Wing and Sword: Life During Wartime
- Thread starter The Shaman
- Start date
Bobitron
Explorer
Marcel stands up emabarrased from his fall and responds to Syrovy's smirk with a shameful smile. Rushing into the house, his figure is framed in the doorway as Sgt. Kat speaks.
"He needs to get into hospital. He's hit badly, but I think I was there quickly enough to save him. Out of the fight, for certain."
He returns Normand's comment with a quick "Smart ass!" and his trademark grin. "Stop getting shot and blown up, okay? Doctor's orders." Opening his bag again, he searches for gauze to stop the bleeding. Inspecting the wounds, he sighs and gets to work.
ooc: Treat Injury is a 17.
The Shaman said:
"He needs to get into hospital. He's hit badly, but I think I was there quickly enough to save him. Out of the fight, for certain."
He returns Normand's comment with a quick "Smart ass!" and his trademark grin. "Stop getting shot and blown up, okay? Doctor's orders." Opening his bag again, he searches for gauze to stop the bleeding. Inspecting the wounds, he sighs and gets to work.
ooc: Treat Injury is a 17.
shadowbloodmoon
First Post
Pyotr absolently nods at David's question. He was busy looking at his own hands, comparing them to the ones belonging to the man that was certain to die. It was one thing to kill a man at long range, but this... Pyotr slowly regained his feet, looking to where Vidal found more bodies, time slowing for him. He looked down at his submachinegun, then at Nedjar, who seemed to be reading his mind.
"I'm.. fine. Vidal got grazed in the leg I think. We got bodies over there too," he nods towards the ones in the bunks. "There is a radio there too, but I'm not sure if it's for comms or not." He then stands back to allow the premiere to get a closer look.
"I'm.. fine. Vidal got grazed in the leg I think. We got bodies over there too," he nods towards the ones in the bunks. "There is a radio there too, but I'm not sure if it's for comms or not." He then stands back to allow the premiere to get a closer look.
The Shaman
First Post
Nedjar looks down at the bodies with disgust. “Throats slashed. That’s typical.” He looks over to where Vidal waits with his prisoner. “I’m going to check in with Sgt. Kat. See what you can find here and stay alert.” The Algerian para steps to the door and peeks out carefully, searching the farm yard before heading out.
Vidal holds the MAT-49 to the back of the man’s neck as he pats him down. The Arab has grown quiet and still as the Portuguese para stands over him. Reaching a pocket of the man’s dungarees, Vidal withdraws a large folding knife – there is blood on the handle and the blade. As he bends down, he sees something else as well – under one of the beds a couple of meters away, a rifle. Search and Spot checks 14 each (taking 10).
Marcel looks over Normand. The big man is covered in blood and dust. A shell fragment, or a piece of glass perhaps, has laid open Normand’s scalp just above his right eye – the wound is shallow but like all head wounds bled profusely. Working his way down the medic finds another laceration on Normand’s neck – the wound is shallow but without the ragged edges of the scalp lac, suggesting a bullet rather than a something jagged. It too has bled profusely but not as badly as it could have – a couple of centimeters toward midline and the round would have severed the carotid artery.
There are some minor cuts and scrapes on Normand’s face and arms, but it’s under his arm that Marcel finds the most serious wound – a large shell fragment, buried in the tissue of the latissimus. Pulling a pair of forceps from his kit, the medic carefully withdraws the chunk of iron, covers the wound with a dressing, and wraps a bandage around Normand’s chest and shoulder to hold it in firmly place. He then sets about cleaning up the lesser wounds. Normand recovers 3 HP.
As Marcel works, Normand studies the discoloration on the carpet in the entryway. The boxer has seen enough blood stains to recognize this one – more than that, he realizes that this particular bloodstain is a couple of hours old.
Vidal holds the MAT-49 to the back of the man’s neck as he pats him down. The Arab has grown quiet and still as the Portuguese para stands over him. Reaching a pocket of the man’s dungarees, Vidal withdraws a large folding knife – there is blood on the handle and the blade. As he bends down, he sees something else as well – under one of the beds a couple of meters away, a rifle. Search and Spot checks 14 each (taking 10).
