Wing and Sword: Chat et Souris (Prologue)

[The Shaman]

Pyotr aims at the fellagha cowering among the rocks. He’s almost impossible to see...almost. The shot rings out and the insurgent’s head snaps back, his cap flying off as he crumples to the ground.

Normand charges forward, oblivious to the grenade launched by Lavareaux at the two fells before them. The detonation sends rock and sand flying – through the dust Normand sees one of the fellaghas lying in a twisted heap, the machine pistol falling from his limp hands, as the other staggers to his feet, turning toward safety. He’s too late. Normand’s punch digs deep into the Arab’s side, the brass knuckles crushing organs in their path. The fellagha cries out as he jerks back and collapses onto the rocks.

The blast catches Marcel by surprise as he races past the fellaghas. Pelted by dust and rocks he scrambles toward the fallen radioman. As he approaches he sees Sgt. Duval bury his combat knife deep into the abdomen of one of the fellaghas, then slash the second across the shoulder blades as the insurgent turns and runs away.

As he runs Marcel sees the fellagha standing over Vidal aim the radioman’s pistol at Sgt. Duval’s back and squeeze the trigger. The bullet catches the jumpmaster in the upper arm, but the fellagha doesn’t wait to take another shot – he turns and disappears into the cloud of red smoke hanging over the rocks.

Marcel races up to Vidal, and drops down beside him, spilling the meager supplies to the ground. Vidal is pale – blood stains the side of his head where the rifle butt connected. As he fumbles with his supplies, Marcel also notices a large dent in one side of Vidal’s helmet – the blow from the rifle was not the only hit that the radioman took to the head apparently.

On the hill Pyotr sees the two fellaghas in the gully running north along the streambed, away from the legionnaires, not looking back. A glance over his shoulder reveals that the insurgents among the rocks are falling back as well. The sound of combat dies away, replaced by the receding roar of the jets and the faint buzz of the spotter plane still making a lazy orbit a short distance away.

End of round 38, and WE ARE NO LONGER IN INITIATIVE ORDER! WOO-HOO!

Pyotr has a clear shot at the two fells retreating if he wants to take it.

Good job, legionnaires.

 

[Barak]

While he probably wouldn't admit it, Normand had been sort of glad to have the grenade do most of the job for him.

I'm pretty sure I normally could have taken them both, but I -was- shot twice, after all.

Looking around, he then realizes that the fells have all but disappeared, and that no shots are fired toward any legionnaires. Unsure of what to do now, and still feeling somewhat sheepish at having dropped his empty rifle, he looks for his closest superior.

 

[shadowbloodmoon]

As soon as the first fell dropped, Pyotr looked for another, but after his shot and a loud explosion nearby, he didn't see any. When the smoke from the grenade cleared, he spotted two of them making a run for it and the other group that was in the rocks had already fled. Quickly turning to catch one of the runners in his sights, Pyotr's fingers tensed on the trigger. Just one more will do. Just one.

Pyotr's fingers relaxed. Even if he caught that one, there will still more running away and he knew he couldn't catch them all, so his killing this one wouldn't make a difference when they came back with more. He looked deep into the runner's back. "You have a mark this day, tovarisch. Your life is mine." Pyotr then got up to a kneeling position, quickly scanning the area to make sure there weren't any laggers. though it was difficult through the smoke and dust.

Spot check: 7

 

[Bobitron]

Marcel collects the spilled contents of the kit and his calm with a deep breath. Taking his time, he starts carefully inspecting Vidal's head and doing what he can for the fallen man. "Stay with me, Vidal. I'll have you up and around in no time."

ooc: Take ten on my Treat Injury check for a result of 19, stabilizing then restoring HP. Rolled a 4.

Once he finishes up with Vidal, he helps the Spaniard to his feet. "Take it easy for a while, Vidal. If you feel dizzy, take a seat, bien?"

"Duval, you were a warrior out there!" Marcel lets out a low whistle as he sees the officer's wounds. "Do you mind taking a knee while I check some of those out? You can still give orders while I work." Marcel winks at Duval conspiratorially.

ooc: Treat Injury by taking ten again, healing 3.

"Who's my next priority, Sir?"

 

[The Shaman]

Carefully removing Vidal’s helmet, Marcel inspects the wounded legionnaire’s head. Beneath where the bullet struck his helmet there is a pronounced bump and abrasion – behind his ear there is a deep laceration left by the rifle butt. Carefully palpating the radioman’s skull, Vidal is pleased to note there are no signs of fracture. From the pile of supplies Marcel plucks out an ammonia inhalant. Carefully applying it under Vidal’s nose he delicately rouses the unconscious para. Vidal: Stabilized with 1 HP.

