knowing fuck-all. Even if he was a prick.

 

That little shit just shrugged, as he finished checking over all his own gear, and reloading his rifle. "I dunno, to be honest. I remember watching Band of Brothers like… once… on HBO with my parents. Uhh… we should probably find some other paratroopers - that's what we are by the by - and figure out what the hell we're supposed to be doing here. This is like… the night before that beach we were on. That was the following morning."

 

Oh so we were time traveling now. What in the goddamn-?

 

"Yeah, okay." I agreed. Withdrawing the Colt pistol again now that we were preparing to move. Better to have something to shoot with than nothing. "Lead on then, oh masterful tree hugger."

 

"Ha. You're hilarious." He snarked in return, as we began to set off towards the sounds of distant gunfire.

 

"So glad you noticed, spear-chucker." I retorted, as he wordlessly flipped me the bird.

 

===

 

We came across other friendly paratroopers shortly after we set off - and though I'd never tell his monkey ass, I was kinda glad he'd watched that boring ass Band of Brothers series on TV because it meant he actually knew what a sign and countersign was. Shit, it'd have been really, really awkward if we'd come this far into our attempt already only to have to start it all over because we got shot by our own friendlies. 

 

That'd have been stupid. 

 

In any case, we thus met Lieutenant Taggart, apparently of Dog Company, 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment. That was us, I guess. On paper, our job going forwards was going to be pretty simple for the night: blow up six flak guns in our immediate area to clear the rest of the drop zones for subsequent paratrooper drops, and take the Vierville - Cauquigny road to ensure that reinforcements wouldn't reach Omaha Beach come dawn.

 

Taggart himself seemed… eh, competent. Definitely more friendly than that Captain Mckay guy. Definitely more laid back too. Still, he had a sort of killer edge - kinda like the one I see from time to time in Dad when he's in work mode on a longer case at the precinct - and was still all about shooting Nazis and doing his job. 

 

Which, yeah, fair enough. Trish would probably enjoy hanging out with the guy. Hell, she'd probably find this whole thing cathartic. Me? I was just ready to get back to my music, honestly.

 

We gathered ourselves up - the twelve of us total - and I was now temporarily lugging some sort of German submachine gun similar to the Thompson I'd been lugging earlier - and began to creep up on the first of the six AA guns, this one at the far edge of the marsh we'd been stuck in.

 

We hit the kraut gun and ran through its crew like a scythe through a wheatfield, and shredded the damned thing, for no losses of our own.

 

I lowered my kraut gun as one of the other paratroopers set explosive charges, though heavy rifle fire in the distance interrupted us before we could finish the job.

 

"Sounds like both us and them." Anon remarked, garnering a nod from Taggart as the man tapped his helmet once, twice. Probably a nervous tic.

 

"Finish up the explosives, and put 'em on a five minute timer. We'll go surprise jerry over there." And so, off we went.

 

As we approached the gunfire, we came into view of what looked to be a whole German platoon- including a machine gun like they'd had on the beach - firing at an old farmhouse with some other friendly paratroopers inside. They were, of course, shooting at each other. Not a big surprise there.

 

We took up position behind a low stone wall close-ish to the Germans, and just as the AA gun behind us blew up we opened fire on the suddenly shocked and confused Germans.

 

They spun about, getting a few shots off as they panicked…

 

…Including one that pegged the Caveman right in his damned jaw. 

 

Well, shit. That was unlucky.

===

 

We found ourselves back at the farmhouse again after another geronimo leap and dealing with angry Germans. This time, we took things a tad slower, and things went off more or less without a hitch. 

 

Trading my stolen German smg for a paratrooper's carbine as we regrouped with the surviving farmhouse troopers, I listened intently as Lt. Taggart separated us into two teams. Myself and Anon were on road guard duty, paired up with a squad's worth of paratroopers to be put under our command. Apparently we were still Sergeants, or whatever. One pair of our eight accompanying troopers were lugging a narrow metal tube called a 'bazooka', which was apparently meant to blow up trucks or something. Cool.

 

Meanwhile Taggart's larger team was working backwards from us, closer to the beach and intent on clearing out both an AA gun and a Kraut ammo cache. So, until he finished that up, we were staying in position here at the farmhouse crossroad, with the intent being to stop any kraut patrols that wandered down our way.

 

The first German patrol came down the road a minute or so later, headed by a motorcycle of some sort. Anon's garand barked off a shot as the bike crested the corner, and knocked the driver square off the thing - sending his body tumbling off into the ditch beside the dirt road. He… really wasn't half bad with that rifle.

 

Some sort of weird half tank, half car looking thing with a machine gun up top came around the bend next. The bazooka team blew that- apparently called a half-track, which… okay, yeah, makes sense - up with a well placed bazooka rocket. It detonated pretty spectacularly, very easily killing whoever was inside as another small team of airborne soldiers jogged up the road behind us, carrying a machine gun and it's ammo with them.

 

"Taggart sent us, he'll be up here in a couple." The machine gun team leader remarked, as they planted their MG in a ditch to watch down the road.

 

"Cool." I nodded, gesturing down said road with a free hand and towards the vehicle wrecks. "The Germans are comin' down the road from that way. You see any krauts, you blast 'em."

