Nein, ich spreche kein Deutsch.

. . .

June Aktion stares at the low-flying bi-plane, the only prototype of a classified German design, as one might survey a museum exhibit; the lines of gun-fire to either side of her do not arouse interest nor distract from her focus.

The pilot pulls a hard pass overhead, hoping to knock this unyielding mad-woman to the ground, but to no avail: June ducks lightly and spins around on her heel, a grappling hook spiralling forward and fast from the gun in her hand. The hook loops and sinks hard into the front of the left wing.

The gun hooks to her utility belt with a heavy snap, and with a whir of the micro-rotors she is pulled into a fast ascent.

 

     JUNE AKTION: “Alle an Bord!”

 

June quickly finds her footing on the wing of the plane, stepping with a studied poise as she rapidly closes the distance between her and the cockpit. The pilot, startled, pulls his stub-nosed gun in a panic, only to feel his jaw smashed and broken under the heavy boot of his passenger.

The gun falls from limp fingers, tumbling far to the earth below.

Still on the wing, one hand gripped around a support pole, June pulls the plane down into a light landing. No tilting, no skidding, no heavy breaking: a near perfection of balanced engineering is evidenced by every move of the plane.

The pilot, his face reddened and mashed, hits the runway with a pounding thud; his beaten body flops twice and goes still. June jumps down from the wing after him, landing in a low crouch. A quick check on his pulse and breath finds the pilot alive, if almost certain to need medical care before he can be interrogated.

June tugs the grappling hook free from the wing, the cord retracting automatically as she does, and snaps it back into the muzzle. Her finger tips lightly trace the Iron Crosses on either side of the handle, eyes down on the unconscious pilot.

 

     JUNE AKTION: “Spaß, nicht wahr?”