Wing and Sword: Chat et Souris (Prologue)
The Shaman
First Post
“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.”
Lavareaux smiles through the pain. “I was in the 1er REC in Indochina – Alligator driver, LVT, you know what I’m talking about? Amphibious personnel carrier.” He shifts position slightly, grimacing with discomfort. “We were on this operation in the Delta and my vehicle got hit as we climbed out of a rice paddy. Bazooka rocket. Tore up the underside. I took splinters in the legs, then got hit by mortar fragments after I got out.” He snorts. “Another day like today. Anyway, I was in the hospital in Hanoi for a month, and after that I was living in barracks while I was rehabilitating, before returning to my escadron. I had this congais, Vietnamese girl, who took care of me.”
Again a small smile creases the Picard’s long face. “Trinh. Long black hair, soft skin. Smelled clean – a lot of viets smelled like a latrine, but not Trinh.”
The caporal-chef glances toward Marcel, then resumes scanning the desert for movement. “Fortier is not a fair trade. Still glad he’s here, though.” He shoots a look at Normand. “And Mador, save the ‘sirs’ for the sergents and the officers.”
____
Kneeling down to check the pulses of the two legionnaires, Marcel is relieved to see Dinter’s eyes flutter open. “Fortier.” He gives a crooked grin. “I’m hit low. I think Martinez is dead.” His eyes close again.
Quickly checking the Moroccan’s pulse and finding nothing, Marcel notes two bullet holes in Martinez’s back as he rolls the body off Dinter’s legs. The medic looks into his eyes – the pupils are fixed and dilated and his face is flushed from pooled blood. Martinez is gone.
Turning back to the German legionnaire, at first it’s hard to tell where Dinter has been hit – the back of his jump smock is covered with blood, possibly a mixture of Martinez’s and his own. Cutting away the fabric he finds a bullet hole just above the lower arch of his ribs – it occurs to Marcel that this slug may have passed through Martinez before stopping in Dinter.
The German legionnaire opens his eyes again. “My legs. I think I’m shot through the legs.”
Marcel continues his assessment, working his way down to Dinter’s thighs, and finds the wound. Or wounds. Slicing away at the legionnaire’s trousers, Marcel see that the bullet passed through the back of Dinter’s right leg and continued through the quadriceps of his left, taking a goodly piece of meat with it.
Lavareaux smiles through the pain. “I was in the 1er REC in Indochina – Alligator driver, LVT, you know what I’m talking about? Amphibious personnel carrier.” He shifts position slightly, grimacing with discomfort. “We were on this operation in the Delta and my vehicle got hit as we climbed out of a rice paddy. Bazooka rocket. Tore up the underside. I took splinters in the legs, then got hit by mortar fragments after I got out.” He snorts. “Another day like today. Anyway, I was in the hospital in Hanoi for a month, and after that I was living in barracks while I was rehabilitating, before returning to my escadron. I had this congais, Vietnamese girl, who took care of me.”
Again a small smile creases the Picard’s long face. “Trinh. Long black hair, soft skin. Smelled clean – a lot of viets smelled like a latrine, but not Trinh.”
The caporal-chef glances toward Marcel, then resumes scanning the desert for movement. “Fortier is not a fair trade. Still glad he’s here, though.” He shoots a look at Normand. “And Mador, save the ‘sirs’ for the sergents and the officers.”
____
Kneeling down to check the pulses of the two legionnaires, Marcel is relieved to see Dinter’s eyes flutter open. “Fortier.” He gives a crooked grin. “I’m hit low. I think Martinez is dead.” His eyes close again.
Quickly checking the Moroccan’s pulse and finding nothing, Marcel notes two bullet holes in Martinez’s back as he rolls the body off Dinter’s legs. The medic looks into his eyes – the pupils are fixed and dilated and his face is flushed from pooled blood. Martinez is gone.
Turning back to the German legionnaire, at first it’s hard to tell where Dinter has been hit – the back of his jump smock is covered with blood, possibly a mixture of Martinez’s and his own. Cutting away the fabric he finds a bullet hole just above the lower arch of his ribs – it occurs to Marcel that this slug may have passed through Martinez before stopping in Dinter.
The German legionnaire opens his eyes again. “My legs. I think I’m shot through the legs.”
Marcel continues his assessment, working his way down to Dinter’s thighs, and finds the wound. Or wounds. Slicing away at the legionnaire’s trousers, Marcel see that the bullet passed through the back of Dinter’s right leg and continued through the quadriceps of his left, taking a goodly piece of meat with it.
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Normand grins at Lavareaux, more than able to imagine what might have went on between him and his vietnamese "friend".
"Understood, Lavareaux. With my luck, I'll either be wounded light enough to only see Fortin, or badly enough to go see St-Pierre, but never in-between."
Pausing long enough to scan the terrain he's taken as his own to survey, he then continues.
