Wing and Sword: Life During Wartime

[Bobitron]

[sblock]Marcel shrugs as he preps by carefully cleaning up and removing any excess clothing that might be a cause of contamination. "I joined a little while back. I enrolled at Broussais-Hôtel-Dieu at eighteen. I studied for a few years, but I decided I could do more good here. In Paris, I saw a future looking at old men's bunions and dealing with kid's coughs. Here, I save lives. Babaye would be dead if I wasn't there today. I'll finish school someday, but not now. Not while this is going on." Marcel sets down the soap, rinsing his hands one last time, and turns, finished with his preparations. "I'm ready, doctor."[/sblock]

 

[Barak]

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Normand looks at the sergeant, not overly comfortable at having to answer to any non-légionnaire without having been prepped as to what he may or may not reveal. However, the sergeant is busy, and Normand figures that refusing to answer right away might end up doing more damage than good. With a sigh, he answers, keeping his voice low.

"We were on a routine sentry drive when we came upon dead gendarmes. We found one that was merely wounded, and information we got from him led us to believe the men who attacked them, which he told us were fellaghas, might be at the Rubiera farm. We decided that we had to go there right away, because we feared if we waited they would leave and disappear. And, of course, we were worried about the Rubiera family, since we knew they were in no way sympathizers. Upon arriving, it was obvious that something was very wrong. We did manage to take the farm, going in carefully in case some members of the family were being held as hostages. I'm.. Not confident about the numbers at this time, but I believe we killed three or four. We also took one prisoner. And.. We found the bodies of the Rubiera family, except for one little girl who avoided being found, thank God. As for who they were, it was pretty obvious they were fellaghas. As for where they came from, I have no idea, as I haven't spoken to the prisoner. I'm sure that is being done as we speak."

Normand pauses, and shakes his head, looking at the floor.

"I speak for myself when I say this, sir, and not the Légion, but I'm really sorry we weren't able to prevent the others from being killed. From what I heard, however, they were killed before we even found the gendarmes. Perhaps even before the gendarmes themselves were killed, since I think the truck used by them in the ambush belonged to Mr Rubiera."
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[The Shaman]

Barak to the white courtesy phone, please - your opinion is needed in the [METAGAME] thread.

 

[The Shaman]

Marcel...[sblock]“Pauline, help the medic with his gloves, s’il vous plait,” Dr. Bruzzi says to the little round nurse. She joins Marcel at scrub basin and after sizing up the medic’s hands with a glance, removes a pair of surgical gloves from a drawer. She checks to make sure that Marcel’ gown is in place and slips a cloth mask around his neck before tearing open the paper and deftly placing the gloves on his raised hands, smiling a pretty smile at the Frenchman as she does.

As this little ritual is performed, Babaye drifts off to sleep as the anesthetic takes hold and the doctor in turn dons his gown and scrubs in preparation. “I’m sorry to hear about Rubiera,” Dr. Bruzzi says as he works the sponge between his fingers. “A good man. Not an educated man, but not a bumpkin like some of the dear citizens of our fine metropolis here in the wilderness.” He shakes his head. “We’ve been spared the depredations of the FLN before now,” he continues in his Italian-tinged French, “though one only has to look to the Arabs in the medina to know that this was inevitable.”

Completing his ablutions, he stands patiently as Pauline assists the doctor with his mask and gloves, standing on tip-toes to reach the tall physician’s head and hands. His voice muffled by the cloth, Dr. Bruzzi says to Marcel, “Let’s see what the Broussais-Hôtel-Dieu is teaching its students these days.”

Make a DC 20 Treat Injury check to give Dr. Bruzzi a +2 aid another bonus during the surgery.[/sblock]Normand and Pyotr...[sblock]Girard listens intently to Normand, nodding at the end. “Joseph dropped his car off here in town for repairs this afternoon, so only the truck would be on the farm.” The large man is lost in thought for a moment. “What about the hands? Rubiera had a half-dozen Arabs working his farm.”[/sblock]

 

[Barak]

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"Sir, I wouldn't know anything about that. If you have anymore questions, I'd recommend that you wait for my sergeant to be done talking to this poor bereaved woman, and ask him."

Normand then looks up, and gives Girard a lopsided grin.

"Mean no disrespect, of course, sir."
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[Bobitron]

[sblock]Marcel moves into position, the gloves and surgical gown making him feel a bit awkward. It had been a long time since he had worn the garb. Too accustomed to working in the dirt, he thought. The doctor's administrations are practiced, and Marcel finds himself standing there for much of the procedure. "I don't see I am of any more use here than a nurse, Doctor." He hands him another swab.

ooc: Urgh. A crappy roll, just in time to impress the doc. My result is an 11. At next level, I would just take 10 on this to get the results I need. Speaking of which, how are we doing for XP?