 

"You got it, Sarge." The gunner nodded, as his loader fed him a fresh ammo belt. 

 

A detonation off behind us caught our attention momentarily. That'd be Taggart, touching off that AA gun. Four to go, and the road still to clear.

 

Another German patrol rolled up shortly after, as Taggart's squad - now bolstered by a few more paratroopers they'd picked up along the way - fell in with our defensive positions, and we saw them off without much issue. 

 

"Okay, Aaron, Mous, well done you two." Taggart began, before nodding to the rest of the assembled paratroopers - there were nearly thirty of us now, a nice little gathering of dudes. "Actually, good job to all of you boys. Let's get the MG broken down and get rolling up the road, we've still got more shit to do. Hop to it, airborne."

 

With a few quiet grunts of affirmation, we broke down our little defensive position, and started creeping our way up the road.

 

We didn't come across any new German patrols, though we did spot another flak gun, towards the far end of the marsh that Caveman and I had originally crept out of. It was further north than we'd been, and we'd been headed east, which explained why we'd missed the thing leaving the bog.

 

Creeping up slowly on the third AA gun of the night, we saw that it was keeping another squad of paratroopers pinned down in a copse of trees northward of the gun. Besides the AA gun, a Squad of German riflemen and a pair of smaller MGs were also keeping the paratroopers pinned down in the dirt.

 

Taggart didn't even blink or think twice, despite the heavy German firepower, and primed grenades with a couple of the other paratroopers. They hucked the grenades into the kraut positions as we began dumping rifle fire into the surviving Germans.

 

I froze, dead on the spot, as the big ass flak gun spun smoothly on it's mount to face us, coming snout to snout with the four massive cannon barrels. My mouth was dry.

 

Oh shit.

 

Thankfully, Taggart's snap decision kept a couple of the Formerly pinned down paratroopers alive and breathing, and they tore into the flak guns with their own rifles. 

 

I exhaled, then inhaled again, fhen exhaled again, as the muddy position fell silent for a minute.

 

That…

 

That was close.

 

Realistically I'd have been okay. I'd have respawned. Been back on the plane where we'd started.

 

But fuck , I don't like that gut reaction of having a gun - or several guns - pointed at my face. 

 

"-rth to Fang. Hello? Aaron? Fang? You with me?"

 

I came back to my senses, as the ringing in my ear holes faded away, and the blurry spots in my vision coalesced back into the shape of the Caveman. Of Anon.

 

"Wh- yeah. I'm here. I just…"

 

"Wasn't expecting that?"

 

"Yeah. That." I finished lamely.

 

I expected some dickhead comment from the skinnie. Instead… he just nodded, and held out a hand to help me up. When did I hit the floor? I took his hand. "Taggart took the others and moved across the road to deal with another pair of guns. I told him I'd stay here until you were good to move again." He said instead.

 

"How long-" words failed me.

 

"Couple of minutes." He replied, neutrally. Not making a big deal of… that.

 

God I'm so fucking useless. Even in a fucking video game.

 

"Oh."

 

"S'all cool." Anon shrugged, looking me over with a critical eye. I was shaking, still, I couldn't hold my fucking claws straight, fuck I'm such a waste of- "You smoke at all?"

 

He pulled me completely out of my thoughts with the non-sequitur. "What?" I blinked, not really processing that as the mental faculties came flatly to a halt. What'd he ask that for?

 

Anon dug around in his pockets, and held out a crumpled package labeled "Lucky Strikes". The smell of nicotine hit my snout like a familiar shitty air freshener. "Y'know. Cigarettes. Lighter? Sticky-in-the-mouth and blow?"

 

Ugh. Real elegant. Still… if he was offering, "Yeah, I smoke. Got a lighter?"

 

"Matches." He corrected. I just shrugged, tapped a cigarette out of the pack, and wedged it between my teeth. Anon lit a match off the box and held it up for me, as I took a long, calming drag off the cigarette. I blew the smoke out into the night air, after a moment. Shit, I needed that.

 

I wasn't shaking anymore.

 

"Thank you." I said, in a small, quiet voice. "And uh. Sorry. For being a dick. Or whatever."

 

"Yeah, ditto." Anon sighed, rubbing his bald ass forehead beneath his helmet. "We kinda got off on the wrong foot there. Truce?" He questioned, holding out a hand, cautiously.

 

I took one final drag on the cigarette and dropped it into the muck, reaching out and shaking his outstretched hand as I squished out the cigarette. "Yeah. Truce. Fang Aaron. Good to meet you. Don't gender me or whatever you normies do."

 

He blinked, momentarily confused. Guess he'd never met someone non-binary before. Whatever. Thanks Trish and Reed for reminding me that I need to tell people that shit because your average Joe schmoe doesn't care to ask and then things just get awkward and shouty. "Oh, uh, sure. Anon Mous. Glad we could get past the mutual bitching at each other.

 

Yeah. Whatever. "Yeah." I repeated, giving the guy a tentative smile. He'd been… kind… at least, which was more than I could say about other people. "Yeah. Glad we could."

 

"Cool." He nodded, awkwardly. "Let's uh, let's go find Taggart, then."

 

"Sure. Lead on, then."