DKM Fafnir :
Atlantic Ocean, 17:50 hours:
"Ein zweimotoriges Kipprotorflugzeug mit zwei dreiblättrigen Rotoren"
Over two meters tall, with his fuligin cloak sweeping the lift, the newest pilot on the Fafnir calmly waited as the floors passed by, the ocean breeze swirling his garments. Crewmembers on the lift kept their distance, the inhuman glare of the protective face shield and the groaning of the respiration unit created a sense of inhumanity in the SS Pilot.
"Level One, Flugzuegsturmmbanfuhrer." The flat platform on the port side of the aircraft carrier came to a gentle halt, and the black figure swept over the deck towards his craft, the latest in technology that the abwehr had decoded from the extraterrestrial transmissions. He knew in his mind that the Americans had also found some of the information useful, but their rebel alliance would fall soon to the might of the New German Republic, the massive kreigsmarine carrier he was on had proven this just yesterday, taking out most of the Allied battle fleet near Jutland. Ah, watching the once mighty English warships plunge beneath the waves had stirred his heart. Nothing could stand in their way towards the unification of this planet under NGR rule.
Then, perhaps this "empire" that ruled in the far away place could become an ally, and the message of the German people could sweep away the sickness infecting the system of life throughout the universe!
One of the crewmen manning the gas lines muttered, " He's quite mad, you know. Wears that costume night and day." He chuckled.
Another deck hand looked more warily at the tall SS man, there was a sense of evil about him that made the Gestapo seem like nice ice-cream salesmen.
"Ready the Kipprotorflugzeug!", the pilot barked, and men scrambled to make ready the ungainly looking aircraft from its moorings near the bridge, well protected by 88 mm flak guns.
"It is time to fly again, and hunt again." An American convoy had been sighted not 60 kilometers away, and the Stukas had been armed with long torpedoes. The flight deck vibrated as the dive bombers were launched, followed by TA-154's armed with rockets. The twin-engine craft also hummed as he fitted himself into the cockpit, the three rotor blades picking up speed. Straight up into the air he would go, faster than the piston engined airplanes, ready to take on any of the enemy patrol planes nearby.
His intercom crackled. "What is that off of the starboard bow? It looks like some sort of a walking tripod?" There was an unearthly green light about them.
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