Wing and Sword: Life During Wartime

[Bobitron]

Marcel casts a venomous glance at the prisoner as he approaches Vidal. "Keep an eye on him while I work." His voice is curt and hard, very unlike his normal tone.

Taking out a small knife, he splits Vidal's pant leg and does his best to clean out the metal, dirt, and cloth from the wound.

ooc: Treat Injury 28, healing 3 hp.

Standing up from his crouch, he pats Vidal once on the shoulder, then spins and faces the prisoner, striking him across the back of his head with an outstreched hand.

عد أكثر من ثلاث سنوات من الترجمة الآعلى الإنترنت أصبح الدخول إلى موقا عبر الاشتراك فق*

Marcel's eyes flash with anger and his arabic words are yelled rather than spoken.

*Who the hell are you, bastard? What have you done to this family? You know what I will do to you!

 

[The Shaman]

Cleaning and binding the pellet wound is a simple matter for Marcel – removing the pellet later will be trickier. Vidal continues to fiddle with the radio knobs when suddenly a voice comes through the static. “Tango 31, Tango 3, report!”

The prisoner is quiet as Marcel works, staring at the floor and swaying back and forth very slightly. The slap brings his head up immediately. His watery eyes are wide as he looks at the medic. <اللغة العربية, العربية>

Spoiler

Please, I don’t know anything! I had nothing to do with this! You must believe me!

</اللغة العربية, العربية>. The Arab licks at dry lips.

Babaye is quiet as he is carefully loaded into the truck by Normand and Asmussen, next to the injured gendarme. The Senegalese caporal-chef settles onto the floor of the truck with a deep sigh, then looking at Normand asks, “What happened, Mador? Are there more casualties?”

“A child?” Nedjar says with surprise. He puts a hand on Pyotr’s shoulder before the Ukrainian can push on the door. “Be careful,” Nedjar says flatly, “it could be an ambush. They use the children...” The Algerian places his hands on the door, then nods to Pyotr. “Be ready.”

 

[Bobitron]

The prisoner is quiet as Marcel works, staring at the floor and swaying back and forth very slightly. The slap brings his head up immediately. His watery eyes are wide as he looks at the medic. <اللغة العربية, العربية>

Spoiler

Please, I don’t know anything! I had nothing to do with this! You must believe me!

</اللغة العربية, العربية>. The Arab licks at dry lips.

Marcel places his boot on the man's back and shoves him face down in the dirt with a kick, his lips curled into a snarl. Bringing up his carbine, he places the barrel firmly against the back of the man's head.

Speaking in arabic again: اللغة , العربيةاللعربيةغة العربية,لعربيةاللغة العربية, العربية>"Don't lie to me! You will pay for what you did! Tell me the truth, or I will get the gendarme who's friends you killed over here!"<العربيةاللعربيةغة العربية!"

ooc: Sense Motive check is a 6.

 

[shadowbloodmoon]

Pyotr nods absently at Nedjar, knowing full well about using children in warfare. The memory of one instance in particular threatened to overcome him, but he shook his head clear of it. She was crying, sobbing. He put his hands on the door, ready to open it with Nedjar. Yevgenny went to pick her up, I saw it. With a deep sigh, he tried to pull open the doors. Grenade taped to her hands. Pyotr dropped into a crouch, submachinegun ready. Tried to warn him. For anything.

Strength check (1d20=10)
I think I'm assisting Nedjar here....

 

[Barak]

Normand grins at the wounded man, happy to see him conscious

"Nah Babs.. From what I know, only you and I were seriously wounded from our unit. I do get the feeling the farmer and his family were killed much earlier, but that was out of our hands."

Tapping him gently on the shoulder, as far from the man's wound as he can get, Normand turns his attention back to the outside, weapon still at the ready.

 

[The Shaman]

Babaye frowns at Normand’s words but says nothing. The injured gendarme sits up on one elbow, however. “The Rubieras are dead?” he asks. He looks at Normand. “Légionnaire, make sure that nothing is touched that doesn’t need to be,” he continues. “The commissaire will want to protect the crime scene.”

Pyotr and Nedjar tug at the door and with an audible squeal it slides back on its metal tracks, revealing the interior of the stable. The inside of the stable is in deep shadow, and eyes strain to make out details. Running the length of the stable on your right are three stalls, each with a Dutch door, solid below, a metal grille above. Two more stalls are on the left. The doors on the first two stalls to the right stand open, while the lower half of the Dutch door is closed on the stall furthest from where Pyotr and Nedjar stand. Both stable doors to the left are closed, top and bottom.

At the far left, occupying the southwest corner of the stable, is what appears to be a tack room, judging from the saddles and bridles hanging from the hooks that line the wall. A narrow door stands open – darkness lies within.

Glancing toward the ceiling, Pyotr sees a loft filled with baled hay at the far end of the stable, accessed by a tall wooden ladder. Another pair of sliding doors occupies the west wall – they are closed tight. Nedjar pulls back to the edge of the doorway, pointing his MAT-49 at the interior, eyes and ears searching the shadows. Pyotr: Listen and Spot checks, please.

Marcel: An Intimidate roll, if you please, before I continue with the prisoner’s response. I’ll also handle Vidal’s reply at that time.

 

[shadowbloodmoon]

Pyotr scans the barn, trying to look through every corner, pretending he could see through walls. "The child can't have gone far, " he whispers to no one in particular. He stays crouched beside the door, just enough to get a good view of the place.


Spot check: (1d20+4=21)
Listen check: (1d20+4=17)

 

[Bobitron]

ooc: Marcel gets a big fat 4. Two bad rolls, my next one better be a freakin' 19. :\

 

[The Shaman]

Marcel presses the barrel of the carbine against the back of the Arab’s head. The prisoner’s head sinks, trying to pull away from the hard steel of the M1A1, but he says nothing, staring at the floor and breathing heavily.

Vidal keys the section radio. “Tango 3, Tango 31, we are on a farm belonging to someone named Rubiera. We took fire from at least three fells and captured one prisoner. There are at least two dead here on the farm.” He looks over at Marcel as he releases the mic button.“Do we have a complete casualty count?”

 

[The Shaman]

As he crouches in the doorway, Pyotr hears a slight creak and a faint rustle. Looking to the furthest stall on his left, the Ukrainian sees a head of straight brown hair above a pair of eyes peeping through the bars of the Dutch door to the stall.