Marcel looks over Normand. The big man is covered in blood and dust. A shell fragment, or a piece of glass perhaps, has laid open Normand’s scalp just above his right eye – the wound is shallow but like all head wounds bled profusely. Working his way down the medic finds another laceration on Normand’s neck – the wound is shallow but without the ragged edges of the scalp lac, suggesting a bullet rather than a something jagged. It too has bled profusely but not as badly as it could have – a couple of centimeters toward midline and the round would have severed the carotid artery.
There are some minor cuts and scrapes on Normand’s face and arms, but it’s under his arm that Marcel finds the most serious wound – a large shell fragment, buried in the tissue of the latissimus. Pulling a pair of forceps from his kit, the medic carefully withdraws the chunk of iron, covers the wound with a dressing, and wraps a bandage around Normand’s chest and shoulder to hold it in firmly place. He then sets about cleaning up the lesser wounds. Normand recovers 3 HP.
As Marcel works, Normand studies the discoloration on the carpet in the entryway. The boxer has seen enough blood stains to recognize this one – more than that, he realizes that this particular bloodstain is a couple of hours old.
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shadowbloodmoon
First Post
Pyotr nods as Nedjar leaves and then begins to search the room for something to tie up the prisoner with. "Keep him there for a moment, Vidal. I'll see if I can find something to keep him occupied."
Taking 10 to Search the room for rope or something.
Taking 10 to Search the room for rope or something.
Normand grins at Marcel once the doc starts putting his stuff away.
"Starting to know me too well, eh doc? I'll try and be more careful. Thanks."
Growing more serious, he adresses Sgt. Katsourianis.
"I don't think there's much need to worry 'bout hostages, sarge. That blood is some hours old. We should let the others know."
"Starting to know me too well, eh doc? I'll try and be more careful. Thanks."
Growing more serious, he adresses Sgt. Katsourianis.
"I don't think there's much need to worry 'bout hostages, sarge. That blood is some hours old. We should let the others know."
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Bobitron
Explorer
Marcel finishes his work with Normand and stands, wiping an arm across his brow. "I'm somewhat serious, Normand. Be more cautious. I'm not one to critique your throwing arm after my tosses in the desert last time, but damn, that was close. You could have killed yourself!", he chided.
He looks out the door to see if Babaye has moved to safety yet, then looks to Sgt. Kat expectantly for orders.
He looks out the door to see if Babaye has moved to safety yet, then looks to Sgt. Kat expectantly for orders.
The Shaman
First Post
“I don't think there's much need to worry 'bout hostages, sarge. That blood is some hours old. We should let the others know,” Normand tells Sgt. Katsourianis as Marcel finishes treating the grenadier’s wounds.
The Greek glances at the stain on the carpet in the entry, then returns his attention to the upstairs landing – he says nothing but his face is grim.
Satisfied at last that Normand isn’t going to bleed out from his wounds, Marcel steps outside toward the front wall, to check on his other patient. He is almost bowled over by David Nedjar as the Algerian runs through the gateway and ducks behind the wall. “Hey Doc, that stable hasn’t been cleared yet,” he says, motioning with his submachine gun. “Watch yourself.” Nedjar studies the stable for a moment, then looks back at the farmhouse, the broken glass, the wood splinters and the plaster chunks. His eyebrows rise slightly, then he continues “I’m looking for the sergent.” Told that Kat is inside the farmhouse, he nods and bounds up the steps.
Marcel looks back toward the goat pen and sees Asmussen supporting Babaye with his shoulder as they move slowly back toward the small shed, the Scandinavian holding the plasma bottle aloft, the Senegalese leaning heavily on the legionnaire.
In the bunkhouse, Vidal keeps the barrel of the MAT-49 aimed at the back of the Arab’s head. “You move and your dead,” he says simply, clearly. He raises his voice slightly. “Pyotr, there’s a rifle on the floor under this bed, and I pulled a bloody knife outta this guy’s pocket.”
