Wing and Sword: Chat et Souris (Prologue)

[The Shaman]

Pyotr scans the advancing fellaghas. Sgt. Neumann wasn’t kidding – a variety of dress from fatigues to civilian clothes garb the insurgents, making identifying a leader impossible, at least by sight. The fells are advancing purposefully, taking advantage of the cover available, staying low to the ground as they move toward the legionnaires. No one person seems to be leading them, Pyotr notes – at the least no one appears to be overtly giving orders.

Sergent Neumann calls out to the three legionnaires among the rocks, “Make your shots count,” as he takes aim with the Mauser.

In the gully, Lavareaux glances back at the advancing insurgents, then ahead at the sheltering rocks that seem tantalizingly close and so far way at the same moment. “Keep moving,” is all he says.

Pyotr: Exactly what I was looking for – thanks.

 

[Barak]

Here we go again...

Normand isn't overly confident about hitting his target at such range, but he figures that waiting until they are closer might not be the best of ideas either. Plus being fired at might slow them down further. And so, taking aim, he shoots..


OOC
Shoot, with -6 to hit..: 8

Oh well..

 

[The Shaman]

Sgt. Duval looks intently at the approaching fellaghas. His orders are quick, concise. “Dinter, take Martinez, keep working your way east along the gully. We’ll cover you. Everyone else, to the rocks, double-time!”

Dinter grunts under the load as Berg shifts the weight of the wounded legionnaire off his own shoulders and onto his friend’s. “Glück auf, Willi,” Berg says softly, squeezing the German legionnaire’s arm in farewell – Dinter says nothing as he moves away, Martinez draped over his back. The rest of the legionnaires follow Duval as they head south toward the rocks as the fellaghas begin to fire.

 

[знаток]

Vidal moves as quickly as his crouched stance will allow toward the rocks. He clutches the handset once more, "Juliet 4, this is Hourglass. Are you following this situation?" He waits for an answer as he tries to keep up with Duval. Impatiently, he continues, "The fells have regrouped and resumed the offensive. They've got us on the run! Where the hell are those aircraft?!?"

 

[Bobitron]

Marcel nods to Duval and runs with the group towards the rocks.

I need time with Martinez. I know I can help him...

He hears Vidal bark into the handset of the radio, the impatience evident in his voice.

Come on, anges de la mort. We need you now.

OOC: Once he reaches the rocks, Marcel will fire on the fells when he has the chance, trying to slow the advance. Attack roll, unmodified for range: 14

 

[The Shaman]

Normand’s shot is returned by nearly a dozen fellaghas as the leading squad takes up position in the gully, lying prone along the edge of the depression and peppering the burly Frenchman and the other legionnaires among the rocks with rifle fire. Bullets zip overhead, whine off the rocks spitting fragments, or create tiny flowers of sand and dust.

Behind them more of the insurgents boil up from the oued like ants from a nest poked with a stick, running, falling, using the desert’s scant cover as they creep forward toward the legionnaires.

Over the radio handset Vidal hears the young pilot’s voice. “I have your location, Hour-glass, retreating southwest toward that small hill.” The spotter is trying to remain business-like, frank, but his rising pitch is evident even over the static of the portable radio. “Estimated sixty fells moving toward your position.” A pause. “Support aircraft inbound from the northwest approximately three minutes.”

Pyotr’s eyes hunt among the fellaghas. The bullets whinging off the rocks seem to be focused elsewhere, at least for the moment. The fells appear to be following a plan, but no one seems to stand out as directing the action so far.

Neumann’s rifle cracks, and as he cycles the bolt he snaps an order. “Mador, Gonzalez, fire at the viets in front. Slow them down. Be ready to displace.”

Further northeast the remaining legionnaires hustle toward the rocks. The fellaghas seem to be ignoring them – for the moment. As they jog across the desert, the caporal says to Marcel, “When we get among those rocks, check on Berg.” Duval says nothing – he appears to be studying the fells as the legionnaires retreat, his face a blank mask.

The lead group of fells is 240’ from Normand and Pyotr, 400’ from Marcel and Vidal. They are advancing leap-frog fashion, falling prone at the end of their move, so they aren’t moving very fast but they’re not presenting much in the way of a target, either. The fire being directed at Normand and Pyotr is coming from the southern-most squad in C3 – they are lying prone and using the edge of the gully for cover, making them difficult to hit.

 

[shadowbloodmoon]

Pyotr's fingers were itching. He wanted to shoot. Something. Though patience was something he developed previously, the approaching wave of enemies made it difficult, if not impossible, for him to focus on any one. Even more so with rounds exploding the dirt near him. He silently wondered if one of the rocks he was using for cover would give way. Quickly he attempted to get Neumann's attention without giving himself away.

"Sergeant? I can't seem to find the right one, should I just start firing into them?"

Free action(?) to get Neumann's attention and speak. Ready to shoot should a certain target appear...

 

[Bobitron]

As they jog across the desert, the caporal says to Marcel, “When we get among those rocks, check on Berg.” Duval says nothing – he appears to be studying the fells as the legionnaires retreat, his face a blank mask.

"Oui, Caporal." Marcel answers quickly and tries his best to keep his voice steady, but he can't mask the slight shake entirely. He continues to keep pace with the others, hunched over to present as small a target as practical.

 

[Barak]

Seeing the mass of the fells coming out of the oued, Normand seems to forget where, or who he is as he answers Pyotr.

"The Hell with their damn leaders, just bring down one of them to give them something to think about, you fool rusky!"

And, following his own advice, he takes aim and fires once more..


OOC:
Fire at whomever, figuring -4 for range in my to-hit.
to-hit: 8
Oh well...

 

[знаток]

By counting on the aircraft to save them, Vidal knew they would be betting on a miracle. "Sergeant, those aircraft aren't going to make it in time. They say three minutes. We've got to get moving."
He watches Duval calmly eyeing the fell activity, and he can tell that his frustration is starting to come through in his voice. This is not how I expected it to be out here. Our training shouldn't have led us into this situation. I wonder how many soldiers Duval lost in Vietnam. Vidal reminds himself to stay focused and hopes that placing his faith in his leadership will pay off. He settles in next to the sergent-chef, waiting for him to make a decision.