Wing and Sword: Life During Wartime
- Thread starter The Shaman
- Start date
The Shaman
First Post
Initiative -
Normand 10
Mysterious trio 8
Have at it.
Normand 10
Mysterious trio 8
Have at it.
shadowbloodmoon
First Post
Pyotr shakes his head. "Where is the old sarge anyway? This quiet is giving me chills, if you know what I mean." As if to emphasize his statement, Pyotr checks the safety on his submachinegun and adjusts the rifle on his shoulder.
Et merde.. Please don't be fells.
Taking better cover behind the poplars, Normand yells as loud as he can, hoping to be heard by his companions as well as the unidentified people.
"THIS IS THE LÉGION! COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP RIGHT NOW, OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES. YOU ARE SURROUNDED!"
As he speaks, Normand switches his weapon back to grenade launcher mode.
OOC:
Ready action to fire a grenade at the trio if they fire at me.
Taking better cover behind the poplars, Normand yells as loud as he can, hoping to be heard by his companions as well as the unidentified people.
"THIS IS THE LÉGION! COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP RIGHT NOW, OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES. YOU ARE SURROUNDED!"
As he speaks, Normand switches his weapon back to grenade launcher mode.
OOC:
Ready action to fire a grenade at the trio if they fire at me.
The Shaman
First Post
Angelique looks at Marcel and pulls away slightly as he offers his hand. She picks up her pace as her little legs carry her toward the farmhouse.
“Where is the old sarge anyway? This quiet is giving me chills, if you know what I mean.” Before anyone can answer, Normand’s shout comes across the farmyard from the driveway.
“THIS IS THE LÉGION! COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP RIGHT NOW, OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES. YOU ARE SURROUNDED!”
“Easy, legionnaire,” comes the reply in French. It’s an older man’s voice – the accent is pure Alsatian. “Name’s Mantz. I own the farm ’cross the road.” One of the crouching shadows stands slowly, a rifle held high overhead, and steps into the driveway. “These’re my boys. We’re with the UT.” The shadow moves slightly and the voice gets softer. “Stand up slow, boys, an’ raise your rifles up so’s he can see ’em.” Again he addresses Normand. “Can we come up?”
Pyotr and Marcel can hear Normand’s words – they can hear the farmer’s voice but not what he’s saying.
“Where is the old sarge anyway? This quiet is giving me chills, if you know what I mean.” Before anyone can answer, Normand’s shout comes across the farmyard from the driveway.
“THIS IS THE LÉGION! COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP RIGHT NOW, OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES. YOU ARE SURROUNDED!”
“Easy, legionnaire,” comes the reply in French. It’s an older man’s voice – the accent is pure Alsatian. “Name’s Mantz. I own the farm ’cross the road.” One of the crouching shadows stands slowly, a rifle held high overhead, and steps into the driveway. “These’re my boys. We’re with the UT.” The shadow moves slightly and the voice gets softer. “Stand up slow, boys, an’ raise your rifles up so’s he can see ’em.” Again he addresses Normand. “Can we come up?”
Pyotr and Marcel can hear Normand’s words – they can hear the farmer’s voice but not what he’s saying.
Normand doesn't aim his rifle away from the man just yet, but his voice is much calmer as he answers.
"Yes sir, you may. Slowly, and with your hands up for now. Sorry about this, I do believe you, but there's fells about.
As the men come up, Normand makes sure to keep from focusing too much on them, making sure he stays aware of what else goes on, in case it would turn out to be a diversion.
"Yes sir, you may. Slowly, and with your hands up for now. Sorry about this, I do believe you, but there's fells about.
As the men come up, Normand makes sure to keep from focusing too much on them, making sure he stays aware of what else goes on, in case it would turn out to be a diversion.
shadowbloodmoon
First Post
Chyort! Pyotr watches Marcel take Angelique to the farmhouse, something he himself would have suggested, then drops down into a crouch before moving to be beside the barn, scanning wherever Normand is looking.
The Shaman
First Post
Pyotr cuts across the farmyard as a fast trot, eyes straining through the gloom, struggling to see what triggered Normand’s outburst. Closer by, he sees Sgt. Katsourianis moving forward as well, hustling toward the trees lining the driveway.
Normand keeps his rifle trained on the three men as the voice replies firmly, “Sure thing. Get up, boys. Keep them rifles high.” The crouching figures stand and all three walk forward slowly, holding their rifles overhead.
As they get closer Normand can see that each appears to be a colon – the speaker, in the lead, looks to be in his early fifties, with a grizzled beard and gray hair sticking out from under a beret. The other two are younger, one in perhaps his mid-twenties, the other in his late teens – their wide eyes are visible in the fading light as they get close. All are dressed in work clothes. Each carries a MAS-36 rifle held high at Normand’s order, and wears a bandolier strapped over a shoulder.
“We’re with the UT,” he repeats, still holding his weapon overhead. “We heard the firin’ an’ got our guns.” The farmer looks Normand up and down. “Anybody else bad hurt? Where’s Rubiera?”
Gripping her arm, Marcel hustles Angelique through the gateway to the farmhouse yard. Inside the wall. Vidal is crouched down, his submachine gun pointed at the back of the kneeling prisoner’s head. Sgt. Müller stands on the steps of the house, looking south toward the voices heard faintly in the distance. Marcel feels Angelique suddenly jerk to a stop and hears her gasp as she sees the prisoner on the ground. The little girl throws her arms around Marcel's waist and buries her face in his jump smock
Normand keeps his rifle trained on the three men as the voice replies firmly, “Sure thing. Get up, boys. Keep them rifles high.” The crouching figures stand and all three walk forward slowly, holding their rifles overhead.
As they get closer Normand can see that each appears to be a colon – the speaker, in the lead, looks to be in his early fifties, with a grizzled beard and gray hair sticking out from under a beret. The other two are younger, one in perhaps his mid-twenties, the other in his late teens – their wide eyes are visible in the fading light as they get close. All are dressed in work clothes. Each carries a MAS-36 rifle held high at Normand’s order, and wears a bandolier strapped over a shoulder.
“We’re with the UT,” he repeats, still holding his weapon overhead. “We heard the firin’ an’ got our guns.” The farmer looks Normand up and down. “Anybody else bad hurt? Where’s Rubiera?”
Gripping her arm, Marcel hustles Angelique through the gateway to the farmhouse yard. Inside the wall. Vidal is crouched down, his submachine gun pointed at the back of the kneeling prisoner’s head. Sgt. Müller stands on the steps of the house, looking south toward the voices heard faintly in the distance. Marcel feels Angelique suddenly jerk to a stop and hears her gasp as she sees the prisoner on the ground. The little girl throws her arms around Marcel's waist and buries her face in his jump smock
Normand relaxes a bit more at the men's appearance, and points his weapon slightly away from the men.
"Alright sir, you and your boys can put your arms down now, but keep those weapons in an unthreathening position, so that the others don't get too excited once they get here. As for your questions, I'll let my sergeant decide what you may or may not be told."
"Alright sir, you and your boys can put your arms down now, but keep those weapons in an unthreathening position, so that the others don't get too excited once they get here. As for your questions, I'll let my sergeant decide what you may or may not be told."
