Wing and Sword: Life During Wartime
Bobitron
Explorer
"Wait!"
Marcel rushes over to Normand slinging his rifle as he moves. Leaping down into the culvert, he inspects the situation carefully to make sure the man is safe to move in such a manner. Once he is confident the man is safe, he assists Normand in moving the gendarme up into the road, spreading out his nylon poncho on the ground first for the man to lie on. Once the gendarme is in position, he inspects the man's injuries, pulling out supplies from his musette bag.
ooc: Treat Injury: Marcel rolls 1d20+9, getting [7,9] = (16)
Marcel rushes over to Normand slinging his rifle as he moves. Leaping down into the culvert, he inspects the situation carefully to make sure the man is safe to move in such a manner. Once he is confident the man is safe, he assists Normand in moving the gendarme up into the road, spreading out his nylon poncho on the ground first for the man to lie on. Once the gendarme is in position, he inspects the man's injuries, pulling out supplies from his musette bag.
ooc: Treat Injury: Marcel rolls 1d20+9, getting [7,9] = (16)
The Shaman
First Post
Normand makes his way down the bank to the irrigation ditch, Marcel close behind him. Together they slosh through the water to the gendarme, who looks up at them with a mixture of pain and relief on his face. “My leg is broken,” he says softly.
On the road, Sgt. Kat looks to Sgt. Müller, who motions toward the Skoda with a toss of his head. “Right then,” the Greek mutters, “Nedjar, Pamuk, Kerenin, clear the rear of that truck. Gaspard, after they signal clear, you and I take the cab. Go!”
The three legionnaires of the choc group break from the cover of the jeep and head for the rear of the truck as Vidal and Sgt. Kat cover the cab with their submachine guns. There is no movement of the worn grey canvas cover as they approach, but it makes it impossible to see inside – at the rear, the canvas flap hangs loosely over the rear, obscuring the bed from view.
The gendarme gasps as Marcel and Normand gingerly extract him from the narrow culvert. A quick check by the medic suggests that it’s not a broken leg, but rather a dislocated knee – the patella is rotated sideways, Marcel discovers, as he gently palpates the injured man’s extremities.
“When they opened fire, I fell backwards into the ditch, and that big bastard Henri fell on top of me. Must’ve thought we were both dead.” The words come in a rush, and then his eyes are searching Marcel’s. “The others?” he asks quietly.
Nedjar motions to Pyotr and Pamuk to each grab a corner of the canvas and life it out of the way. He sets himself with his MAT-49 at the ready, then gives a sharp nod. Pyotr and Burhan whip the canvas back.
Using a poncho as an impromptu stretcher, Normand and Marcel carefully lift the injured gendarme from the irrigation ditch to the road behind the GMC, away from the jeep and the other casualties. The gendarme is quiet, his eyes closed, as Marcel slices away the pant leg to visualize the injured knee. Applying gentle traction, the knee pops into place – the look of shock on the gendarme’s face is sudden and brief, followed by a sigh of relief.
The truck bed is in shadows due to the canvas tarp – the legionnaires train their guns on the darkness as their eyes adjust.
Pyotr: Spot check, please. Marcel: How many hit points did the check restore?
On the road, Sgt. Kat looks to Sgt. Müller, who motions toward the Skoda with a toss of his head. “Right then,” the Greek mutters, “Nedjar, Pamuk, Kerenin, clear the rear of that truck. Gaspard, after they signal clear, you and I take the cab. Go!”
The three legionnaires of the choc group break from the cover of the jeep and head for the rear of the truck as Vidal and Sgt. Kat cover the cab with their submachine guns. There is no movement of the worn grey canvas cover as they approach, but it makes it impossible to see inside – at the rear, the canvas flap hangs loosely over the rear, obscuring the bed from view.
The gendarme gasps as Marcel and Normand gingerly extract him from the narrow culvert. A quick check by the medic suggests that it’s not a broken leg, but rather a dislocated knee – the patella is rotated sideways, Marcel discovers, as he gently palpates the injured man’s extremities.
