Wing and Sword: Life During Wartime

“I’m here.”

Sgt. Katsourianis stands in the open doorway to the exam room. “It’s a bruise, doc, that’s all,” he continues, scowling. He removes his smock and lifts up his undershirt to reveal a large reddish-blue patch on his hip at the belt line – the skin is abraded as well, marked by tiny coagulations of dried blood. “Now why do you need to go to the Esso?”

“That Arab, Ferhaz?” Pauline interjects, her eyes narrowing as she speaks. “The garage is across the street from my seamstress. I’ve seen that Ferhaz talking to the Moroccan before.”

Dr. Bruzzi straightens up after tying off the suture. “Everyone talks to everyone in town, Pauline,” he says.

“Oui, of course,” she replies, “but...” She trails off, and busies herself with readying the next needle and thread for the doctor.

The physician looks at the wound on Normand’s arm. “Tahar was a mechanic in the army. It’s where he learned his trade.” He glances at the legionnaires. “I take it that Ferhaz was involved in the attack on the farm?”

Katsourianis winces as Marcel checks the wound. “Who are you talking about? And what does this have to do with the Esso station?” he asks impatiently

Normand looks at Kat, unsure of how the sergeant will react to their wonderings.

"We're just trying to figure out how things happened, sarge. 'Cause the whole thing's.. Weird. Mr Rubiera dropped his citroen at the Esso station, apparently to have it repaired. That's why, I figure, Ferhaz was in town with the truck, you know? To bring him, his son and the supplies back to the farm. And the mysterious fifth man, we gather."

Normand shakes his head, and repeats what still bothers him.

"But that truck.. When it ambushed the gendarmes, it was headed away from town. Where were they going? That's what I want to know."

Marcel walks to Kat, inspecting the wound. "I told you this might be worse than you thought," he chides. "Let's see what we can do."

ooc: Treat Injury check is a 24. I don't think I used Treat on him when the wound was found. If I can use Surgery instead, go for it.

"A lot of it doesn't make any sense. Our only witness is a frightened eight year old and that prisoner who may or may not tell us anything. There's more to this..somehow." Pyotr goes to take a seat, then thinks better of it, resolving to stand by the door.

“I told you this might be worse than you thought,” Marcel chides Sgt. Katsourianis. “Let's see what we can do.”

“I had other things on my mind, doc,” Kat replies with annoyance as Marcel scrubs the scrapes with iodine swabs. Satisfied that the abrasion is clean, the medic looks for ice packs to place on the contusion.

“They were leaving the farm when they met the gendarmes,” the section leader agrees, “on their way to meet other fellagahs, maybe? Out in the bled somewhere?” Kat gasps slightly at Marcel applies the first ice pack. “My lower back, too,” he says quietly. Marcel heals 3 points of damage. Kat’s injuries are relatively minor – the medic can undertake Surgery but can add at most only a few more hit points while incapacitating the sergent for upwards of twenty-four hours.

“Mador, you think that one of the fells came from here in town? From the Esso?” Kat asks. “This army mechanic – Tahar, right? Is he an FLN sympathizer?” He winces as Marcel palpates his lumbar spine, and Pauline quietly directs the medic to a syringe and an anti-inflammatory.

Dr. Bruzzi has finished injecting Normand’s neck and stands with the curved needle ready to piece the anesthetized flesh. “The vocal separatists were chased out of Portemonte by the UT and the Army some time ago,” he replies, adjusting his glasses before starting the sutures. “Jacques Girard saw to that. The Arabs locally tend to keep to themselves. No one looks for trouble.”

“But if that Ferhaz fellow and the Moroccan were friends,” Pauline interjects, a hint of excitement in her voice, “maybe they were working together?” The plump nurse preps the hypodermic for Marcel and hands it to him primly, then returns to Dr. Bruzzi’s – and Normand’s – side at the examination table.

“Pauline, you don’t really know that they were ‘friends’, do you? There are three times as many Arabs in town as there are colons. Is anyone who ever spoke to Rubiera’s farmhands a maquisard now?” replies the physician, the reproach plain in his voice. The nurse’s chubby cheeks turn crimson but she says nothing. Dr. Bruzzi's tone softens as he continues, “These are complicated and dangerous times, dear. Speculation and rumors only makes things worse.”

Marcel slips the needle into the sergent’s lower back and slowly depresses the plunger. Kat stiffens slightly as the medic works, then looks around at the legionnaires. “What do you think?”

Normand shrugs, which brings a wince to his face.

"Well sarge, to tell you the truth, what I think is that right now we're making lots of wild guesses based on very little solid information, and on circumstancial crap. But a lot of it could be easily checked out, and it would probably be worth the trouble. A simple visit to that Esso station, for example, would let us know if that mechanic is still there or not. And of course, that prisoner could have interesting informations, if we could talk to him."

"Speaking of, where did they take that prisoner? I'd like to be there when they interrogate him. Maybe we can get some solid answers. I'd like to have Normand along too, for..inspiring.. him to answer the questions." Pyotr grins a bit.

"We have a saying in the Ukraine. When the bear leaves, the wolves eat. We'll probably have to wait until the locals are done with him first to get anything good out of him."