Pyotr rummages around the stove and the icebox, finding a small spool of thick wire on a shelf. Pyotr: I’ll make your Use Rope/Dex check to secure the prisoner for you - no need to roll. I’m adding a +4 circumstance modifier to your check, FYI.
Sitting on the floor of the entrance hall in the farmhouse, Normand sees Nedjar come through the damaged doorway. The Algerian’s eyes open wide as he sees the big Frenchman covered in blood and bandages. “Sergent” he says, acknowledging Kat, then looks again at Normand. “Hand to G_d, you are a sight, Mador,” he announces. Before he can continue, Sgt. Müller appears through the far doorway to the dining room, stepping over the corpse of the Arab.
The German sergent-chef’s face is expressionless. “Doc!” he calls out, and Marcel, at the front steps, hustles inside. “Come with me,” says Müller peremptorily. Sgt. Müller leads the medic through the blasted dining room and over the battered body of the Arab, through the doorway beyond. Nedjar watches as they go, then gives his report to Kat – four dead including two combatants, one prisoner, Gaspard slightly wounded, the stable as yet unsecured. Katsourianis listens and replies, “It’s getting dark. Get the prisoner back to the barn with Silvio and Manolo, then take Nedjar and Gaspard to clear the stable.” He glances at his watch. “Get it done quickly – I’ll be along as soon as we’re done here.” Nedjar turns and bustles out the door again.
Kat looks at Normand. “How are you doing? Can you move?” he asks.
Passing through the doorway, Marcel follows Sgt. Müller into the farmhouse kitchen. Pamuk is there, leaning against a counter, rolling a cigarette. To the left is an open doorway – through the doorway an electric light illuminates a set of stairs leading down. “The colons,” Müller says, his voice emotionless. He tilts his head toward the stairs.
Stepping through the doorway, Marcel descends a creaking stairway lit by a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling - a second light shines from a fixture in the basement below. The stench of blood is immediate. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Marcel see four bodies lying on the packed earth floor, the tan soil dark and discolored around each still figure. One is a man in his mid-forties, stocky, mustached. He lies on his back, his mouth and eyes open, the front of his shirt torn. Beside him is a younger man, late teens perhaps, laying face down, his head turned to one side away from Marcel. Beyond the two men is a woman, late thirties, bottle-blond, in a simple floral-print dress once cream-colored but now stained the color of old wine. The last body is huddled in a corner, a young girl, fourteen or fifteen at most, her head tilted at an awkward angle, long brown hair hanging over her face.
Marcel stares at the last figure for a moment, puzzled by the odd position of her head – as his eyes adjust to the shadows in the corner he realizes that her throat has been slashed from ear to ear, nearly severing her head from her body and canting it over her shoulder. The other bodies display similar injuries.
The Greek glances at the stain on the carpet in the entry, then returns his attention to the upstairs landing – he says nothing but his face is grim.
Satisfied at last that Normand isn’t going to bleed out from his wounds, Marcel steps outside toward the front wall, to check on his other patient. He is almost bowled over by David Nedjar as the Algerian runs through the gateway and ducks behind the wall. “Hey Doc, that stable hasn’t been cleared yet,” he says, motioning with his submachine gun. “Watch yourself.” Nedjar studies the stable for a moment, then looks back at the farmhouse, the broken glass, the wood splinters and the plaster chunks. His eyebrows rise slightly, then he continues “I’m looking for the sergent.” Told that Kat is inside the farmhouse, he nods and bounds up the steps.
Marcel looks back toward the goat pen and sees Asmussen supporting Babaye with his shoulder as they move slowly back toward the small shed, the Scandinavian holding the plasma bottle aloft, the Senegalese leaning heavily on the legionnaire.
In the bunkhouse, Vidal keeps the barrel of the MAT-49 aimed at the back of the Arab’s head. “You move and your dead,” he says simply, clearly. He raises his voice slightly. “Pyotr, there’s a rifle on the floor under this bed, and I pulled a bloody knife outta this guy’s pocket.”
Pyotr rummages around the stove and the icebox, finding a small spool of thick wire on a shelf. Pyotr: I’ll make your Use Rope/Dex check to secure the prisoner for you - no need to roll. I’m adding a +4 circumstance modifier to your check, FYI.
