Wing and Sword: Life During Wartime

[Bobitron]

Marcel leans back heavily on the bench, allowing the bouncy road and surging engine to lull him inoto a calm state. He thinks back on Mantz's words and allows himself a sigh. At least she will be cared for, he thinks. Looking carefully at the faces of his fellow legionnaires, he can't help but feel they got away from this situation easily.

"What do you think he meant by the comment about the doctor? For surgery, perhaps? There are many fragments in you I still need to remove, Normand. The chance of infection is very high."

 

[shadowbloodmoon]

Not the first time, and not the last. Pyotr sighs out loud. "Still gets me everytime I see it," he says to no one in particular. He then simply shrugs at Marcel's question.

"Could be anything, Marcel. Maybe he wants you to assist holding him down when they yank the rest of those pellets out." He cracks an obviously forced smile.

 

[The Shaman]

Nedjar is talking quietly with Babaye, but looks up at Marcel’s words. “The doctor in town helped with our wounded before,” the Algerian says, “when Rivoli and Guzman were hurt.” Nedjar glances at Normand and Pyotr. “The legionnaires you replaced,” he adds.

Pamuk pulls his Thermos out of his pack as the conversation continues and pours himself a cup of sweet, lukewarm tea – Asmussen stares out of the back of the truck, his face in shadow. Babaye lets out a slight gasp as the truck bounces through a pothole.

Next to Pyotr sits Karel Syrovy – the Hungarian legionnaire holds a slim cigarette case in his hand, and offers a cigarette to Pyotr before slipping the case back in the pocket of his smock. A match flares, briefly lighting up the rear of the truck. “Where else have you seen action like this?” Syrovy asks the Ukrainian, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

 

[Barak]

"If it's someone to hold me down he's after, I don't see why he'd want Marcel. The doc's smart, but he's als damn skinny."

Normand grins at the doc.

"I did learn something though. Even when you're real tired, never take a nap on a pineapple. Some of 'em blow up, right Ortu?"

 

[The Shaman]

Ortu turns slightly in Normand’s direction. “Try not dropping it on your own feet next time.” There’s no malice in the Sardinian’s jibe.

“How many fells did we get, anyway?” the gunner continues.

 

[shadowbloodmoon]

Pyotr waves away Karel's offer. "I try not to do that anymore." He then thinks back, deciding just how much to answer the question.

"Many farms and villages in the Ukraine were attacked and seized by Nazi forces. They would come in and..." Pyotr paused, almost choking on the next word, "replace the population with their own. I was with a group of those sent to clear them out."

 

[The Shaman]

Syrovy takes a drag from his cigarette, the glowing tip bright in the darkness. “Perhaps my uncles might say the same things about the Russians, and Ukrainians, who destroyed Budapest,” he replies. “If they’d lived, that is.” The orange ember dances as Syrovy waves his hand. “Then again, they were both in the Arrow Cross, so they were fascists, too. But now,” he finishes, “we’re all one happy Legion, and the Arabs kill the French, and us when they can. Everyone has blood on their hands some time.”

His voice rises slightly at Ortu’s question. “I got the one that shot Babaye, out behind the farm house.”

 

[shadowbloodmoon]

"Everyone has blood on their hands some time."

Pyotr nodded. A simple "Yeah.", was all he could offer. He wasn't there when Budapest was taken, but he couldn't help but feel the Hungarian's anger. He had to admit to himself that no side was completely innocent. Not even Pyotr himself.

 

[Barak]

"Well, the sarge got one in the farmhouse, after I had heroically distracted him with a grenade."

Normand then looks around, and grins.

"I think the gendarmes will be mad at me for that. So many important clues destroyed."

 

[Bobitron]

"There's only one clue that really matters; the bastard we captured." Marcel has a fierce expression as he mentions the prisoner. "I'm not a bloodthirsty man, but that one deserves anything he gets, and probably more." His eyes glaze over for a moment. "That poor girl..."

He turns to look at Ortu. "Hey, Ortu. Don't give me sh*t for doing my job. I needed to get to that stable. Take it up with the Sarge if you trouble with what I'm doing, don't curse at me for doing what I need to do." He leans forward, extending a hand. "I'm sorry, that came across bad. It's been a long day. I just want to work together well, you know?"