Wing and Sword: Chat et Souris (Prologue)

[shadowbloodmoon]

Pyotr Kerenin

Nothing more out here but us and bodies. Pyotr thought. His eyes were becoming used to new light coming over the horizon, and even then, nothing moved but the shadows of scrubs and trees. Running a hand through his hair, he took another scan and continued to listen to the 'conversation' Lavereaux was having with the fell. At first he thought it was Duval. He was still getting used to the accents and the subtle differences between them. In Russian, the differences were actual dialects, not just accents. In Minsk, the Russian was different than in Moscow for instance. Not much, but a few words here and there.

Pyotr caught himself before he became too distracted and returned to scanning the horizon with a sigh. At least in the war, there was always something to shoot at.

 

[The Shaman]

Sergeant Duval flashes Marcel a crooked smile and quickly returns to business as they legionnaires gather.

Dinter, Berg, and Gonzalez stumble back carrying the last of the parachutes, tossing them into a pile with the rest. “Hey Gaspard, good shot,” says Berg, grinning. “Just like Gary Cooper in High Noon, ja? Sarge, he doesn’t need that rifle,” he says to Neumann.

<German>“The way you shoot, Gusti, neither do you,” Neumann replies with a sniff. “We’ll keep you as a pack mule for the time being, though.”<end German> Dinter laughs and punches Berg on the shoulder.

Duval looks to Neumann. “Sergent, assemble the men. Check weapons and ammo. Briefing in five minutes. We’re leaving the ’chutes here.” He steps toward Lavareaux who rises from the prisoner’s side, and the two speak in hushed tones as Neumann gathers the rest of the men together.

Neumann nods and picks up the MAS-36, reloads it and offers it to Vidal. “I’ll take the Mauser, Gaspard. Rest of you check your weapons.” The German shields his eyes with his hand as he looks to the rising sun. “Sips of water. Hot day ahead. Make it last.”

 

[Barak]

Normand quickly exchances magazines, wanting a full one in the rifle. He decides to forgo taking a sip of water for now, however. He agrees with Neumann, thinking it's going to be a long day, and since he's not really thirsty as of yet, figures he'll conserve his water.

Once done, he looks around, getting a bit nervous now that he realizes that this has turned into more than a training mission..

 

[знаток]

"Thanks Berg. You can call me Maréchal if you want," Vidal says with a grin.
War sure does complicate things, he thought. Here are Africans in Algeria using French and German weapons against us. He does a quick functions check on the MAS 36, reloads and shoulders it, glad to give up the Mauser.
"Sergeant Duval, do I have a minute to change into my Corcorans?" he asks as he thinks of the long march ahead of them.

 

[The Shaman]

Sgt. Duval looks up from his conversation with Cpl. Lavareaux. “Go ahead, but make it quick. We’re moving out,” he tells Vidal.

The jumpmaster approaches the assembled legionnaires, pulling a map from the pocket of his smock. “Okay, gather around.” He kneels down and lays out the map on the sand. “The LZ is here, between these two oueds. The objective for this exercise was to move southeast along the oueds to the east of our position and take the crossroad here (marked “O” on the map) That’s the direction the rest of the company is moving.

“According to the prisoner, there was an ALN unit to the east of the LZ when the company landed yesterday. He was supposed to scout this area for supplies then catch up with his unit in these hills to the south of us. That puts the fells between us and the rest of the company.”

The sergent-chef taps the map. “Northwest of us is the village of Boussemghoun, about 18km from out position up this oued to the west of the LZ. The oued is tough going, very steep and narrow – perfect for an ambush.” Duval looks around. “A couple of guys rolling rocks down on us could probably take the whole section. In any event we have no troops in Boussemghoun other than gendarmerie. The closest combat units are two battalions of infantry at Ain Sefra about 60km west, and there is no direct route through the mountains from there to here.”

His finger moves across the map to the east. “Here’s the village of El Abiodh. The transport company that’s assigned to pick us up at the end of the exercise is supposed to be staged there. We’re going to move east toward that village.” Duval picks up the map and begins stuffing it into his pocket.

