Wing and Sword: Life During Wartime

[The Shaman]

Pyotr follows the flight of the vulture, soaring and dipping by turns, across the rough mosaic of canyons and ridges. The oued twists away from the course of the black bird and disappears behind a low rise – the vulture could be flying the same way, but the jumble of hills makes it difficult to be sure.

From down in the streambed comes a low whistle – David Nedjar and Burhan Pamuk are crouched low in the shadows.

Lt. Ramadier listens to Marcel without replying, looking at the boy and the man in turn.

“Lieutenant, your report?” Capitaine Martini appears beside Ramadier. The platoon leader salutes and explains the legionnaires’ findings so far, including Marcel’s belief that the older Arab is less than forthcoming, adding generously, “I concur with Légionnaire Fortier, mon capitaine.”

Capt. Martini studies the two men for a moment, then speaks quietly to Lt. Ramadier. <English>“Have Mador take the father away. Tell him to do it forcefully, but without serious injury. Then we’ll talk with the boy here.”</English> The lieutenant nods and strides over to where Normand waits beside the Arab.

“Légionnaire, take this prisoner to the rear,” Lt. Ramadier orders Normand loudly, then under his breath adds, “Make it rough, but no blood or broken bones, understood? Just get him out of sight and make it look serious to the kid.” Normand: Intimidate check, please.

As Normand plays his part, Le Capitaine turns to Marcel. “Giving out candy, Fortier?” he asks, tilting his head to the young Arab kneeling on the sand.

 

[Barak]

Well, I've played this game before for worse reasons..

Normand grins and nods his head a few times. After slinging his rifle to his back once more, he slips an hand in his pocket, and it comes out wearing his brass knuckles. After making a bit of a show of adjusting them properly on his hand, he shoves the older man forcefully in the direction he wants him to go.

"<arabic>Come on you! I talk to you a bit more away, yes? We chat.<arabic>"


OOC
intimidate check (1d20+2=15)

 

[shadowbloodmoon]

Pyotr takes one last look around before coming down to meet the two other Legionnaires.

"There are mule tracks, but I don't see any other tracks. They lead back up the canyon aways. Other than that, just a vulture flying around. Could mean a carcass is near or could mean nothing."

 

[Bobitron]

Marcel nods. "Yes, Captain."

He watches Normand bullying the father from the corner of his eye, thinking back to that day on their first combat jump where a fell was taken around the corner and shot. While he knows Normand is doing this for show, it is still hard to keep that event from his mind.

"He is hurt, Sir. Standard procedure. Légionnaire Mador has eaten a dozen by now."

 

[The Shaman]

The Arab man, roughly jerked to his feet and pushed toward the paras’ line by the big grenadier, glances back fearfully at Normand, then at his son still kneeling on the ground. Another hard shove and he stumbles, forcing his attention to the sandy, rocky streambed and the waiting muzzles of the legionnaires’ weapons.

Sgt. Müller rises from a crouch as Normand approaches with the prisoner. “I’ll take him, Mador. Get back up there with Kat,” he orders. The German sergent reaches out and grabs the man by the scruff of the neck as he calls for two of Sgt. Szabo’s men to bring a length of parachute cord.

Away up the oued, Nedjar glances up as Pyotr describes the vulture, then down at the tracks in the dirt. “The Arabs had an extra bridle – maybe one of their donkeys got away or died.” He looks about. “Kat wants us back with the rest of the section,” he continues, scratching his beard thoughtfully as he looks up at the dry hills.

Capitaine Martini looks at Normand, then at Marcel. “A few more candy bars and we’ll need to drop Mador with a cargo ’chute,” he offers with a slight smile that makes his pencil mustache rise at the ends. Once Sgt. Müller takes charge of the father, the Italian turns to the boy, taking a knee beside him.

<Arabic>“Put your hands down, son,”</Arabic> Capt. Martini says kindly but firmly. Marcel notices immediately that the captain’s Arabic is clean, his accent clear. The boy’s hands droop tentatively, then hang loosely at his sides as he stares at the ground.

<Arabic>“Son, I must ask you some questions, and I require your honest answers,”</Arabic> Capt. Martini continues calmly. <Arabic>“If you are truthful with me, I promise that no harm will come to you or your father. Do you undersand?”</Arabic>

The boy says nothing, continuing to stare at the ground. The captain lets the question hang in the air for what seems like several minutes, sitting as still and quiet as a statue. Normand slips up behind the other legionnaires who form a silent backdrop to the interrogation.

<Arabic>“I will not expect you to betray your father’s trust,”</Arabic> the captain says patiently. The Arab boy glances up at Capt. Martini – Marcel and Normand can see anger and fear and confusion in the boy’s eyes. Meeting the captain’s gaze, the young man gives a small nod.

The Italian asks the boy his name, and his douar – Hamid, from Sifez, come the low, sullen replies. <Arabic>“How did you hurt your arm, Hamid?”</Arabic> the captain asks. I fell, the boy replies, offering no details. <Arabic>“You fell in the dark?”</Arabic> Capt. Martini continues. The boy says nothing, shifting his weight slightly as he kneels on the streambed.