From atop the hill, Pyotr sees the fellaghas falling back toward the oued, mostly in ones and twos, some obviously wounded. A small group of insurgents, from among those hiding in the rocks to the west of the hill, stops to retrieve two more wounded men – a couple gather weapons from the dead as well. Dozens of bodies are visible on the warm ground, clustered near the oued where the legionnares first encountered the fellaghas, where the first attack came as the legionnaires retreated, scattered along the gully, and now at the base of the hill where the paras made their stand. The Russian sees Sgt. Duval cleaning his bloody knife on the uniform of one of the dead fells lying at the jumpmaster’s feet. The sergent-chef looks up toward Pyotr and points to the légionnaire, then points to his own eyes and finally waves his arm in a sweeping arc in the direction of the fellaghas’ retreat. Duval sheathes his knife and picks up his submachine gun then walks over to where Marcel is attending to Vidal.

Duval appears over the two legionnaires. Blood stains the front of his smock and a thin trickle rolls down his hand and drips on the ground. “You’ve got a thick skull, radio,” he says, his scarred leer tempering the fierce light in his eyes. He reaches down and touches Vidal on the shoulder, then reaches for the radio handset dangling from the Motorola still strapped to the legionnaire’s back. “Juliet 4, Hourglass 1. Can you see the fells?”

Over the radio comes the young spotter’s voice. “Stand by, Hourglass 1. Coming around now.”

"Duval, you were a warrior out there!" Marcel lets out a low whistle as he sees the officer's wounds. "Do you mind taking a knee while I check some of those out? You can still give orders while I work." Marcel winks at Duval conspiratorially.

Duval nods. “The arm is a scratch,” he says as he drops to one knee. Marcel unbuttons the jumpmaster’s smock. Inside is a sock, soaked with blood, a temporary dressing apparently placed by Duval. Peeling back the sock, Marcel sees a star-shaped wound to the side of the chest, just below the nipple line. The medic’s hand next palpates Duval’s back – there is no sign of an exit wound. Marcel places a clean dressing – his last – over the hole and binds it with his last bandage. As he works he also notices a laceration lower down, a knife wound, long but not deep, little more than a scrape along the lower ribs. It’s not bleeding, and with no more supplies, there is little to be done.

Normand stands over the dying fellagha and looks around. Lavareaux is on one knee, looking tired and pale, breathing hard. The caporal-chef labors to stand, then checks the other two fellaghas, his pistol pointed at the bodies until he’s satisfied they’re dead. The Picard then reaches for the MP-40 lying on the ground, untangling the strap from the fellagha’s body. Normand notes that the dead fell has two stars, one red, one white, embroidered on the shoulder straps of his fatigues – as Lavareaux flips over the body to free the machine pistol, a silver whistle on a lanyard can be seen around his neck. The caporal-chef rummages through the pockets of the dead insurgent, then looks at Normand. “Find a weapon, légionnaire,” he says, his voice hoarse and low, “and start checking the bodies.”

Sgt. Duval is silent as Marcel treats his injuries. After the medic is done, the jumpmaster stands and surveys the scene. “Fortier, I need a casualty count.”

 

[Barak]

"Aye aye, sir", Normand answers Lavareaux. "If I may make a suggestion, sir, you may want to go see Fortin. He can be silly, but he's a decent medic, and you don't look too good, if you don't mind me saying, sir."

Not really expecting a response to what Normand suspects might be viewed as insubordination, he makes his way to the closest "uninspected" fell, taking his weapon for himself before checking the body for anything else of interest, and to make sure they are dead, remedying to the situation if they are not. Once that is done, he'll start doing the same with any bodies he can see, paying special attention to weapons and ammunitions. He also makes sure to go by the spot where he dropped his own rifle, to pick it up.


OOC:
Once he'll have searched as many bodies as he can see, he'll make his way to wherever Duval is at that point, and drop everything there.

 

[Bobitron]

Marcel snaps a quick salute at Duval before running off and checking out the squad. He returns after a couple minutes.

"Berg and Martinez are down. Looks like Martinez might be OK with some surgery. I might be able to pull it off here in the field, but I need to work quickly to keep him. Berg was dead before he hit the ground." Marcel sighs then continues, counting off the squad on his fingers.

"You held up pretty well, considering. Normand will be able to move but needs some work. Vidal got clocked pretty well and can use some surgery, and both Neumann and Lavareaux are mobile but hurt."

Marcel looks for guidance from the commander. "I think I'll check out the officers first, then we need to decide if I can take the time to operate on Martinez."

He rushes off towards Neumann first.

ooc: Let me know if I missed anything. I'll be without internet for the weekend. Please make any rolls needed for healing, using take ten and take twenty wherever possible. Thanks, Shaman!

