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Wing and Sword: Chat et Souris (Prologue)
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<blockquote data-quote="The Shaman" data-source="post: 1986192" data-attributes="member: 26473"><p>Marcel flips through the pages of the small book. The cloth cover is worn, the pages dog-eared from use. The script is Latin, but the <em>légionnaire</em> quickly realizes that the words are neither Arabic nor French. The sheet of paper on the other hand is clearly written in the fluid Arab script. Marcel’s eyes quickly flit over the page – it reads:</p><p></p><p><span style="color: silver"><Arabic></span><span style="color: tan">“National Liberation Front, Communiqué No. 24: People of Algeria, the Colonial Administration is responsible not only for impoverishing our people but also for corrupting and degrading our brothers and sisters, who have lost their sense of dignity. The FLN is leading a campaign to eradicate this scourge and requests the population’s help and cooperation.</span></p><p><span style="color: tan"></span></p><p><span style="color: tan">This is the first step toward independence.</span></p><p><span style="color: tan"></span></p><p><span style="color: tan">As of today, the FLN assumes responsibility for the physical and moral well-being of the Algerian people and has therefore decided to ban the sale and use of all drugs and alcoholic beverages and to ban prostitution and procuring.</span></p><p><span style="color: tan"></span></p><p><span style="color: tan">Offenders will be punished. Repeat offenders will be sentenced to death.”</span><span style="color: silver"><end Arabic></span></p><p></p><p>At the bottom of the page is the date in French – 20 <em>Avril</em> 1956.</p><p></p><p>As Marcel studies the pages, Vidal looks at the beads that the jumpmaster tossed aside. They are smaller than marbles and made of wood, a rich reddish-brown. There appear to be around three dozen of the small round beads on the string – the string is joined in a small tassel of what looks like goat hair. They don’t resemble the beads that some of the legionnaires carried in basic training to learn the odd cadence of the Legion march.</p><p></p><p>Cpl. Martinez saunters up and tells Sgt. Duval, <span style="color: brown">“<em>Caporal</em> Lavareaux has the other fell talking, <em>sergent</em>.”</span></p><p></p><p>Duval nods. <span style="color: brown">“Fortier, bring that stuff with you. Let’s go.”</span> He starts walking toward the other legionnaires gathered around the prisoner.</p><p>____</p><p></p><p>The prisoner’s voice is strained. <span style="color: brown">“We are part of a patrol. We saw the <em>paras</em> land yesterday. We came to look for supplies.”</span> His head lolls to one side.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: brown">“That’s not good enough,”</span> replies Lavareaux, squatting beside him. The <em>caporal-chef</em> pulls his pistol from its holster and holds it up where the prisoner can see it before pressing the muzzle against the blood-drenched dressing covering the prisoner’s wound. <span style="color: brown">“I see two dirty fells, not a patrol.”</span> The prisoner doesn’t answer, and the corporal shoves the barrel hard into the gauze. A cry of agony hangs in the air.</p><p></p><p>Pyotr and Normand listen to the interrogation as they search the surroundings. There is no movement as the sun finally breaks above the low hills to the east, revealing the landscape in detail for the first time. To the north stretch the peaks and ridges of the Aurés Mountains. The exposed slopes are bare except for clumps of trees tucked into gullies or scattered across the highest elevations. To the east lies a low ridge extending from the mountains. To the west and south stretches a broad plain speckled with small stands of scrub that ends in a low range of mountains, giving the impression of a large basin some 30 km across. There are no signs of habitation – no roads, no telephone lines, no villages, no grazing goats – in the harsh morning glare.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="The Shaman, post: 1986192, member: 26473"] Marcel flips through the pages of the small book. The cloth cover is worn, the pages dog-eared from use. The script is Latin, but the [i]légionnaire[/i] quickly realizes that the words are neither Arabic nor French. The sheet of paper on the other hand is clearly written in the fluid Arab script. Marcel’s eyes quickly flit over the page – it reads: [color=silver]<Arabic>[/color][color=tan]“National Liberation Front, Communiqué No. 24: People of Algeria, the Colonial Administration is responsible not only for impoverishing our people but also for corrupting and degrading our brothers and sisters, who have lost their sense of dignity. The FLN is leading a campaign to eradicate this scourge and requests the population’s help and cooperation. This is the first step toward independence. As of today, the FLN assumes responsibility for the physical and moral well-being of the Algerian people and has therefore decided to ban the sale and use of all drugs and alcoholic beverages and to ban prostitution and procuring. Offenders will be punished. Repeat offenders will be sentenced to death.”[/color][color=silver]<end Arabic>[/color] At the bottom of the page is the date in French – 20 [i]Avril[/i] 1956. As Marcel studies the pages, Vidal looks at the beads that the jumpmaster tossed aside. They are smaller than marbles and made of wood, a rich reddish-brown. There appear to be around three dozen of the small round beads on the string – the string is joined in a small tassel of what looks like goat hair. They don’t resemble the beads that some of the legionnaires carried in basic training to learn the odd cadence of the Legion march. Cpl. Martinez saunters up and tells Sgt. Duval, [color=brown]“[i]Caporal[/i] Lavareaux has the other fell talking, [i]sergent[/i].”[/color] Duval nods. [color=brown]“Fortier, bring that stuff with you. Let’s go.”[/color] He starts walking toward the other legionnaires gathered around the prisoner. ____ The prisoner’s voice is strained. [color=brown]“We are part of a patrol. We saw the [i]paras[/i] land yesterday. We came to look for supplies.”[/color] His head lolls to one side. [color=brown]“That’s not good enough,”[/color] replies Lavareaux, squatting beside him. The [i]caporal-chef[/i] pulls his pistol from its holster and holds it up where the prisoner can see it before pressing the muzzle against the blood-drenched dressing covering the prisoner’s wound. [color=brown]“I see two dirty fells, not a patrol.”[/color] The prisoner doesn’t answer, and the corporal shoves the barrel hard into the gauze. A cry of agony hangs in the air. Pyotr and Normand listen to the interrogation as they search the surroundings. There is no movement as the sun finally breaks above the low hills to the east, revealing the landscape in detail for the first time. To the north stretch the peaks and ridges of the Aurés Mountains. The exposed slopes are bare except for clumps of trees tucked into gullies or scattered across the highest elevations. To the east lies a low ridge extending from the mountains. To the west and south stretches a broad plain speckled with small stands of scrub that ends in a low range of mountains, giving the impression of a large basin some 30 km across. There are no signs of habitation – no roads, no telephone lines, no villages, no grazing goats – in the harsh morning glare. [/QUOTE]
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