"So.. Despite the interruption, do you figure this will be enough to qualify as our last training mission? I must say I'm eager to go on to the real stuff."
"Understood, Lavareaux. With my luck, I'll either be wounded light enough to only see Fortin, or badly enough to go see St-Pierre, but never in-between."
Pausing long enough to scan the terrain he's taken as his own to survey, he then continues.
"So.. Despite the interruption, do you figure this will be enough to qualify as our last training mission? I must say I'm eager to go on to the real stuff."
The Shaman
First Post
Pausing long enough to scan the terrain he's taken as his own to survey, Normand continues, “So… Despite the interruption, do you figure this will be enough to qualify as our last training mission? I must say I'm eager to go on to the real stuff.”
Lavareaux frowns. “This is as real as it gets, mon costaud.” Satisfied for the moment that there is no activity, the Picard reaches for his canteen. “We’re supposed to have four more training jumps at Blida. Two low-level jumps, two night jumps. No more field ‘exercises’. We’ll get our wings when we get back, but they won’t assign us to our regular billets until we’ve completed the full course.” He takes a swig from the canteen, spining the cap back into place as he glances at the sun shining high in the sky overhead. “Make sure you drink your water.” Lavareaux looks around at the dead fellaghas. “When Marcel gets back, we’ll organize a scavenging party, get the fells’ canteens. Maybe some more bandages.”
The canteen is back in its cover. “Keep an eye on that Russian out there,” instructs the caporal-chef, nodding toward Pyotr.
Lavareaux frowns. “This is as real as it gets, mon costaud.” Satisfied for the moment that there is no activity, the Picard reaches for his canteen. “We’re supposed to have four more training jumps at Blida. Two low-level jumps, two night jumps. No more field ‘exercises’. We’ll get our wings when we get back, but they won’t assign us to our regular billets until we’ve completed the full course.” He takes a swig from the canteen, spining the cap back into place as he glances at the sun shining high in the sky overhead. “Make sure you drink your water.” Lavareaux looks around at the dead fellaghas. “When Marcel gets back, we’ll organize a scavenging party, get the fells’ canteens. Maybe some more bandages.”
The canteen is back in its cover. “Keep an eye on that Russian out there,” instructs the caporal-chef, nodding toward Pyotr.
Bobitron
Explorer
Marcel winces at the wounds, lighting a cigarette and placing it between Dinter's lips. "This is going to hurt, Dinter. I won't lie to you." He rummages through the bare remains of the medkit and raids his pack for a clean shirt and a couple socks to use as bandages. He methodically begins the process of cleaning the wounds, using the water in his canteen and a sock.
ooc: Treat Injury 19 (taking ten) healing 1 HP.
"Do you think you can walk?"
He helps the veteran to his feet and heads back to Duval, letting Dinter place most of his weight on Marcel's shoulders. Once they reach Duval, he lets Dinter down gently on the ground and lights another cigarette for the badly wounded legionnaire.
"Sir, Martinez is gone. Dinter is hit bad in the chest and legs. He's a tough vieux chien de guerre, he'll fight again with some work. We need to get the bullets out, though, and that means an evac."
Marcel sits heavily on the ground, using a bloody sleeve to wipe a red line across his brow. "Those âmes faibles. You want to send someone over to collect Martinez and Berg?"
ooc: Treat Injury 19 (taking ten) healing 1 HP.
"Do you think you can walk?"
He helps the veteran to his feet and heads back to Duval, letting Dinter place most of his weight on Marcel's shoulders. Once they reach Duval, he lets Dinter down gently on the ground and lights another cigarette for the badly wounded legionnaire.
"Sir, Martinez is gone. Dinter is hit bad in the chest and legs. He's a tough vieux chien de guerre, he'll fight again with some work. We need to get the bullets out, though, and that means an evac."
Marcel sits heavily on the ground, using a bloody sleeve to wipe a red line across his brow. "Those âmes faibles. You want to send someone over to collect Martinez and Berg?"
Normand waits until Lavareaux is done drinking, and has returned his canteen to it's proper position, and therefore able to give his full attention to the task at hand before pulling out his own canteen and taking a long swallow.
As he returns the canteen to his own cover, he makes sure to spot Pyotr.
"The russky is in my sight. He's quite the shooter, too."
After a short pause, he speaks up once more.
"What about our KIAs, Lavareaux? Do you think we'll be able to bring them back, or at least bury them, or will we have to leave them here to rot?"
As he returns the canteen to his own cover, he makes sure to spot Pyotr.
"The russky is in my sight. He's quite the shooter, too."
After a short pause, he speaks up once more.
"What about our KIAs, Lavareaux? Do you think we'll be able to bring them back, or at least bury them, or will we have to leave them here to rot?"
The Shaman
First Post
“What about our KIAs, Lavareaux? Do you think we'll be able to bring them back, or at least bury them, or will we have to leave them here to rot?” Normand asks.