“When they opened fire, I fell backwards into the ditch, and that big bastard Henri fell on top of me. Must’ve thought we were both dead.” The words come in a rush, and then his eyes are searching Marcel’s. “The others?” he asks quietly.
Nedjar motions to Pyotr and Pamuk to each grab a corner of the canvas and life it out of the way. He sets himself with his MAT-49 at the ready, then gives a sharp nod. Pyotr and Burhan whip the canvas back.
Using a poncho as an impromptu stretcher, Normand and Marcel carefully lift the injured gendarme from the irrigation ditch to the road behind the GMC, away from the jeep and the other casualties. The gendarme is quiet, his eyes closed, as Marcel slices away the pant leg to visualize the injured knee. Applying gentle traction, the knee pops into place – the look of shock on the gendarme’s face is sudden and brief, followed by a sigh of relief.
The truck bed is in shadows due to the canvas tarp – the legionnaires train their guns on the darkness as their eyes adjust.
Pyotr: Spot check, please. Marcel: How many hit points did the check restore?
Bobitron
Explorer
The Shaman said:
Marcels shakes his head slowly back and forth, grasping the man's shoulder in an attempt to comfort the gendarme.
Once the man's knee is back in place, Marcel hands the man a canteen and gives him a brief moment to collect himself.
"We need to know what happened here, mon amis. I know the last thing you need right now is to give a report, but I'm sure you understand."
The Shaman said:
ooc: Oops, that would be a 2.
As soon as they are done moving the gendarme, Normand forces himself to pull his attention away from the man, and to resume his sentry duties. At this point, he doubt the fells remained in the area once they were done doing whatever it is they did, but one never knows.
And so, weapon at the ready, his eyes scan his given area, establishing the perimeter.
And so, weapon at the ready, his eyes scan his given area, establishing the perimeter.
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знаток
First Post
Vidal quietly obeys each of Sgt. Kat's orders as he forces himself back to lucidity. As they approach the truck, the stories come to mind of secondary attacks on a target after responders to the first attack have arrived at the scene. Increasingly wary, he nervously and angrily scans the area - buildings, fields, ditches, and vehicles - while he awaits the outcome of the truck-bed clearing.
shadowbloodmoon
First Post
Pyotr's adrenaline forced his heart to pound in his chest. He was so used to calming himself when he was preparing a shot at a target that was far away, but this was different. There could be someone inside this truck. Someone training a weapon at him right now. At Nedjar's command, he pulls the flap with Pamuk then retrains his weapon inside the gloom.
Spot check: (1d20+4=8)
Spot check: (1d20+4=8)
The Shaman
First Post
The glare of the sun as it dips behind the hills deepens the shadows beneath the tarpaulin over the bed of the Skoda – it takes a tense moment for Pyotr’s pupils to adjust to the darkness as he searches for signs of danger to himself and the other two legionnaires.
Aside from a couple of empty burlap sacks, the bed of the truck is vacant.
Nedjar leans around the back of the truck and waves his arm, signaling all clear to Sgt. Katsourianis. He then turns back to Pyotr and Pamuk. “Get down and keep an eye on those fields,” he instructs.
Back at the gendarmes’ jeep, the sergent leans toward Vidal. “Cover me,” he says, pointing at the cab of the truck. Slipping around in front of the jeep, the Greek approaches the Skoda warily – he reaches up to yank open the door, which is ajar, revealing the unoccupied cab. He looks around the interior carefully.
From over Vidal’s shoulder comes the voice of Sgt. Müller. “Légionnaire, see if you can raise the camp,” orders the German non-com. “They’re Tango 3, we’re Tango 31 Blue. Get the lieutenant.” Vidal: Knowledge (technology) skill check to work the radio, please.
