Wing and Sword: Life During Wartime

[shadowbloodmoon]

"Are you telling me we might be sent into the field prepared for being shot at? Ciel interdit! I've never know the military to be so intelligent."

Pyotr smiles. "The military is not intelligent, but the training makes us believe otherwise. Besides, one would think that our recent training exercise would make you used to being shot at by now."

 

[Bobitron]

Pyotr smiles. "The military is not intelligent, but the training makes us believe otherwise. Besides, one would think that our recent training exercise would make you used to being shot at by now."

"Fortunately, the fells didn't have your skill with a rifle, my friend. They called me 'Lucky' at the hospital. I'm still not quite sure how I had that much ammo come at me and not get hit."

 

[The Shaman]

"Say, Burhan, would you roll me one of those?"

The Turkish legionnaire looks at Vidal for a moment, then shrugs and prepares another from the pouch and the envelope. As he hands the cigarette over, Vidal notices that Burhan is missing half of his left pinky – the scar looks old.

“It is a long trip. A full day, I think.” Burhan puts away his tobacco as he talks, stretches his legs across his rucksack once again. “The company was in Kabylia, in the east, with the rest of the regiment. They moved to Portemonte because of an ambush. Some sector troops were killed.” He takes a drag on his cigarette. “This is what I heard in Arzew.”

He looks over the legionnaires. “You have seen action?”

 

[shadowbloodmoon]

Pyotr looks at the Turkish man and then at his friends. "Yeah, you could say that. 'Lucky' here managed to save a few of our number after an ambush by fells. Needless to say, it's a good thing Lucky was on our side.". Not wanting to be interrogated much more about the battle for the millionth time, Pyotr left it at that.

 

[Bobitron]

Pyotr looks at the Turkish man and then at his friends. "Yeah, you could say that. 'Lucky' here managed to save a few of our number after an ambush by fells. Needless to say, it's a good thing Lucky was on our side.". Not wanting to be interrogated much more about the battle for the millionth time, Pyotr left it at that.

Marcel shrugs at the compliment. "Just doing what I can. I sure as hell can't shoot, so I need to do something!" He pats the new medical bag at his hip. "Wish I had this out there, though. Hopefully we won't need it."

 

[Barak]

Normand looks at Pyotr, and then Marcel, and raises an eyebrow.

"My friends, I understand the need to be understated when talking to civilians, but our friend here is a fellow legionnaire, and entitled to know what happened."

Turning to their new companion, the burly frenchman goes on.

"Well, you see, we were on our first real training jump, and we somehow ended up tangling with a whole bunch of fells. Thre must have been.. Oh, I dunno, fifty or so of them, at least, to our.. What, ten, twelve? So we mostly huddled down in some ravine, trading shots with then when we could, and Pyotr here took out their big-gun shooter person. Vidal there, the quiet one, managed to work the radio well enough to call in some air support, which came in, as usual, in the nick of time. Me, well, I did manage to catch some bullets, with my size doing most of the work, you know. Then we mopped up, and here we are."

 

[The Shaman]

A flicker of recognition flashes over Burhan’s face. “I heard of this. A few weeks ago, yes?” He shifts position slightly as the truck hits a bump on the winding mountain road. “It was discussed at Arzew. By the instructors.”

Burhand looks out at the rugged mountains beyond the truck. “With Le Capitaine, you will see more action.” The determination and pride in his voice are unmistakable.

 

[знаток]

Vidal leans over to accept the cigarette, taking it from the Turk with a pronounced nod and smile. "Don't worry, this won't become a habit." Still smiling, he settles back in next to Pyotr and draws his lighter, but pauses with the items in each hand before lighting up, a perplexed look on his face. "You know, I don't seem to remember being briefed on all this." He scans Buhran's uniform for insignia of rank (read privilege in this case). "And I'd sure like to hear what the almighty training corps had to say about our mistakes and heroics!" He chuckles softly at himself. Nodding at the legionnaire's hand, he adds in a quieter, private tone, "But by the looks of it, I guess you'll have some wisdom of your own to depart on we lost souls." He hides his expectancy of a response by turning his attention to igniting the cigarette.

 

[Bobitron]

Burhand looks out at the rugged mountains beyond the truck. “With Le Capitaine, you will see more action.” The determination and pride in his voice are unmistakable.

"You mean, more than getting into a major firefight on our training jump?" Marcel laughs nervously, but you can all see the humor in his eyes. Finishing his cigarette, he flicks it out the open back of the truck onto the dirt road.

"And I'd sure like to hear what the almighty training corps had to say about our mistakes and heroics!"

Marcel laughs. "Me too! Were we the textbook example of how to get in trouble during a routine operation?"

 

[The Shaman]

Burhan shrugs. “Just talk. A section of paras, trainees, that fought fellaghas in the desert.” He finishes his cigarette, sends the butt over the side of the truck. “An officer said the Air Force rescued the paras. Strafed the fells with jets.”

As he speaks Vidal steals a glance at Burhan’s left sleeve – he wears the same black diamond and embroidered green grenade insignia of a first-enlistment légionnaire as the others in the truck, along with his jump wings and regimental badge, the latter pinned to a leather fob suspended from the button of his right breast pocket.

The Turk leans forward slightly. “The regiment is best in the Legion. Third Company is best in the regiment. We do our duty.” He smiles slightly. “It is good to go back.”