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Wing and Sword: Chat et Souris (Prologue)
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<blockquote data-quote="The Shaman" data-source="post: 2138094" data-attributes="member: 26473"><p>Normand’s shot is returned by nearly a dozen <em>fellaghas</em> 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.</p><p></p><p>Behind them more of the insurgents boil up from the <em>oued</em> like ants from a nest poked with a stick, running, falling, using the desert’s scant cover as they creep forward toward the legionnaires.</p><p></p><p>Over the radio handset Vidal hears the young pilot’s voice. <span style="color: sienna"><em>“I have your location, Hour-glass, retreating southwest toward that small hill.”</em></span> The spotter is trying to remain business-like, frank, but his rising pitch is evident even over the static of the portable radio. <span style="color: sienna"><em>“Estimated sixty fells moving toward your position.”</em></span> A pause. <span style="color: sienna"><em>“Support aircraft inbound from the northwest approximately three minutes.”</em></span></p><p></p><p>Pyotr’s eyes hunt among the <em>fellaghas</em>. 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.</p><p></p><p>Neumann’s rifle cracks, and as he cycles the bolt he snaps an order. <span style="color: sienna">“Mador, Gonzalez, fire at the viets in front. Slow them down. Be ready to displace.”</span></p><p></p><p>Further northeast the remaining legionnaires hustle toward the rocks. The <em>fellaghas</em> seem to be ignoring them – for the moment. As they jog across the desert, the <em>caporal</em> says to Marcel, <span style="color: sienna">“When we get among those rocks, check on Berg.”</span> Duval says nothing – he appears to be studying the fells as the legionnaires retreat, his face a blank mask.</p><p></p><p><span style="font-size: 9px"><span style="color: silver">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.</span></span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="The Shaman, post: 2138094, member: 26473"] Normand’s shot is returned by nearly a dozen [i]fellaghas[/i] 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 [i]oued[/i] 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. [color=sienna][i]“I have your location, Hour-glass, retreating southwest toward that small hill.”[/i][/color] The spotter is trying to remain business-like, frank, but his rising pitch is evident even over the static of the portable radio. [color=sienna][i]“Estimated sixty fells moving toward your position.”[/i][/color] A pause. [color=sienna][i]“Support aircraft inbound from the northwest approximately three minutes.”[/i][/color] Pyotr’s eyes hunt among the [i]fellaghas[/i]. 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. [color=sienna]“Mador, Gonzalez, fire at the viets in front. Slow them down. Be ready to displace.”[/color] Further northeast the remaining legionnaires hustle toward the rocks. The [i]fellaghas[/i] seem to be ignoring them – for the moment. As they jog across the desert, the [i]caporal[/i] says to Marcel, [color=sienna]“When we get among those rocks, check on Berg.”[/color] Duval says nothing – he appears to be studying the fells as the legionnaires retreat, his face a blank mask. [size=1][color=silver]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.[/color][/size] [/QUOTE]
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