Wing and Sword: Life During Wartime
- Thread starter The Shaman
- Start date
The Shaman
First Post
Syrovy exhales a cloud of smoke. “Yes, we are quite the bunch of cold-blooded killers. Unfortunately for us,” the skinny Hungarian continues, “so are the fells, which doesn’t help our reputation much. Still, we can take pride in our ruthless lethality, yes?” He smiles a mirthless smile at Pyotr.
Kat looks up at Normand’s offer. “The PMs are sous-officiers,” the sergent replies mordantly. “Otherwise you’d be the first person I’d pick for the job.” The veteran legionnaires laugh – even the captain smiles a bit.
Kat looks up at Normand’s offer. “The PMs are sous-officiers,” the sergent replies mordantly. “Otherwise you’d be the first person I’d pick for the job.” The veteran legionnaires laugh – even the captain smiles a bit.
shadowbloodmoon
First Post
Pyotr smiles understanding at Karel's words. "Something like that." He nods to indicate the cigarette the man is smoking. Though he wasn't much for smoking, he remembered the things had a calming effect and Pyotr was getting jittery. "You mind?"
Normand shakes his head, but he smiles as well.
"Why thanks sarge. Not to worry, I've heard through the grapevine that I'd be up for promo pretty soon anyway."
Becoming a tad more serious, he adds.
"Hey, I'm not an idiot though. I know I didn't act quite right once or twice, but I learned. Just.. You know, had to get used to remembering that when I wear the uniform, I don't just act or talk for myself, but all those people view me as La Légion. Now that I realize that, it'll be easy to behave. I'm very proud to be in this outfit."
"Why thanks sarge. Not to worry, I've heard through the grapevine that I'd be up for promo pretty soon anyway."
Becoming a tad more serious, he adds.
"Hey, I'm not an idiot though. I know I didn't act quite right once or twice, but I learned. Just.. You know, had to get used to remembering that when I wear the uniform, I don't just act or talk for myself, but all those people view me as La Légion. Now that I realize that, it'll be easy to behave. I'm very proud to be in this outfit."
The Shaman
First Post
Syrovy fishes the cigarette case out of his pocket and holds it open for Pyotr. The case is beautifully decorated with arabesque, intricately interwoven geometric designs and what appears to be Arabic calligraphy chased into the silver. The Hungarian offers Pyotr a light.
“Trinxeraire,” Ortu mutters at Normand’s expression of Legion pride. Sánchez responds by hitting the big Sardinian with a rock. “You speak Catalan like a rital,” the Spaniard growls – “a wop.” Ortu shrugs as he replaces the box magazine on the machine gun.
“Sergent,” the captain interrupts, “how many of your men speak Arabic?”
Kat looks around at the groupe. “Me, David, Karel, and Manolo,” the section leader replies. “And Barzini,” he adds, the newest replacement an afterthought.
“Normand’s picked some up,” Nedjar adds, “and Marcel is fluent,” tilting his head toward the medic.
“Mon capitaine, my accent is quite noticeable to the Algerians, I’m told” Syrovy interjects. Nedjar agrees – “Karel sounds like a Syrian. So does Kat, but not as much.”
“Nedjar, you speak Kabyle?” Capt. Martini asks. The Algerian nods. “And Hebrew and Tetauni, mon capitaine,” he adds.
“What about Pamuk?” Ortu asks. “He speaks Turkish, you ignorant wretch,” Sánchez replies. “Well, he’s a Muslim,” Ortu counters. The Spaniard answers by hitting him with another rock.
The captain takes another sip from his canteen then spins the cap shut. “Most of the platoons have two or three Arabic speakers, and here we have one groupe with six. Plus our medic. That’s good to know.”
I'm going to give Marcel and Raffaele a chance to join the discussion before we move on.
“Trinxeraire,” Ortu mutters at Normand’s expression of Legion pride. Sánchez responds by hitting the big Sardinian with a rock. “You speak Catalan like a rital,” the Spaniard growls – “a wop.” Ortu shrugs as he replaces the box magazine on the machine gun.
“Sergent,” the captain interrupts, “how many of your men speak Arabic?”
Kat looks around at the groupe. “Me, David, Karel, and Manolo,” the section leader replies. “And Barzini,” he adds, the newest replacement an afterthought.
“Normand’s picked some up,” Nedjar adds, “and Marcel is fluent,” tilting his head toward the medic.
