Wing and Sword: Life During Wartime

[Bobitron]

Marcel bursts through the door in a rush, his eyes flickering over the room. "Where's Sergent Kat?" he asks, his paced uninterupted as he makes way for the door. "Bayabe is fine," he calls back over his shoulder before he exits. "Vidal should go into surgery next."

Stepping outside, he looks for Kat, eager to explain what he had heard.

 

[The Shaman]

Sgt. Katsourianis is waiting on the steps with David Nedjar when Marcel arrives. “How’s Babaye, doc?” the section leader asks immediately.

 

[Bobitron]

"He'll be fine. Bruzzi knows what he is doing. Old war acquaintance of the Captaine, apparently." He shakes his head. "Look, sir, it's not important. I have something to tell you. The fell we killed in the farmhouse. You remember the one with the big scar on his shoulder? Turns out he was named Ferhaz, and he was one of Rebiera's farmhands. Who knows about the others. The doctor said that Rubiera had half a dozen Arabs working for him." Marcel shrugs. "I suppose the difficult thing is to decide whether they were part of what happened in the basement or not, but I would have to assume they were." He looks into Kat's face, looking for some insight into the man's thoughts. "But it is up to the gendarmes to decide now, right?"

ooc: If Nedjar and Kat are not alone, Marcel will get them away from any people not in the unit then explain the situation.

 

[The Shaman]

The section leader listens closely to Marcel’s account. “So you think the fellagha in the house was one of the farmhands?” Kat thinks for a moment, and turns to Nedjar. “David, what about the farmhands’ quarters?”

“Kerenin and Gaspard searched inside,” the Algerian replies, scratching his beard. “There were two dead Arabs that I assumed were farmhands,” he says thoughtfully, “but there were beds for eight or ten.” Nedjar thinks for a moment. “All of the fells that I saw were dressed in work clothes – no uniforms, and no djellbas. The prisoner, too.”

Kat nods. “That’s right,” he replies. Turning on his heel, the sergent says “Come inside.” Back in the lobby, he approaches Pyotr. “Kerenin, tell me about what you found in the farmhands’ quarters.”

 

[Barak]

Normand found himself a half-comfortable spot, and sits in that corner he claimed for himself, eyes half-closed.

He doesn't really want to let it show too much, but his wounds, compounded by his activities outside the clinic, took out quite a bit out of the burly frenchman. And so, when the sergeant reenters with Marcel, and starts talking to Pyotr, he doesn't do much more than pay half-hearted interest.

 

[The Shaman]

Sgt. Katasourianis listens as Pyotr runs down his observations – the two men in work clothes lying on the floor, their throats slashed; the dead fellagha with the shotgun; the prisoner and the rifle under the bed; the empty lockers. The Greek nods.

“When Mador and I searched upstairs,” Kat says, jerking his head in Normand's direction, “we found a broken gun case. I thought the fells stole the rifles after they attacked the farm, but perhaps they took the farmer’s guns before they met the gendarmes...” He trails off, lost in thought.

 

[Barak]

Reacting to his name, Normand speaks up.

"Matters little, really. They fired on us before we fired on them. By my book, that makes them bad guys. And we already know more bad guys are out there, anyway. Let those #$^& gendarmes figure the rest out, they were itching to anyway."

 

[Bobitron]

Marcel counts off the fells on his fingers, then ponders the figures for a moment. "Wait." He turns to Pyotr counting off the enemies on his fingers. "There were four casualties, plus the prisoner. How many lockers were there? You said four, right? That leaves one man unnaccounted for, who must not have been from the farm." Marcel looks to Kat. "Do you think he inflamed the farmhands to the point where they would do such a hienous act?" He looks toward the door with anxious eyes. "Angelique would know who the dead are. I can't believe we didn't notice this at the farm..."

 

[shadowbloodmoon]

Pyotr nods, seeing where Marcel is going with this. "You think it was a set-up? I wonder just how long those hands were working for Rubiera before this happened. The real question though, is why." He stops, trying to piece together what he's heard so far. "As key of information she would have, I think our chance to ask questions is long past. I really don't think the neighbor she's with would take kindly to legionnaires interrogating a small child."

 

[The Shaman]

Kat glances at his watch again. “The gendarmes will probably talk to the girl tonight or tomorrow,” he says. “I’ll tell the lieutenant what you found when he gets back to camp.”

The double-doors leading to the exam rooms swing open, and a short, chubby nurse in snug-fitting scrubs appears, red curls protruding from beneath her cap. She surveys the legionnaires with big blue eyes, then approaches Marcel.

“Dr. Bruzzi would like to know if you are going to assist him with treating the other wounded legionnaire – Gaspard, oui?” she asks. “Also, he asked me to tell you that the caporal should stay here for the night and be evacuated in the morning.” She smiles, a coquettish grin, and adds, “Oh, there is another wounded legionnaire as well?” The nurse looks around and spots Normand, bloody bandages and torn uniform looking like a pile of rags slumped in the corner. “Légionnaire, the doctor would like me to clean you up before he sutures your wounds,” she says. She motions toward the double-doors. “Do you need help standing up?”

As Normand gathers himself together, the plump nurse shakes her head. “It’s terrible about Monsieur Rubiera and his family,” she says to no one in particular. “They were nice people.”