Wing and Sword: Life During Wartime

[shadowbloodmoon]

Pyotr cautiously approaches the building the Arab disappeared into, scanning the door and any windows as he makes his way to the low rock wall that is directly between him and the doorway. He waits for a moment, scenarios quickly going through his head as he makes sure he is being watched by Sanchez. You're getting paranoid out here. Why is he hiding from me then? Never seen a Legionnaire before? Shouldn't we wait for back up? Sanchez is watching right?...

I'm presuming that the two lines between the doorway and the building behind them are low walls or parts of a fence or something. Correct me if I'm wrong, please.

 

[The Shaman]

Raffaele, Pyotr, and Normand...[sblock]Lt. Ferrand listens carefully to Raffaele, nodding as the legionnaire finishes his convoluted explanation for fitting the pipe for the goat pen into the wall of the cistern. “Why don’t you show us what you mean, legionnaire?” he offers helpfully.[/sblock]Marcel...[sblock]Sister Courcy offers a thin smile to Marcel. “If I took offense at every overly familiar soldier, leggionnaire, I wouldn’t last very long.” She finishes packing her gear and cleans up, nodding to Marcel for the cake of soap.

After taking their leave of the family, Sister Courcy leads Marcel to the next mechta. As they walk along the hillside, she replies, “I’ve been part of Lt. Ferrand’s unit since September. His family owns a farm in Pézenas, in Languedoc,” she continues. “He grew up alongside Arab workers. He understands their way of life. I think that’s why he volunteered to return to active duty and chose the SAS.”

“This is our second trip here,” the nurse goes on. “We’re responsible for twenty thousand Arabs in dozens of douars like this one.” She looks around the village, then at Marcel – she hesitates, seeming unsure of herself for the first time. Her voice is low as she speaks. “The FLN is active in all of these villages, légionnaire Fortier. About half of the men from this douar are moussebiline, irregulars. Several have gone off and joined the local katiba since the last time we were here.”

She looks cautiously at Marcel. “The fellouze killed the caïd in this village over a year ago, for speaking out against the FLN. The villagers must support the fellouze to survive. Can you understand that?” Sister Courcy runs a hand over her face again. “If we expose the FLN in the village, these people will be killed for collaborating with the French, and if we don’t then they may be brutalized by the French Army for giving aid to the enemy.” She looks away.[/sblock]

 

[The Shaman]

Normand and Raffaele...[sblock]At a word from Sánchez, Sgt. Katsourianis steps out of the muck around the cistern and joins the Spanish legionnaire where the section’s weapons are cached. He returns a moment later, his face serious.

“Vidal, go find Sgt. Müller, and take your weapon,” the section leader orders when he returns – his submachine gun is slung around his shoulder. The radioman puts down the brick in his hands with a crisp, “Oui, mon sergent,” and retrieves his MAT-49 from Sánchez before heading for the goat pen.

Ferrand looks quizzically at Kat. “Sir, one of my men spotted something,” the sergent says, his voice grave.

The smile disappears from Ferrand’s face. “All right, sergent. You men keep working,” he says evenly, repeating the phrase in Arabic. “Legionnaire - ” he addresses Raffaele again “ - see if you can get that pipe set, won’t you?” The lieutenant wipes his hands on his shorts and beckons the sergeant to follow.

“What the devil is that about?” Ortu asks, breaking his silence as he watches the officer and the non-com walk to wear Pyotr waits behind a low wall a short distance away. “Are these putain wogs up to something?” The Sardinian glares at the Arabs, who seem to be no less concerned that the legionnaires, staring about nervously.[/sblock]Pyotr...[sblock]Glancing back from his position behind the low wall that, judging from the dried feces on the ground, appears to have been a livestock pen until recently, Pyotr sees Manolo Sánchez talking to Sgt. Katsourianis – the section leader looks at Pyotr then returns to where the other section members are working at the cistern.

Observing the house once again, the Ukrainian searches the doors and windows for signs of activity until he is alerted by the sound of footsteps of Lt. Ferrand and Sgt. Katsourianis’s approach – Kat is carrying his MAT-49 again. “Légionnaire, report,” the sergent orders.

WATCH or Spot check – your call as to which.[/sblock]

 

[Barak]

[sblock]
Normand shrugs and continues working. Finding himself next to Ortu, he addresses him quietly.

"Ortu, my friend, I may not have been a légionnaire that long, but even I have learned that my superiors will let me know wether or not we should wonder as to what's going on. And then, they'll make sure not to tell us. And then, they'll ask why we didn't do anything."
[/sblock]

 

[Bobitron]

[sblock]Marcel listens quietly to Courcy as she explains the situation. He walks alongside, slowing down to to pause while the FLN's influence.

"Look." He scans the area before continuing. "I appreciate your honesty, I do. But what you are describing isn't anything we don't know. We can't wipe out entire populations, nor control the amount of ground we're looking at here. I just want to skim off the worst offenders." He removes his helmet, tousling his hair and lacing the helmet's strap into his belt. Reaching into his front pocket for a cigarette, he lights up after offering one to the nurse.

Exhaling a large cloud of smoke, he sighs. "Our last field mission put us near a farm. The more violent of the fells killed the entire family. The mother. The children. I found them in the basement, throats slit to the point where the heads were barely attached." He flicks the half-smoked butt onto the dirt and lights another, shaken by the memory. "I'm not going to push some poor guy who is forced to show support for the cause into a fight. I just want to stop things like that, and keep my squad alive." Her looks searchingly into Courcy's eyes. "Do you understand?"[/sblock]

 

[The Shaman]

Marcel...[sblock]The nurse listens as Marcel relates his experiences, refusing the proffered cigarette. “Fortier, about a month ago a patrol of French soldiers was passing through a douar about thirty or forty kilometers from here. One of the soldats tripped over a goat, so he shot it in anger. The owner of the goat, an elderly man, reached out to stop the soldat from killing another – the owner was killed by another member of the patrol.” Her face is hard, her voice matter-of-fact. “The patrol opened fire on the villagers, shooting indiscriminately. They killed men, women, children. Afterwards they cut off villagers’ heads and carried them on sticks.” She takes a deep breath. “The official report says that the patrol fired when villagers attempted to take the soldiers’ weapons away. Self-defense.” Her eyes lock on Marcel’s. “Eleven Arabs were killed, another two dozen wounded. I treated a little girl who was maimed, her leg amputated by bullet, her mother and brother dead. Over a goat.”