“Mon capitaine, my accent is quite noticeable to the Algerians, I’m told” Syrovy interjects. Nedjar agrees – “Karel sounds like a Syrian. So does Kat, but not as much.”
“Nedjar, you speak Kabyle?” Capt. Martini asks. The Algerian nods. “And Hebrew and Tetauni, mon capitaine,” he adds.
“What about Pamuk?” Ortu asks. “He speaks Turkish, you ignorant wretch,” Sánchez replies. “Well, he’s a Muslim,” Ortu counters. The Spaniard answers by hitting him with another rock.
The captain takes another sip from his canteen then spins the cap shut. “Most of the platoons have two or three Arabic speakers, and here we have one groupe with six. Plus our medic. That’s good to know.”
I'm going to give Marcel and Raffaele a chance to join the discussion before we move on.
Normand appears a bit surprised when his name comes up when they are discussing arab speakers.
"I.. I know when they call me names, and that sort of thing, but I couldn't fool anyone into thinking I'm arab!"
And while finishing to check his boots for sand, he arranges to finsih somewhat close to Captain Martini.
"Capitaine.. I.. I'm sorry if I embarassed you through my actions. I assure you I always thrived to do what I thought was right. I understand now that I didn't consider all the repercussions."
"I.. I know when they call me names, and that sort of thing, but I couldn't fool anyone into thinking I'm arab!"
And while finishing to check his boots for sand, he arranges to finsih somewhat close to Captain Martini.
"Capitaine.. I.. I'm sorry if I embarassed you through my actions. I assure you I always thrived to do what I thought was right. I understand now that I didn't consider all the repercussions."
"I don't think my talents are wasted here; the Legion needs every one of us, and all the capabilities we have in order to defend France, and more specifically to keep Algeria French! declaims Raffaele, not smiling for once.
"Mon capitaine, I do speak Arabic without accent, and I also can speak the Berber dialect" Barzini offers. "When we return, I think we could build connections with the locals and increase the public respect for the Legion by doing some community service activities. I heard the mechanic at the Esso station in Portemonte got killed; I'm pretty good at fixing things, so I could work on their cars and trucks as a 'thank-you' project from the Legion. Some of my mates could come along and exploit other intelligence-gathering angles."
"Mon capitaine, I do speak Arabic without accent, and I also can speak the Berber dialect" Barzini offers. "When we return, I think we could build connections with the locals and increase the public respect for the Legion by doing some community service activities. I heard the mechanic at the Esso station in Portemonte got killed; I'm pretty good at fixing things, so I could work on their cars and trucks as a 'thank-you' project from the Legion. Some of my mates could come along and exploit other intelligence-gathering angles."
Bobitron
Explorer
"Mine is clean, Captain. The accent is a mix of Algerian and Syrian. My teachers at the University were very good," Marcel states matter-of-factly. "I've heard Barzini's, it is excellent as well." Marcel listens to Barzini's comments and tries very hard not to roll his eyes at the patriotism. Unlike Normand's, it sounded false and overly done, even though he didn't doubt the man's intentions. At the idea of working as a mechanic he raises an eyebrow skeptically.
He holds his opinion to himself, though. The medic wasn't in a good enough position to comment on Legion public relations. Stories he had heard from across the colony had left a very bad taste in his mouth about how the Legion had treated the locals, and his own unit had seen hints of the behavior. Building a relationship of trust with the local population was something every member would have to strive for on thier own, as the leadership with ranks far above Martini seem not to care.
He holds his opinion to himself, though. The medic wasn't in a good enough position to comment on Legion public relations. Stories he had heard from across the colony had left a very bad taste in his mouth about how the Legion had treated the locals, and his own unit had seen hints of the behavior. Building a relationship of trust with the local population was something every member would have to strive for on thier own, as the leadership with ranks far above Martini seem not to care.
The Shaman
First Post
“Your Arabic is about as good as Asmussen’s French,” Syrovy quips to Normand.
The quizzical look on Syrovy’s face suggests he can’t decide if Raffaele is serious or joking. “It seems we have a patriot among us,” he says at last. “Heaven preserve us from the true believers.”
Raffaele’s remark about service projects in Portemonte elicits a derisive chuckle from Syrovy and a growl from Ortu, “Leave that to the blacks!” The latter earns a sharp rebuke from Sgt. Katsourianis: “Stuff that merde, légionnaire!”
“Tell that to Babaye when he gets back, Silvio,” Nedjar adds angrily.