It looks like if the doctor fails, we can re-attempt it, anyhow. :\
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[The Shaman]

Normand and Pyotr...[sblock]Girard’s eyes narrow slightly, but the big man says nothing, merely looks at the reluctant Normand and the silent Pyotr. “All right, légionnaire,” he says at last and turns away.

From across the lobby the woman’s sobs grow louder as Kat, still kneeling beside her, finishes speaking. The mayor sits on the edge of his chair beside her, tapping his sausage-like fingers furiously on his knee, glaring at the sergent. Suddenly the woman pulls back a hand and swings it at Kat, who, perhaps anticipating the moment, catches her hand in his own. “This didn’t happen until you came!” she shrieks as she struggles with the Greek legionnaire. “You brought them here!” she spits vehemently.

Before Kat can respond, from outside comes the sound of breaking glass.[/sblock]Marcel...[sblock]Marcel finds himself hard-pressed to keep up with Dr. Bruzzi’s rapid pace. The Italian’s technique is a model of efficiency as he enters Babaye’s chest and extracts the 7.5 mm bullet from its resting place in the caporal-chef’s sixth rib and debreeds the tissue around the wound site, suturing minute tears in a slowly leaking artery in the process. Gone are the minute incisions of the surgical theatre, replaced with deft cuts that leave Marcel fumbling with sponges and clamps.

“A military surgeon,” Dr. Bruzzi intones, “must be efficient above all else. You must work with the certain knowledge that another wounded man is waiting for you. Retractor. No, here, at the base of the lung,” he corrects.

“I served in Abyssinia and across North Africa during the war,” he continues. “Benghazi, Tobruk, El Alamein, Mareth. Until I was captured by the British, and then I was a surgeon in a PW camp in Tunisia. Pauline, wipe.” He leans down as the plump nurse mops his brow, then looks over the top of his glasses at Marcel. “Like your Capitaine Martini. Did you know he was an Italian paratrooper?”[/sblock]

 

[Barak]

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Merde Alors!

Normand exchange a glance with Pyotr, then stands up, and takes a step toward the door. Stopping, he looks toward the busy sergeant.

"Hmm sarge? Want me to go out there and help?"

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[Bobitron]

[sblock]"Capitaine Martini, a paratrooper in Italia?" Marcel shrugs. "I don't have any skeletons in my closet, but I'm sure that others might. I don't dig too deeply, Doctor. That's a good way to make enemies within my own men." His eyes rise to meet Bruzzi’s. "Not that serving in the Italian military is a skeleton. Monsters served on all sides. I knew a resistance fighter named Pierre who would abuse the Germans fiercely with lit cigarettes. I hated him for it. Good men served on all sides. Even the Germans probably had a few," he said with a grin. "Actually, I met some a while back. Our last mission was with a German Sergent named Neumann and a couple of légionnaires named Dinter and Berg. Good men, every one." He pauses in reflection. "I couldn't save Berg. He was dead before I got to him."

He sighs and attempts to keep with the surgeon's pace. "My speed is an issue. Probably my biggest shortcoming, to be honest. I don't make many mistakes, but when I am rushed, I find it difficult to dot the i's and cross the t's, you know?"[/sblock]

 

[The Shaman]

Normand and Pyotr...[sblock]Before the sergent can answer, Ortu interjects, “Kat...my gun...it’s in the back of the truck.”

“Χριστός!” he says, disengaging himself from the distraught woman and rising. “Secure the truck,” Kat orders, then turns to Girard. “Can you control your people?” he says bluntly. The UT leader’s reply is lost as the legionnaires walk out the doors of the clinic.

The crowd has grown to some three score, but they are no longer clustered directly in front of the clinic – something up the street has caught their attention. Nedjar and Pamuk stand beside the door, weapons slung and magazines folded forward – in the back of the truck, Sánchez can be seen, with the AAT-52 beside him.

Several shouts come from up the street now. Normand and Pyotr: Spot checks, please.[/sblock]

Marcel...[sblock]“It’s a rare legionnaire,” Dr. Bruzzi replies, nimbly suturing the leaking artery, “that doesn’t have skeletons in his closet, young man.”

“Giovanni was a platoon leader in Abyssinia and commanded a para company in Greece and North Africa, before he was wounded and captured at El Alamein,” he continues, threading the silk through the artery wall. “Suction. After the armistice he volunteered to serve in the Royal Italian Army, fighting alongside the Allies.” The surgeon leans over and studies Babaye’s face for a moment. “He takes the gas well. Keep a close eye on him, Pauline. We don’t want him waking up in the middle, oui?” The chubby nurse nods.

“Your capitaine fought for his country. It is a soldier’s duty to serve, something the politicians use to their ends, for better and worse.” Dr. Bruzzi pauses a moment as he ties off the suture. “Unfortunately speed comes from too much experience with this business, Fortier. I’m sorry to say that you will develop it in time. The Arabs will not stop fighting any time soon.”[/sblock]