 

[shadowbloodmoon]

Pyotr nodded as Duval ordered him to watch the retreating fells. He quickly got to his feet and started marching in the general direction of where they were headed, scanning as much of the area as his eyes would allow. Remembering that somewhere in the area might still be that MG-34, he made a pattern in his head to walk in that general direction.

Pyotr will move towards the MG-34 in a roundabout manner, at the same time continuing to scan for any remaining live fells.

Spot: 16

Let me know if you need anything else...

 

[The Shaman]

Marcel heads up the hill, remembering the bloody Sgt. Neumann. He finds the German sergent resting against a rock, surrounded by spent cartridges, as he drinks sips of water from his canteen – he looks wan but alert. Gonzalez lies on his back among the rocks, his rifle across his chest. His dark eyes are glassy as he watches Marcel, a profound weariness in his gaze.

“Ich lebte,” Neumann says heavily, shading the sun from his eyes with a blood-stained hand. “Through the shoulder. A clean wound.”

The sergent is right – the bullet that caught the German’s shoulder left two neat holes, one just above the clavicle, the other over the scapula, through and through. Apparently the round missed major vessels, as neither hole is bleeding badly now – a ‘million franc wound’. Not sure who else may be more badly wounded, Marcel promises to check back after finishing his rounds.
____

Normand picks up the rifle released by the fellagha he dropped, a Mauser with a Spanish stamp on the barrel, and turns up a spare magazine. He follows Lavareaux as they check the insurgents. The scene is bloody: the grenades did their butcher’s work well, as did Pyotr’s headshot of the hiding fellagha. After recovering his own rifle, Normand follows Lavareaux as they make their way over to where Duval and Vidal rest – Duval is speaking on the radio as they approach, wreathed in the slowly dissipating red smoke from the grenade he tossed. He points at Lavareaux, then at Normand, then points to the gully just west of where the jumpmaster kneels. The caporal-chef nods and says to Normand, “Defensive position, over there.” The two legionnaires settle in to cover the flank.
____

Marcel sees Pyotr working his way carefully across the desert, rifle held ready, as the medic returns to Duval. Normand and Lavareaux have taken up position in the gully, not far from two dead fells, and Marcel checks on the two men. Both are clearly in rough shape, but both are conscious and alert. “What about Dinter and Martinez?” the Picard asks.
____

Pyotr advances across the desert, his eyes shifting back and forth to pick up any hint of movement. Scattered here and there along the gully are bodies of fellaghas struck by the legionnaires’ fire. One wounded fell, clutching at his thigh with bloody hands as he lies on the floor of the dry streambed, watches Pyotr warily – he makes no move as the Russian approaches, keeping both hands tight over the wound, blood oozing between his fingers. Moving on cautiously, Pyotr reaches the position strafed by the Mistral’s cannons – not since the war has he witnessed a scene of such destruction, bodies torn to pieces by the 20mm shells. The MG-34 is upended, its bipod sticking into the air – the gunner’s headless corpse lies nearby.
____

Vidal listens as Duval speaks on the radio to the pilot in the L-18 overhead. “Copy, Juliet 4, fellaghas moving north along the oued. Break. Trident 1, Hourglass 1?”

“Hourglass 1, Trident 1.” The voice of capitaine Villiers can be heard over the receiver. “What is your status, Jean-Marie?”

“The fells have disengaged and are retreating north along the oued. Juliet 4 has them under observation,” Duval replies. “Estimate approximately forty to fifty enemy KIA. Our casualties are one KIA, five wounded, and two MIA. We are scavenging ammo and medical supplies.”

“Understood, Hourglass 1. We are working on getting support for you now. Hang on there. Trident 1 out.” The radio grows quiet.

Duval offers the handset to Vidal. “Can you monitor this?” he asks.
____

Marcel passes the sergent-chef and the radioman as he makes his way north. Dinter and Martinez – last time he saw them was before the smoke grenades started going off, out on their own in the streambed to the north. Rifle in hand, the medic advances carefully. The streambed is littered with the bodies of nearly a dozen fells, some shredded by grenade splinters, others by submachine gun and rifle fire. As he looks around vigilantly, he spots two forms in the familiar camouflage of the paras sprawled to one side of the gully – neither is moving. Moving toward the men, he sees Martinez and Dinter lying in a heap on the rocky ground.

 

[Barak]

Taking position to cover the possible return of the fells, Normand looked at Lavareaux, and shake his head.

"You know sir, I joined the Legion under false beliefs. I really thought if I got wounded, I'd get to flirt with the nurse, but all we have is Fortin, and he ain't that cute, sir."

Shaking his head in mock sadness, he returns his attention to the ground in which the fells dissolved.