“The Legion never leaves its dead behind,” replies the caporal-chef solemnly. “The code d’honneur isn’t just words, Mador. We live it every day, and die for it when called upon. It’s how we keep faith with each other.” Lavareaux looks straight at Normand. His face is serious. “No one is left behind. Remember that.”
____
Dinter gasps pitifully as Marcel helps him to his feet. “It was okay when I didn’t move,” he says apologetically, leaning heavily on Marcel. “When I went down they must’ve thought I was dead. They just kept going past me.” He gasps again as he takes a step. “Where the devil is Gusti, anyway? Get him to drag my sorry arse around!”
The German legionnaire says nothing after Marcel breaks the news, just bows his head wearily, tears leaving runnels through the dust on his face. The two limp along slowly in silence.
Sgt. Duval listens to Marcel’s report and nods. “Gonzalez wasn’t hit, oui? Use him to help with the bodies, then gather as much water from the dead as you can. You may find some medical supplies, too.” He glances up at the sun, then looks out across the desert. “Casevac is being arranged, but we may be here for a little while still.”
Marcel: if you decide to scavenge for medical supplies from the dead fells, make a Search check for me.
“The Legion never leaves its dead behind,” replies the caporal-chef solemnly. “The code d’honneur isn’t just words, Mador. We live it every day, and die for it when called upon. It’s how we keep faith with each other.” Lavareaux looks straight at Normand. His face is serious. “No one is left behind. Remember that.”
____
Dinter gasps pitifully as Marcel helps him to his feet. “It was okay when I didn’t move,” he says apologetically, leaning heavily on Marcel. “When I went down they must’ve thought I was dead. They just kept going past me.” He gasps again as he takes a step. “Where the devil is Gusti, anyway? Get him to drag my sorry arse around!”
The German legionnaire says nothing after Marcel breaks the news, just bows his head wearily, tears leaving runnels through the dust on his face. The two limp along slowly in silence.
Sgt. Duval listens to Marcel’s report and nods. “Gonzalez wasn’t hit, oui? Use him to help with the bodies, then gather as much water from the dead as you can. You may find some medical supplies, too.” He glances up at the sun, then looks out across the desert. “Casevac is being arranged, but we may be here for a little while still.”
Marcel: if you decide to scavenge for medical supplies from the dead fells, make a Search check for me.
Normand looks at Lavareaux, and while he's smiling, his eyes are pretty watery.
"Good Lavareaux. That's good. I had heard that before, but you never know how true it is until it happens. And while I'm ready to die for the Légion, I sure don't want to rot in this God-forsaken desert."
Normand then falls silent, and after blinking a few times, returns his attention to the task he's been appointed.
"Good Lavareaux. That's good. I had heard that before, but you never know how true it is until it happens. And while I'm ready to die for the Légion, I sure don't want to rot in this God-forsaken desert."
Normand then falls silent, and after blinking a few times, returns his attention to the task he's been appointed.
Bobitron
Explorer
The Shaman said:
"You hear that, Gonzalez?" Marcel rises wearily to his feet, calling out to the legionnaire. "You're with me." When Gonzalez approaches, he glances into the man's tired eyes. "You okay?" He quickly checks Gonzalez over to ensure there are no hidden wounds, nodding his satisfaction when he finds nothing. "Check every body. Any ammo or weapons should be unloaded and put in a pile over there. Make sure you empty out the pockets. If you see anything in writing at all, even if it is a scrap of paper, make sure you give it to Sgt. Duval quickly. Keep an eye out for medical supplies, too, we need bandages and sulfa. Water, too."
ooc: Search check is a 22, taking twenty.The Shaman said:
shadowbloodmoon
First Post
Pyotr watched as the wounded fell's eyes followed him. He wrestled with the thought of taking him out of his misery, but decided to let him live with the pain for the moment. Pyotr owed that much to the Legionnaires that wouldn't be coming home today. The area was littered with body parts and war tools. The scene was nothing new to Pyotr, but it still turned his stomach when he saw it. He replayed a moment in his memory quite similar to this, though the bodies were Russian and the MG-34 was the prize of a Czar of the Hill battle in the small town of Gorova.
Shaking his head and spying the MG-34 still intact, a slight grin crossed Pyotr's face. "Told you that you were mine, didn't I? Teach you to talk back to me." Slinging his rifle and taking another quick scan of the area, Pyotr hoisted the thing onto his back. "Moiy Tovarisch, you are heavy." He then waved his hand in a signal that meant everything was all clear, then pointed to the live fell still writhing on the ground.
Shaking his head and spying the MG-34 still intact, a slight grin crossed Pyotr's face. "Told you that you were mine, didn't I? Teach you to talk back to me." Slinging his rifle and taking another quick scan of the area, Pyotr hoisted the thing onto his back. "Moiy Tovarisch, you are heavy." He then waved his hand in a signal that meant everything was all clear, then pointed to the live fell still writhing on the ground.
