Wing and Sword: Life During Wartime

[Bobitron]

“Fortier, take a look at this.”

Looking at the picture, Marcel sees the family whose bodies lie in the basement, smiling at the camera – the husband, presumably M. Rubiera, and his wife, the teenage boy and girl...and another girl, younger than the other two children, a moppet with long brown hair and a big smile.

"Huh." Marcel stares at the picture in silence for a long moment. "Where the hell..." His head snaps up to meet Müller's eyes. "We have to find her, Sergent. She must have run and hid. Maybe she's in the fields and we missed her or..." He sets his jaw in firm determination. "Night is coming, and we can't leave her alone out there in the dark, sir."

"What should we do with him?" He motions toward the prisoner. "He claims he has nothing to do with anything." Marcel rolls his eyes and lashes out once again with a boot to kick the man on the shin. ثلاث سنوات من الترجمة! On the floor!

 

[shadowbloodmoon]

With a finger to his lips, Pyotr's legs propelled his reaching hand forward to cover the girl's mouth to prevent her from screaming. He didn't want her alerting anyone else that may still be in the barn. "Shhhh," he whispers.


Melee Touch Attack: (1d20=10)
Grapple check: (1d20=13)

 

[The Shaman]

"We have to find her, Sergent. She must have run and hid. Maybe she's in the fields and we missed her or..." He sets his jaw in firm determination. "Night is coming, and we can't leave her alone out there in the dark, sir."

Müller is stone-faced. “Légionnaire, your job is to see to our wounded. The girl is the gendarmes’ responsibility, not ours.” He holds his hand out for the photo.

"What should we do with him?" Marcel continues. "He claims he has nothing to do with anything."

Vidal fishes in the pocket of his smock. “I found this in his pocket when we caught him, mon sergent-chef, where we found those two Arabs with their throats cut,” he says, holding up the bloodstained folding knife. “There was a rifle under the bunk next to him.”

The German looks down at the Arab. “Hold onto him for now. Have all these buildings been cleared and the weapons secured?”

- / -​

"Shhhh," Pyotr whispers as he slips his hand over the girl’s mouth. Her eyes are wide, her skin pale as she recoils from the legionnaire’s touch. She starts to pull away, grabbing at Pyotr’s hand with her own, and the Ukrainian must grip her firmly to keep her from escaping. The girl’s cry is muffled by the para’s palm. Pyotr must make another opposed grapple check in the next round.

 

[Bobitron]

Marcel flashes a dark look at Müller, but nods and gives an affirmative oui. Turning away, he heads toward the barn he noted Pyotr and Nedjar going in.

ooc: Is it dark yet?

 

[shadowbloodmoon]

Pyotr doesn't want to hurt the girl, but he knows that if she screams, anyone else in the barn will hear them. Not letting go, he whispers to her. "Shhh... We're not going to hurt you. Is there anyone else in here?"


Grapple check: (1d20=19)

 

[The Shaman]

As Marcel passes through the gate and starts moving toward the stable, he hears Burhan Pamuk’s voice from over his shoulder. “Wait. David and Pyotr are in there.” He tilts his head toward the barn on the right. “Ortu is there. Crossfire. And it’s getting dark.”

Indeed, the sun has disappeared behind the distant mountains and the sky is fading from blue to indigo. Three or four of the brightest summer stars are visible now and the shadows about the farm are deepening quickly.

Inside the stable the darkness grows as well. The little girl’s face is illumined by the light from the open door to the corral outside the stall. She struggles a moment, then stops – Pyotr can feel her relax a bit, and she shakes her head slightly in answer to his question.

She looks to be about eight years old, with long brown hair gathered in pigtails. The girl wears a simple blue dress stained with mud and manure, with bits of straw caught in the lace hem. She pulls at Pyotr’s hand, more gently now, without panic, as her big brown eyes look into the Ukrainian’s.

 

[Bobitron]

Marcel stops. "Right."

He sits on the wall, checking his carbine again nervously and taking quick stock of his ammunition. Taking out a flashlight from his bag, he switches it on and off a few times, shining the light onto his hand to make certain the batteries are good.

"The LT said five minutes, right? Are they coming to extract us and turn this over to the gendarmes, or are we spending the night, sir?" He looks to Müller for an answer.

 

[shadowbloodmoon]

Pyotr knows better than to fully trust the sense of a frightened child, but he lets himself relax a bit anyway, the tension getting to him. "Listen," he whispers. "I'm going to take my hand away, but you have to keep quiet, okay?" Presuming she nods her head here in agreement, if not, I'll change it. Once the girl nods her head in agreement, Pyotr slowly removes his hand and then looks at Nedjar, as if to shrug. Turning back to the girl, Pyotr tries to look as gentle as possible. "What's your name?"

 

[The Shaman]

"The LT said five minutes, right? Are they coming to extract us and turn this over to the gendarmes, or are we spending the night, sir?" Marcel asks Müller.

The platoon sergeant’s face is a pale blur in the shadows. “You’ll know when I know, légionnaire,” he replies. “Burhan,” he continues, “move around to the back of the house and stand sentry with Syrovy. Watch the trees up on the hill and those fields to the east.” The Turk nods and heads around the corner, crunching broken glass from the dining room windows strewn in the yard beneath his boots.

- / -​

Sergeant Katsourianis appears at the driver’s window of the truck where Normand and Sánchez wait. “Where’s Asmussen?” he asks.

“In back,” the Spaniard replies.

The sergent looks inside the cab. “I want a sentry post on that entry drive, over by those trees,” he says to the legionnaires, pointing to the poplars lining the gravel driveway. “Mador, are you up to that?”

- / -​

Pyotr pulls his hand away from the girl’s mouth and asks softly, "What's your name?"

“Angelique,” she replies in a whisper. Her eyes shift from side to side, taking in Pyotr and Nedjar. “I want my mommy,” she says.

 

[Bobitron]

Marcel sighs softly at the platoon sergeant’s response, giving a weak "Oui, sir" in reply. "I'm going to check on Pyotr and Nedjar. Haven't heard anything form there in a while."

He starts slowly walking out into the space between the two outbuildings. "Ortu! Don't shoot me, you lug! It's Marcel, I'm heading to the stables!"