Sitting on the floor of the entrance hall in the farmhouse, Normand sees Nedjar come through the damaged doorway. The Algerian’s eyes open wide as he sees the big Frenchman covered in blood and bandages. “Sergent” he says, acknowledging Kat, then looks again at Normand. “Hand to G_d, you are a sight, Mador,” he announces. Before he can continue, Sgt. Müller appears through the far doorway to the dining room, stepping over the corpse of the Arab.
The German sergent-chef’s face is expressionless. “Doc!” he calls out, and Marcel, at the front steps, hustles inside. “Come with me,” says Müller peremptorily. Sgt. Müller leads the medic through the blasted dining room and over the battered body of the Arab, through the doorway beyond. Nedjar watches as they go, then gives his report to Kat – four dead including two combatants, one prisoner, Gaspard slightly wounded, the stable as yet unsecured. Katsourianis listens and replies, “It’s getting dark. Get the prisoner back to the barn with Silvio and Manolo, then take Nedjar and Gaspard to clear the stable.” He glances at his watch. “Get it done quickly – I’ll be along as soon as we’re done here.” Nedjar turns and bustles out the door again.
Kat looks at Normand. “How are you doing? Can you move?” he asks.
Passing through the doorway, Marcel follows Sgt. Müller into the farmhouse kitchen. Pamuk is there, leaning against a counter, rolling a cigarette. To the left is an open doorway – through the doorway an electric light illuminates a set of stairs leading down. “The colons,” Müller says, his voice emotionless. He tilts his head toward the stairs.
Stepping through the doorway, Marcel descends a creaking stairway lit by a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling - a second light shines from a fixture in the basement below. The stench of blood is immediate. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Marcel see four bodies lying on the packed earth floor, the tan soil dark and discolored around each still figure. One is a man in his mid-forties, stocky, mustached. He lies on his back, his mouth and eyes open, the front of his shirt torn. Beside him is a younger man, late teens perhaps, laying face down, his head turned to one side away from Marcel. Beyond the two men is a woman, late thirties, bottle-blond, in a simple floral-print dress once cream-colored but now stained the color of old wine. The last body is huddled in a corner, a young girl, fourteen or fifteen at most, her head tilted at an awkward angle, long brown hair hanging over her face.
Marcel stares at the last figure for a moment, puzzled by the odd position of her head – as his eyes adjust to the shadows in the corner he realizes that her throat has been slashed from ear to ear, nearly severing her head from her body and canting it over her shoulder. The other bodies display similar injuries.
Normand uses his rifle as a cane to gingerly help himself stand up, and then he takes a few careful steps.
"I.. I reckon so, sarge. Wouldn't wanna get in a fistfight just yet, but I should be alright to move around some. Damn I feel dumb, though."
Shaking his head at his own stupidity, he stands at attention, ready to be ordered.
"I.. I reckon so, sarge. Wouldn't wanna get in a fistfight just yet, but I should be alright to move around some. Damn I feel dumb, though."
Shaking his head at his own stupidity, he stands at attention, ready to be ordered.
shadowbloodmoon
First Post
Pyotr brings the wire over to the Arab that Vidal has covered. "He moves, kill him."
He then proceeds to tie the man up as best he can with the wire, then grabs the rifle that Vidal mentioned was under the bed. Taking it over to where the shotgun was, he stacks both in a corner, away from the front door or any other entrance. "Keep the knife, Sarge may want to see it. You want to check this radio? See if it goes anywhere special?"
Not sure how long that will take but after all that, I want to search the room for more weapons, after that take a closer look at the bodies.
He then proceeds to tie the man up as best he can with the wire, then grabs the rifle that Vidal mentioned was under the bed. Taking it over to where the shotgun was, he stacks both in a corner, away from the front door or any other entrance. "Keep the knife, Sarge may want to see it. You want to check this radio? See if it goes anywhere special?"
Not sure how long that will take but after all that, I want to search the room for more weapons, after that take a closer look at the bodies.
