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Wing and Sword: Chat et Souris (Prologue)
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<blockquote data-quote="The Shaman" data-source="post: 2329418" data-attributes="member: 26473"><p><span style="color: cyan">“I figured we would want that too. There is a <em>fell</em> down there. He's got a wound in his leg and has passed out. I wasn't sure whether you wanted to question him or not, so I left him.”</span> Pyotr reports to Duval.</p><p></p><p>The <em>sergent-chef</em> nods acknowledgement. <span style="color: sienna">“Good job, Kerenin. You handled yourself well today. Get some water and post yourself as a lookout.”</span></p><p></p><p>Marcel walks up to find that Duval has removed the SCR-300 from Vidal’s shoulders, allowing the radioman to recline. <span style="color: YellowGreen">"Sir, how long until we extract? Any word?"</span> the medic asks.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: sienna">“The <em>capitaine</em> says there are a couple of jeeps and truck heading our way now. Maybe another half-hour.”</span> The <em>sergent-chef</em> looks up at Marcel. <span style="color: sienna">“You did well, Fortier. Thank you.”</span></p><p></p><p>True to his word, about a half-hour later two jeeps and a GMC weapons carrier come bouncing over the horizon. The French soldiers – part of a transport and supply company, reservists all – are wide-eyed at the sight of the dead <em>fellaghas</em>, the pile of weapons, and the bloodied legionnaires. Somewhat curiously a <em>gendarme</em> is present as well, his tan uniform and blue <em>kepi</em> standing out among the olive drab fatigues of the <em>soldats du train</em> and the paras’ camouflage, a bizarre reminder of the war-that-isn't-a-war. All stand around gawking for the first few minutes, weapons gripped tightly in nervous hands.</p><p></p><p>The <em>adjudant</em> in charge of the men informs Duval that more troops are on the way, but that his orders are to transport the paras back to El Abiodh in the meantime. He apologizes in advance for the rough trip ahead. With the assistance of the <em>soldats</em>, Marcel supervises the loading of the wounded and the dead – in the cab of the GMC is a well-stocked medical kit, making the prospect of caring for the wounded easier on the journey across the desert.</p><p></p><p>Even with three vehicles seats are limited, but eventually space is made for all of the men. Unable to carry all of the captured the weapons, the bolts are quickly removed from the rifles and along with the MG-34 and the machine pistols are stowed behind the seat of the GMC.</p><p></p><p>The ride is as bumpy and as uncomfortable as promised. Pyotr finds himself in the cramped rear seat of one of the jeeps with the <em>soldats</em> – the reservists ask nervous questions about the <em>fellaghas</em>, their eyes straining to catch a glimpse of the insurgents they are sure must be hiding behind every rock and shrub that caravan passes. The back of the weapons carrier is just as cramped – in order to make space for the inured paras, it is necessary to load Berg and Martinez and cover them with a thick tarpaulin, then situate the wounded on top of their dead comrades. Marcel rides in the cab of the WC with the <em>soldat</em> driver and Vidal - Normand rides in the back with more seriously wounded.</p><p></p><p>The sun is low in the western sky when the caravan reaches El Abiodh, a small Arab village of whitewashed mud walls and winding streets. Capt. Villiers and the rest of the training formation are there, as is a company of <em>tirailleurs</em>, sector troops that will march to the <em>oued</em> at first light. A makeshift infirmary has been prepared for the wounded, and Marcel is relieved a couple of hours later by a regimental surgeon and a team of nurses and orderlies that arrive in a small convoy of ambulances.</p><p></p><p>It’s fourteen hours after the leap into darkness when the paras finally stand down.</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center"><strong>– <em>FIN</em> –</strong></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="The Shaman, post: 2329418, member: 26473"] [color=cyan]“I figured we would want that too. There is a [i]fell[/i] down there. He's got a wound in his leg and has passed out. I wasn't sure whether you wanted to question him or not, so I left him.”[/color] Pyotr reports to Duval. The [i]sergent-chef[/i] nods acknowledgement. [color=sienna]“Good job, Kerenin. You handled yourself well today. Get some water and post yourself as a lookout.”[/color] Marcel walks up to find that Duval has removed the SCR-300 from Vidal’s shoulders, allowing the radioman to recline. [COLOR=YellowGreen]"Sir, how long until we extract? Any word?"[/COLOR] the medic asks. [color=sienna]“The [i]capitaine[/i] says there are a couple of jeeps and truck heading our way now. Maybe another half-hour.”[/color] The [i]sergent-chef[/i] looks up at Marcel. [color=sienna]“You did well, Fortier. Thank you.”[/color] True to his word, about a half-hour later two jeeps and a GMC weapons carrier come bouncing over the horizon. The French soldiers – part of a transport and supply company, reservists all – are wide-eyed at the sight of the dead [i]fellaghas[/i], the pile of weapons, and the bloodied legionnaires. Somewhat curiously a [i]gendarme[/i] is present as well, his tan uniform and blue [i]kepi[/i] standing out among the olive drab fatigues of the [i]soldats du train[/i] and the paras’ camouflage, a bizarre reminder of the war-that-isn't-a-war. All stand around gawking for the first few minutes, weapons gripped tightly in nervous hands. The [i]adjudant[/i] in charge of the men informs Duval that more troops are on the way, but that his orders are to transport the paras back to El Abiodh in the meantime. He apologizes in advance for the rough trip ahead. With the assistance of the [i]soldats[/i], Marcel supervises the loading of the wounded and the dead – in the cab of the GMC is a well-stocked medical kit, making the prospect of caring for the wounded easier on the journey across the desert. Even with three vehicles seats are limited, but eventually space is made for all of the men. Unable to carry all of the captured the weapons, the bolts are quickly removed from the rifles and along with the MG-34 and the machine pistols are stowed behind the seat of the GMC. The ride is as bumpy and as uncomfortable as promised. Pyotr finds himself in the cramped rear seat of one of the jeeps with the [i]soldats[/i] – the reservists ask nervous questions about the [i]fellaghas[/i], their eyes straining to catch a glimpse of the insurgents they are sure must be hiding behind every rock and shrub that caravan passes. The back of the weapons carrier is just as cramped – in order to make space for the inured paras, it is necessary to load Berg and Martinez and cover them with a thick tarpaulin, then situate the wounded on top of their dead comrades. Marcel rides in the cab of the WC with the [i]soldat[/i] driver and Vidal - Normand rides in the back with more seriously wounded. The sun is low in the western sky when the caravan reaches El Abiodh, a small Arab village of whitewashed mud walls and winding streets. Capt. Villiers and the rest of the training formation are there, as is a company of [i]tirailleurs[/i], sector troops that will march to the [i]oued[/i] at first light. A makeshift infirmary has been prepared for the wounded, and Marcel is relieved a couple of hours later by a regimental surgeon and a team of nurses and orderlies that arrive in a small convoy of ambulances. It’s fourteen hours after the leap into darkness when the paras finally stand down. [center][b]– [i]FIN[/i] –[/b][/center] [/QUOTE]
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