Safeguard: Black #2

"There ya go boys!" Sabre shouts as he slams his hands onto both Dead-eye's and Karsten's backs, "just like I promised ya, safe and sound on solid ground."

"You did do that," Dead-eye intoned emotionless.

"Jah," Karsten said as he turned to look at the battered jet, the group stole from the Zeppelin's hanger, "but you have left us with no means of transport."

Sabre turned and scratched the back of his head, "yeah well, I never said I was a pilot mate."

"You could have allowed me to fly it," Dead-eye interjected as he inspected the wreckage.

"Well you could have bloody well said something before!" Sabre shouted at his friend, "Balls, we better get walkin'. Don't even know where we bloody are. Dead-eye which way should we go."

"There's people in that direction," Dead-eye responds as he points to the south.

"Guess we're walkin," Sabre said with a shrug.

~~~

"No damn sense in this," Sabre complained after three hours of walking, "thought you said there were people this way."

"Perhaps he was mistaken?" Karsten asked.

"There is no possibility that I mistook the life that I sensed. There is a small community this way," Dead-eye said, "It may be further than I expected but it is there."

"Yeah whatever,"Sabre said as he pushed on, "Bloody guy's like a freakin' robot."

"He is curious," Karsten said, "Herr Blatt would like inspect him."

Sabre grunted, and flexed his right hand, the lack of his magic ring made him nervous, and Dead-eye's detached manner was always unnerving even after they'd been working together for what was it two years now. The secret team of Safeguard, no one knew about them and no one ever would, Director Takkula mentioned someone else being drafted into the team, but so far nothing. Sabre, who was better know as the mysterious British hero L'escrimeur Mysterieux, or Randy Domelen, was tall, lean, and graceful. His dark green eyes, held an almost malicious intelligence.

In school he practiced the art of fencing and later on in life he won multiple Gold medals in the Olympics. His teachers and coaches bandied about the word gifted. Randy would always shrug and just keep up one of the only things he enjoyed doing. After he felt he had gone everywhere he could go with the art of sword play, he started training in Savate, the art of French Boxing.

Randy smiled as he remembered getting his ring, not more than five years ago he received the ring from a strange old man. The man had mentioned he should use the ring for good. He almost laughed as the old man watched in horror as the coin Randy flipped to decide what he'd do with the ring spun in the air.

Turns out being the good guy was fun, but not as much fun as this. Good guys pretending to be bad guys. It was the greatest challenge he'd ever faced and he loved it.

Five feet ahead of Sabre strode Dead-eye, or the otherworldly archer known only as Arrow. No one was fully sure of what kind of powers Arrow had control over, but he was an amazing shot with his trick arrows, and he knew a lot. A frightening amount of knowledge seemed to be locked in his mind, but not even he could grasp it. One of the Safeguard psychologists said Arrow's personality was a result of that. Randy just thought he was off in the head.

Than there was Dieter Karsten, or Schulterriemen, the second in command to the genocidal Rottes Blatt, the last remaining vestige of Hitler's Nazi regime. The explosive energy ball throwing Aryan. Arrow and himself were sent to break Karsten out and infiltrate Blatt's organisation. So off they went hiking through the woods to the abandoned farm house that held the car they were supposed to get to their safe house in Prague. Hopefully Randy got the piloting part right and landed where they were supposed to.