“Babaye’s a legionnaire, not a marsouin,” responds Ortu, nonplussed. Nedjar just shakes his head in annoyance.
“We will provide assistance to the local population and authorities when we can, doing whatever that entails,” Capt. Martini says coolly, then focuses his attention on Raffaele. “What you’re describing is an important tactic in counterinsurgency, Barzini, perhaps the most important tactic. The intelligence that someone like Lt. Ferrand or the local sector troops can gather requires building a relationship with the community and earning their trust over time. We rarely have that luxury, unfortunately. Our mission is to engage the insurgents in the field and give the civil and military authorities the space to see to the needs of the populace.”
“And how well is that working, sir?” asks Vidal. Kat looks up in surprise at the directness of the radioman’s question.
Capitaine Martini thinks for a moment before answering. “The Army continues to call up more reservists and extend the terms of enlistment for the conscripts, légionnaire. Attacks on Muslims and pieds-noirs are increasing in the towns and cities. With the French protectorate over Morocco and Tunisia ending, the FLN now has a safe haven on both the eastern and western borders of Algeria. And Nassar is training and supplying the ALN in Egypt.” He smiles slightly. “Clearly there are some challenges to overcome.”
“We are a small part of a large conflict,” the veteran officer continues, addressing the groupe once again, “and to do our part we must follow our orders and perform our mission diligently and effectively. And right now, our mission is over that ridge. Sergent?”
“On your feet,” Kat orders, and the paras dutifully pull themselves together. Normand sees an opportunity to catch the captain’s ear. Le Capitaine listens to the grenadier, and replies, “No one should fault you for wanting to protect the boy from the mob, but you must consider your orders and your mission before you act. Could you have done the same thing without provoking the citizens?” With a pat on the shoulder, Capt. Martini turns away, leaving Normand to ponder the question as the legionnaires prepare to resume their march.
The quizzical look on Syrovy’s face suggests he can’t decide if Raffaele is serious or joking. “It seems we have a patriot among us,” he says at last. “Heaven preserve us from the true believers.”
Raffaele’s remark about service projects in Portemonte elicits a derisive chuckle from Syrovy and a growl from Ortu, “Leave that to the blacks!” The latter earns a sharp rebuke from Sgt. Katsourianis: “Stuff that merde, légionnaire!”
“Tell that to Babaye when he gets back, Silvio,” Nedjar adds angrily.
“Babaye’s a legionnaire, not a marsouin,” responds Ortu, nonplussed. Nedjar just shakes his head in annoyance.
“We will provide assistance to the local population and authorities when we can, doing whatever that entails,” Capt. Martini says coolly, then focuses his attention on Raffaele. “What you’re describing is an important tactic in counterinsurgency, Barzini, perhaps the most important tactic. The intelligence that someone like Lt. Ferrand or the local sector troops can gather requires building a relationship with the community and earning their trust over time. We rarely have that luxury, unfortunately. Our mission is to engage the insurgents in the field and give the civil and military authorities the space to see to the needs of the populace.”
“And how well is that working, sir?” asks Vidal. Kat looks up in surprise at the directness of the radioman’s question.
Capitaine Martini thinks for a moment before answering. “The Army continues to call up more reservists and extend the terms of enlistment for the conscripts, légionnaire. Attacks on Muslims and pieds-noirs are increasing in the towns and cities. With the French protectorate over Morocco and Tunisia ending, the FLN now has a safe haven on both the eastern and western borders of Algeria. And Nassar is training and supplying the ALN in Egypt.” He smiles slightly. “Clearly there are some challenges to overcome.”
“We are a small part of a large conflict,” the veteran officer continues, addressing the groupe once again, “and to do our part we must follow our orders and perform our mission diligently and effectively. And right now, our mission is over that ridge. Sergent?”
“On your feet,” Kat orders, and the paras dutifully pull themselves together. Normand sees an opportunity to catch the captain’s ear. Le Capitaine listens to the grenadier, and replies, “No one should fault you for wanting to protect the boy from the mob, but you must consider your orders and your mission before you act. Could you have done the same thing without provoking the citizens?” With a pat on the shoulder, Capt. Martini turns away, leaving Normand to ponder the question as the legionnaires prepare to resume their march.
shadowbloodmoon
First Post
Pyotr accepts the light from Syrovy wordlessly. A small cough as he inhales the first time tells them that Pyotr is no expert at it, but his lungs eventually adapt. As they resume the march, he curls his lower fingers around the fire of the cigarette, so as to hide its glow.