Marcel grimaces a bit at Pyotr's comments about the wolves. Oui, like the way the Russians are eating in Europe ever since the Germans left. He keeps his thought to himself for once, though; Pytor was a friend and fellow legionnaire.

"I agree with Normand and Pyotr, Sergent. We should get to the petrol station and question the prisoner."

Marcel finishes up with Kat, motioning that he can dress. "Dr. Bruzzi. While I respect your opinion, Pauline is right to suspect in this situation. We are tasked with looking in to any connections regarding the insurgency. Looking into these sort of loose threads and hunches is how it is done. I know it sounds harsh, but you weren't there. You didn't see that family lying on the floor in blood." Marcel's eyes are fierce and flash with anger.

Marcel turns back to his commander. "Sgt. Kat, can the three of us take a truck out to the station, then over to the jail?"

Kat slips on his smock carefully. “Maybe you’d like to a helicopter instead of the truck, Commando Fortier?” the Greek replies icily. “If this Moroccan actually knows anything, we should find where he lives and let the gendarmes...”

“Oh, he lives at the station!” Pauline interrupts, “in a flat in the back.” She smiles triumphantly,

The sergent considers the information as Dr. Bruzzi ties off the last suture in Normand’s neck. “Okay,” Kat says at last, “we’ll take a look.” He looks up at Normand. “I’m not going to ask, ‘cause I’m sure you’ll say yes. Doctor,” he continues, “my radioman, can he to return to duty?”

Dr. Bruzzi shakes his head. “I’ve already given him an anesthetic for his leg and started an IV with antibiotics. He won’t be able to walk for at least another two hours.” The physician wipes his hands on a towel. “I appreciate the young légionnaire’s enthusiasm and dedication,” says the Italian, nodding to Marcel. “I’ve seen more blood spilled in my years than I can remember, and I don’t care to see more, tonight or any night. I ask you to reconsider, sergent.” He takes off his glasses and cleans them with an edge of his scrubs as he speaks. “This is a delicate time in relations between the colons and the Arabs in Portemonte. The death of the Rubieras has inflamed the town already. I do not wish to see a massacre fueled by innuendo.”

Kat looks at the doctor. “We saw those ‘relations’ earlier, doctor,” he replies evenly. “If there is a connection, I don’t want it to slip away in the night.” The sous-officier closes the last button on his tunic, them slips his beret from the shoulder strap and puts it on his head. “I take your point. Is there a way to get to the Esso without taking the main streets?”

The doctor sighs quietly and says nothing for a moment, then, his face resigned, he replies, “There is an alley...”

In the lobby of the clinic is a surprise – David and Burhan returned with a large basket of bread, cheese, and olives along with two bottles of wine and hot coffee in a silver ewer. The legionnaires bolt the food eagerly as Kat outlines the plan. “It’s a garage with an attached flat, one story. Two big sliding doors in front, same in back, with a chainlink fence enclosing the rear of the building. The nurse says this Moroccan keeps a big dog back there, so we’ll approach from the front.”

“Manolo, you’ll take Babaye’s group, and I’ll take the choc group. Take care of perimeter security.” He frowns slightly. “We’ll figure out entry once we get a look at the place.”

“We want to avoid contact with the townspeople if we can. We’re taking an alley about two blocks, from behind this row of buildings opposite. I want light and noise discipline the whole way. If we make contact with the UT or other civilians, let me do the talking. Got that, Fortier?”

The sergent glances at the big metal chronograph in his wrist. “The moon won’t be up for several hours. Know what you’re shooting at. Burhan, you’re on point – everyone else, tactical column on me.”

The paras slip out the door and cross the street, stealing between two buildings across from the clinic into the alley. The high desert air is already cold, and windows and curtains are closed against the chill – little light intrudes on the shadows of the alley, save from the back door of a bistro which the paras quickly pass. After a couple of blocks darting between pools of darkness Kat raises his hand and the column stops behind a tidy pied-noir house – in the dim light beyond is the cyclone fence marking the rear of the service station.

The section leader grips Sánchez by the sleeve and whispers in his ear, then motions to the choc group – Nedjar, Burhan, Pyotr, and Normand – to follow him. The four men backtrack a short ways until a path between two homes is found – slipping between the houses, hoping there are no dogs or curious citizens, the legionnaires make their way to the street, and jog the short distance to where they can see the front of the Esso station.


All: Spot, Listen, Hide, and Move Silently checks, please! Marcel is with Sánchez, Ortu, Asmussen, and Syrovy near O20 on the map. Pyotr and Normand are with Katsourianis, Nedjar, and Pamuk near E20. Note that none of you are on the map proper yet.

Marcel grins at Kat's comments regarding his running mouth, nodding his agreement and making a zipping motion with his hand across his lips. The smile doesn't leave his face as he washes his hands once again and gathers his gear.

The taste of the wine and cheese still strong in his mouth, he follows Sánchez closely, checking his carbine reflexively as he moves. Removing the safety, he keeps the short rifle's dangerous end aimed at the ground and his finger outside the trigger guard as his eyes sweep left and right, squinting into the darkness. He can barely make out the large square shape of a dumpster behind the fence, swearing under his breath as he peers into the night. I can't see a thing...

ooc:
Spot 5
Listen 15
Hide 20
Move Silently 15