The Shaman
First Post
Duval flips through the book, tucks the sheet of paper inside the cover, and tosses the beads on the ground next to the body. “Bring the rifle and the magazines with us. We don’t leave weapons in the field for the fells,” he says, his face thoughtful. “And we might need it ourselves.”
The jumpmaster looks up as Marcel approaches, followed by Martinez. ”Fortier, you speak Arabic? Take a look at these.”
____
Normand and Pyotr scan the terrain around the landing zone. In the background the sound of the Muslim’s gasps are unmistakable as Lavareaux grinds his boot onto the man’s wound. “I asked you what you’re doing here, fellagha,” the caporal-chef repeats, his voice like ice. “You want to end up like your friend over there?”
The Muslim’s voice is weak. “My nephew,”, he says simply.
Lavareaux doesn’t hesitate. “If your sister doesn’t want to lose a brother as well as a son, answer the question.” The boot twists and the Muslim groans – this time there’s no attempt to stifle the sound.
“We saw the landing yesterday. We came to scavenge anything the paras left behind.” The Muslim takes a long slow breath. His eyes are still clenched shut.
The corporal lifts his boot off the wounded prisoner and kneels down beside him. “It wasn’t just the two of you out here, was it?” he asks. The icy edge is gone from Lavareaux’s tone now, replaced with an expressionless calm.
Normand and Pyotr, please make Spot checks.
The jumpmaster looks up as Marcel approaches, followed by Martinez. ”Fortier, you speak Arabic? Take a look at these.”
____
Normand and Pyotr scan the terrain around the landing zone. In the background the sound of the Muslim’s gasps are unmistakable as Lavareaux grinds his boot onto the man’s wound. “I asked you what you’re doing here, fellagha,” the caporal-chef repeats, his voice like ice. “You want to end up like your friend over there?”
The Muslim’s voice is weak. “My nephew,”, he says simply.
Lavareaux doesn’t hesitate. “If your sister doesn’t want to lose a brother as well as a son, answer the question.” The boot twists and the Muslim groans – this time there’s no attempt to stifle the sound.
“We saw the landing yesterday. We came to scavenge anything the paras left behind.” The Muslim takes a long slow breath. His eyes are still clenched shut.
The corporal lifts his boot off the wounded prisoner and kneels down beside him. “It wasn’t just the two of you out here, was it?” he asks. The icy edge is gone from Lavareaux’s tone now, replaced with an expressionless calm.
Normand and Pyotr, please make Spot checks.
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