Sister Courcy glances over her shoulder. “You are young and eager, and you are a new recruit,” she continues. “The legionnaires among the worst, Fortier. Les anciens de Indochine.” The Indochina veterans. “To them an Arab or a Kabyle is a ‘viet’, some thing less than human.” She pauses, and tugs at the strap of the pack slung over her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’ve said too much. I don’t mean to give offense.” A small smile accompanies the last.

“I watched you with that family back there. You have a good way with your patients,” she says. “Respectful and professional. Hold onto that.”

At the doorway to the next mechta, she announces their presence with a few rote phrases. A little boy pulls back the curtain covering the doorway, and Sister Courcy steps inside.[/sblock]

 

[shadowbloodmoon]

Pyotr tries not to take his eyes off of the building as he tells his report to the Sergeant. "There was an Arab male keeping a close eye on us as we were talking to the SAS officer. As soon as I noticed him, he disappeared into this building. Figuring all the village's men were out here helping us, I let Sanchez know what I saw and proceeded to head over here to check it out." Noticing the lieutenant's brass he added, "Sir."


Spot check: (1d20+4=7)

The sand in his eyes causes him to blink once too often....that or the LTs brass is really bright.

EDIT: Can you remind us again of the difference between Spot and Watch checks? I think that post was lost in the database crash.

 

[Bobitron]

Marcel...

The nurse listens as Marcel relates his experiences, refusing the proffered cigarette. “Fortier, about a month ago a patrol of French soldiers was passing through a douar about thirty or forty kilometers from here. One of the soldats tripped over a goat, so he shot it in anger. The owner of the goat, an elderly man, reached out to stop the soldat from killing another – the owner was killed by another member of the patrol.” Her face is hard, her voice matter-of-fact. “The patrol opened fire on the villagers, shooting indiscriminately. They killed men, women, children. Afterwards they cut off villagers’ heads and carried them on sticks.” She takes a deep breath. “The official report says that the patrol fired when villagers attempted to take the soldiers’ weapons away. Self-defense.” Her eyes lock on Marcel’s. “Eleven Arabs were killed, another two dozen wounded. I treated a little girl who was maimed, her leg amputated by bullet, her mother and brother dead. Over a goat.”

Sister Courcy glances over her shoulder. “You are young and eager, and you are a new recruit,” she continues. “The legionnaires among the worst, Fortier. Les anciens de Indochine.” The Indochina veterans. “To them an Arab or a Kabyle is a ‘viet’, some thing less than human.” She pauses, and tugs at the strap of the pack slung over her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’ve said too much. I don’t mean to give offense.” A small smile accompanies the last.

“I watched you with that family back there. You have a good way with your patients,” she says. “Respectful and professional. Hold onto that.”

At the doorway to the next mechta, she announces their presence with a few rote phrases. A little boy pulls back the curtain covering the doorway, and Sister Courcy steps inside.

"I'm not that innocent to think atrocities don't happen on both sides." Marcel's voice is a bit chiding at first, then softens. "I'm here to do whatever I can to ensure it doesn't happen. I'm not so idealistic that I think I'll change the war. But if I can stop what happened on that farm or the village you described even once, I'll feel like I've accomplished something."

He smiles broadly at her comment on his nature with patients. "Yeah. No candies to give to the kiddes, unfortunately, so I work with what I have."

 

[The Shaman]

Lt. Ferrand and Sgt. Katsourianis listen as Pyotr describes the Arab ducking into the doorway. The SAS officer is sanguine.

“Some of the men in the douar refused to help,” he replies patiently. “They don’t want to be seen as aiding the French Army. They are afraid of retribution should word reach the FLN.” Ferrand turns to Kat. “Sergent, the sooner we finish the cistern and the pen, the sooner we can get back to El-Biya and brief your captain, yes?” Without waiting for a reply, he turns on his heel and starts back to where the men are watching and waiting.

Kat watches the mechta for a moment, then quietly tells Pyotr, “Find someplace where you can keep an eye on that house without being noticed. And watch your back,” he adds. “This putain...” The section leader pauses, seems to think better of what he’s about to say, and finishes with, “Stay alert and keep me informed,” before starting back to the cistern.

At the cistern Syrovy laughs derisively. “That lieutenant is a pain in the ass,” the Hungarian replies to Normand. “But you have no problem fighting for these wogs, do you, big man?” The skinny legionnaire looks up at Normand with clear eyes.

“Forget about it and let’s get this done, eh?” Nedjar interjects.

Marcel follows Sister Courcy into the mechta. “I’m sure the children are enthralled by a French soldier speaking to them in their own language, Fortier,” she answers. She asks Marcel to translate once again, to explain to another veiled woman about the inoculations for the children. After four small boys are rounded up, the nurse looks over at Marcel as the medic draws the vaccine into a syringe. “Your French sounds like you’re from the metropolis,” she says. The question is left unstated.

 

[Barak]

Normand looks at Ortu with a surprised look on his face, then gives him his most innocent grin.

"Me? Fighting for them.. Fighting them.. Heh. As long as I'm fighting and getting paid for it, what do I care?"