“You should be aware that we’ve had no contact with Trident – capitaine Villiers and the rest of the company – since we landed. That’s not completely unexpected due to the topography and we haven’t reached the assigned listening hour yet. However, there are an unknown number of fellaghas that may be following them.” Duval pauses a moment. “Or may have already found them. We’ve got about an hour to march before we’ll be able to reach anyone on the radio. We’ll have a better idea of the situation at that time.”

Duval stands up and looks at the legionnaires. “By now you’ve figured out that this is not a normal part of this exercise. We’ve run this training operation at this location due to the absence of ALN activity. Clearly that’s changed.” He nods his head in the direction of the prisoner. “That man is a Kabyle, not an Arab. He’s from the mountains around Sétif, about five hundred kilometers from here. He’s also a former tirialleur who fought for France in 1940. These men were armed with military weapons – that Mauser wasn't stolen from a police station, which means it probaby came across the border. This is intelligence we need to get back to division.

“Our mission is to evade and report – if possible we’ll determine the status of Trident, but our first priority is to stay alive. Your training ended when you stepped out of the door this morning. Any questions?”

 

[Bobitron]

Marcel listens to the briefing in silence, nodding to show he is paying attention. Sounds pretty straightforward, he thought. Stay alive, try to reach Tident, and get the intel back. Preferably without any more injury.

 

[shadowbloodmoon]

Pyotr Kerenin

Pyotr listened in silence. It sounded like these rebels were getting rather aggressive if they've moved into an area normally occupied by numerous Legionnaire units. When he heard the word villages, Pyotr cringed. Most of his combat experience was in semi-urban environments. He remembered the confusion of fighting in an area so cluttered that you could turn a corner and face an enemy too close to use your rifle. You had a split second to kill him before he did the same. Pyotr knew these villages weren't so cluttered, but the idea was the same. This time though, it was a matter of choosing combatants versus innocents. The difference was a thin line in this case.

Clearing his thoughts, Pyotr shook his head negatively when Duval asked for questions. He figured if they caught this supposed ALN unit, they would have to take them down as fast as possible before any reinforcements arrived, as well as hopefully keep everyone alive. Pyotr patted his rifle. "You and me have to get to know each other a little better, lyoobovna."

 

[знаток]

Vidal removes the radio from his back and takes a seat in front near the map, wincing once again at his still sore ribs. He starts changing his boots, eyeing the map as the sergent-chef briefs them, thankful that they will at least be likely to run into some water along the way.

He's a little upset about what seems to be poor contingency planning, but he keeps his mouth shut, maintaining faith that somebody higher than himself knows what they're doing (or at least has their reasons). He laces up his boots, takes a sip of water, and starts getting everything situated on his person, then does a quick scan of their landing area to make sure no one has dropped or left anything.
"All set, Sergeant"

 

[Barak]

Normand Mador

Listening intently, nodding once in a while to show his attention, Normand only shakes his head negatively when asked if there's any questions. He double-checks that everything on his person is fastened securely, then waits silently for the order to move out.

Join the Legion, see new countries, they said. Well, they were right 'bout that. Maybe Marseilles wasn't so dangerous, after all. Oh well.

 

[The Shaman]

The legionnaires quietly accept their orders. Duval continues, “Groups as before – Neumann with Mador, Kerenin, and Gonzalez, Lavareaux with Martinez, Dinter, and Berg. Fortier – ” the jumpmaster reaches into his rucksack, pulls out a small bag “ – that’s my aid kit. You’re with me and Gaspard now.”

Sergent-chef Duval motions with his arm. “Tactical column by twos, Kerenin and Mador on point. Watch your dispersal.” He motions toward the gap between the hills to the east. “Caporal Lavareaux, see to the prisoner. Move out.”

Like a disjointed centipede the double-line of legionnaires begins marching east, Normand and Pyotr in the lead, Vidal and Marcel just behind Sgt. Duval at the rear of the formation.

The sun is blazing ahead just above the eastern horizon. Already there is a shimmering haze to the east and the sunlight is hot on the legionnaires’ skin. It promises to be a scorching day. There is no cover to speak of as the plain slopes away from the mountains, the patches of scrub and grass fewer and further between. The slight breeze that the legionnaires felt on landing has disappeared - the air is still and heavy.

A pistol shot rings out behind the paras, then another. A moment later caporal Lavareaux catches up to the unit, alone.