<Arabic>“It is a half-day’s walk from Sifez to the marabout of Abd-el-Hamou, Hamid?”</Arabic> The boy’s head twitches, and he shifts his weight again, resolutely staring at the ground. Capitaine Martini reaches out and pats him on the knee, then rises.

Pyotr, Nedjar, and Pamuk return as the boy is guided away to the rear – another legionnaire from the headquarter’s platoon, a wiry, red-faced sergent named Morelli, leads away the two mules as the officers gather and confer. Second Platoon takes over the lead and Third Platoon rotates to the rear of the column. The legionnaires wait to fall in line as the company moves out.

 

[Bobitron]

Marcel takes his place near the back, a lingering eye watching over the locals and a sharp ear focusing on any conversation that might rise between them.

 

[The Shaman]

The company moves out and Third Platoon falls in at the rear, immediately behind the headquarters platoon – the legionnaires see the two Arabs, father and son, their wrists bound with parachute cord which is in turn looped around their necks then tied around the waist of a bulky legionnaire from Le Capitaine’s section. The two donkeys lay bleeding on the sand, their throats slashed by another legionnaire – a cloud of flies have already descended on the dying animals’ wounds.

Lt. Ramadier talks quietly with Capt. Martini as the column advances. David Nedjar catches Lt. Ramadier’s attention and recounts Pyotr’s observation about the animal tracks on the streambed, and the vulture.

Vidal jumps in when Nedjar is finished. “Sir, the Arabs were leading the donkeys, so they covered their own tracks. It’s an old trick, mon lieutenant.”

“Légionnaire,” Capt. Martini asks thoughtfully, “could you track those donkeys over rough ground? Across the ridges, if they traveled that way?”

“Oui, mon capitaine” Vidal replies determinedly. The captain nods and thanks the radioman, then after a quiet word to Ramadier, the CO picks up his pace to overtake the paras marching ahead.

The company continues along the oued for another hour when the word snakes down the column to halt. The wary legionnaires spread out and crouch down. A runner appears after a few minutes and instructs Lt. Ramadier and Kat’s section forward to the head of the column. “Fortier, you too,” the platoon leader instructs Marcel.

At the head of the column Fourth Platoon has taken the point – Capt. Martini waits along with Sgt. Santos’ men as the hulking Sgt. Verdurand and Le Capitaine’s radioman, a legionnaire named Asturas, hover nearby. “Gaspard, over here,” the captain directs.

The CO points to the ground. “The tracks leave the streambed here,” he says, gesturing at a low spot in the bank, “and continue up that ridge into some rocky ground. Can you follow them?”

Vidal looks up at the rocks scattered along the ridgeline. If he has any doubts he doesn’t share them. “Oui, mon capitaine,” the radioman answers firmly.

“Sergent,” Capt. Martini says, turning to Kat, “assemble your groupe for a patrol. The medic, too. Drop packs here - weapons and ammo, water, and a tarp or a djellba if they have them, understood?”

Kat quickly relays the order to the legionnaires. Packs are dumped on the sand, to be retrived by paras from the rest of the platoon – Ortu pulls out his can of foot powder, shakes it, and sticks it back in his pack with an oath, while Burhan Pamuk retrives his thermos bottle and tucks it inside the front of his jump smock. Capt. Martini appears a short time later, with Asturas the radioman and Sgt. Verdurand in tow.

“Do you want me to come with you, mon capitaine?” the first sergeant asks as they approach.

“No, Bruno,” the captain replies. “Tell Lt. Degasser to keep the company moving toward the assembly area as planned, with First Platoon in the lead. We’ll let him know what we find.”

Sgt. Verdurand nods without comment, and the captain turns his attention to the section. “We’re going to follow these donkey tracks as far as we can. If we lose them, we will continue cross-country to a point about two kilometers to the east of where we are now, to a point where we expect to find an ALN supply route. If we find signs of insurgents, we’ll sit on them and move the rest of the company up to begin a cordon-and-search. Any questions?”

 

[Barak]

Normand cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders, adjusting himself to not having the weight of his pack on his back. At the demand for any questions, he simply looks over his weapon, making sure it's in working order, with no sand in any of the mechanisms, and remains silent.

 

[shadowbloodmoon]

Pyotr remains silent as he listens to the Captain's orders. His internal dialogue turned to patting himself on the back for knowing that something was up with the tracks. Stretching out his back after removing his pack, he adjusts his rifle over his shoulder and secures the djellba he had from earlier. Making sure his canteen is full, he readies to move out.

 

[Bobitron]

Casting a long glance at the prisoners before starting to break down his kit as asked, Marcel kneels and seperates his gear. His mussette bag, water, and ammo are the only thing he brings aside from his rifle. Moving up to join the others, he nods to Sgt. Kat to display his readiness.

"Everyone make sure they have water," he says, checking each man in the group for a full canteen, tightening straps and boots where needed. "Ortu, I've got an extra tin." He points to the man's pack.