Beside the GMC, the gendarme clears his throat. “We were on our way back to quarters when we came upon that truck. The driver flagged us down. An Arab. Looked like a laborer.” He clears his throat again. “The driver said he wanted to know if the road was safe. Then suddenly two more Arabs came out from behind the truck. One had a shotgun, the other a rifle. They fired at us before we could get out of the jeep. Jacques and Henri were in front, Philippe and I – ” he glances at the body of the first gendarme that Marcel observed, lying on the road at the back of the jeep with his throat torn open “ – that’s Philippe Argaud, there, we were in back. I jumped out and fell into the ditch – Henri was hit and fell on top of me.”
The gendarme pauses a moment, collects his thoughts. “Jacques must’ve survived the ambush – I heard his machine pistol fire.” He clears his throat once more. “They shot Henri again as he lay on top of me, even though he was already dead, and they took his machine pistol, too. Somehow they missed me, and I dragged myself into the culvert when it got quiet.”
Aside from a couple of empty burlap sacks, the bed of the truck is vacant.
Nedjar leans around the back of the truck and waves his arm, signaling all clear to Sgt. Katsourianis. He then turns back to Pyotr and Pamuk. “Get down and keep an eye on those fields,” he instructs.
Back at the gendarmes’ jeep, the sergent leans toward Vidal. “Cover me,” he says, pointing at the cab of the truck. Slipping around in front of the jeep, the Greek approaches the Skoda warily – he reaches up to yank open the door, which is ajar, revealing the unoccupied cab. He looks around the interior carefully.
From over Vidal’s shoulder comes the voice of Sgt. Müller. “Légionnaire, see if you can raise the camp,” orders the German non-com. “They’re Tango 3, we’re Tango 31 Blue. Get the lieutenant.” Vidal: Knowledge (technology) skill check to work the radio, please.
Beside the GMC, the gendarme clears his throat. “We were on our way back to quarters when we came upon that truck. The driver flagged us down. An Arab. Looked like a laborer.” He clears his throat again. “The driver said he wanted to know if the road was safe. Then suddenly two more Arabs came out from behind the truck. One had a shotgun, the other a rifle. They fired at us before we could get out of the jeep. Jacques and Henri were in front, Philippe and I – ” he glances at the body of the first gendarme that Marcel observed, lying on the road at the back of the jeep with his throat torn open “ – that’s Philippe Argaud, there, we were in back. I jumped out and fell into the ditch – Henri was hit and fell on top of me.”
The gendarme pauses a moment, collects his thoughts. “Jacques must’ve survived the ambush – I heard his machine pistol fire.” He clears his throat once more. “They shot Henri again as he lay on top of me, even though he was already dead, and they took his machine pistol, too. Somehow they missed me, and I dragged myself into the culvert when it got quiet.”
Bobitron
Explorer
Wounded gendarme said:
Marcel nods as the man speaks in an effort to keep him going. Once he finishes, Marcel claps the man on the shoulder and speaks. "Don't feel like you could have done more. No one will blame you for staying put down there after they ambushed you." Marcel pauses and straightens his helmet, reaching out to get back his canteen. "I'll let the sergeant know what happened here. You will be okay, I think. Just be gentle with that knee for a while," he says, a grin coming back to his face. He stands and squints into the bright sunset. "It will be dark soon. I don't suppose you saw or heard where the batards went from where you were? Do you know about how long ago they attacked?"
Walking over to Sgt. Kat, Marcel once again checks the safety on his rifle to ensure it is ready to fire. Once he reaches the tattooed man, he gives a quick salute and relays the gendarme's story.
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The Shaman
First Post
The gendarme shakes his head. “I’m not sure how long ago. Not long, I think. They didn’t come past me, and they didn’t continue north along the road.” He lifts himself on his elbows and peers under the legionnaires’ deuce-and-a-half. “That’s the Rubiera farm, across the field. That could be their truck, I think. It looks familiar.” He cranes his neck to look at the Skoda. “I’m not positive. I think it might be theirs.” The gendarme sighs as he looks into the ditch. “Henri would know for sure – he knew Monsieur Rubiera pretty well.”
