Wing and Sword: Life During Wartime
- Thread starter The Shaman
- Start date
Bobitron
Explorer
Marcel moves through the column as they march, checking the men's water supplies and condition. His thoughts are on the insurgency and the potential for a battle, which seems to loom large everytime they are in the field. Well, if I didn't want a fight, I shouldn't have joined the Paras! he thinks.
Seeing the Hungarian giving Pyotr a cigarette, he gestures at the pack. "Syrovy, what are you doing? Dragging our poor Russian into the dirty habit? At least give him a decent cig," he says jokingly.
Seeing the Hungarian giving Pyotr a cigarette, he gestures at the pack. "Syrovy, what are you doing? Dragging our poor Russian into the dirty habit? At least give him a decent cig," he says jokingly.
The Shaman
First Post
Syrovy smirks at Marcel’s question. “Dirty habits are my business,” he replies as he slips the silver cigarette case into his pocket. “And I’ll get rid of these French fags as soon as I can stock up on Players again.”
“That doesn’t sound better.” The deep voice of Burhan Pamuk comes from behind the legionnaires as the two lookouts rejoin the section.
Syrovy adjusts the ammunition cases around his waist that hold spare box magazines for Ortu’s machine gun – the bulky cases hang awkwardly from the Hungarian’s slight frame. “My father always kept Players in our house, even when we lived in Amman and Baghdad. He thought it impressed his British masters. I’d steal them from his desk when I was a boy.” He waves a slender hand dismissively. “Like I said, dirty habits.” He winks at Marcel as he shoulders his rifle.
Ortu glances at Normand at the “outwalk” comment – the tireur snorts derisively but says nothing.
Capitaine Martini takes the djellba wrapped around his waist and slips it over his uniform, as does David Nedjar. “We will bump across this ridge,” he says, looking up the steep slope to a low spot in the crest. “The marabout should be down the other side. When we reach the col there, Nedjar and I will continue down to the tomb. The rest of you take up covering positions along the ridge until I give the all-clear. Understood?” Satisfied that his orders are acknowledged, the captain leads out the section.
The slope is a mix of rocky outcrops and loose sand, making for slow going – no longer concerned about following the donkey tracks, which can still be found in the softer patches, the legionnaires nonetheless struggle to keep a quick pace across the broken, exposed terrain.
At last the paras reach the top of the slope. Capt. Martini motions the men to stay low as the legionnaires look for covering positions and peer down the far side.
WATCH and SNEAK checks, please.
“That doesn’t sound better.” The deep voice of Burhan Pamuk comes from behind the legionnaires as the two lookouts rejoin the section.
Syrovy adjusts the ammunition cases around his waist that hold spare box magazines for Ortu’s machine gun – the bulky cases hang awkwardly from the Hungarian’s slight frame. “My father always kept Players in our house, even when we lived in Amman and Baghdad. He thought it impressed his British masters. I’d steal them from his desk when I was a boy.” He waves a slender hand dismissively. “Like I said, dirty habits.” He winks at Marcel as he shoulders his rifle.
Ortu glances at Normand at the “outwalk” comment – the tireur snorts derisively but says nothing.
Capitaine Martini takes the djellba wrapped around his waist and slips it over his uniform, as does David Nedjar. “We will bump across this ridge,” he says, looking up the steep slope to a low spot in the crest. “The marabout should be down the other side. When we reach the col there, Nedjar and I will continue down to the tomb. The rest of you take up covering positions along the ridge until I give the all-clear. Understood?” Satisfied that his orders are acknowledged, the captain leads out the section.
The slope is a mix of rocky outcrops and loose sand, making for slow going – no longer concerned about following the donkey tracks, which can still be found in the softer patches, the legionnaires nonetheless struggle to keep a quick pace across the broken, exposed terrain.
At last the paras reach the top of the slope. Capt. Martini motions the men to stay low as the legionnaires look for covering positions and peer down the far side.
WATCH and SNEAK checks, please.
Bobitron
Explorer
Marcel's mood is bolstered by the conversation, enjoying the talk of days past and Syrovy's rememberances. He shares the Hungarian's smile as they march.
As the Captain describes his plan, Marcel nods to indicate his understanding, but inside he has his doubts about the people headed down. Of all those here, Nedjar and Martini? he thinks.
Staying low as they make the approach, the medic keeps his eyes sweeping the terrain and his boots planted carefully, avoiding the shuffling that often accompanies a crouched movement.
ooc: Watch 19, Sneak 9
As the Captain describes his plan, Marcel nods to indicate his understanding, but inside he has his doubts about the people headed down. Of all those here, Nedjar and Martini? he thinks.
Staying low as they make the approach, the medic keeps his eyes sweeping the terrain and his boots planted carefully, avoiding the shuffling that often accompanies a crouched movement.
ooc: Watch 19, Sneak 9
"These fellows are likable enough, but where is their enthusiasm? We're all here to win this, aren't we?" Barzini muses to himself as the team marches.
When the captain gives the orders, Barzini checks the magazine in his MAT49 and slightly straightens the safety pin on a grenade and moves carefully toward the crest of the hill, lowering himself deliberately near the top so as not to silhouette himself at all, and peeking over the crest from behind a rock with a scrub plant next to it, peering through the plant's growth which makes vision difficult.
Watch 8
Sneak 17
http://invisiblecastle.com/find.py?id=586185
When the captain gives the orders, Barzini checks the magazine in his MAT49 and slightly straightens the safety pin on a grenade and moves carefully toward the crest of the hill, lowering himself deliberately near the top so as not to silhouette himself at all, and peeking over the crest from behind a rock with a scrub plant next to it, peering through the plant's growth which makes vision difficult.
Watch 8
Sneak 17
http://invisiblecastle.com/find.py?id=586185
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shadowbloodmoon
First Post
Pyotr thumbs the fire end of his cigarette out as the platoon moves. He places it in one of his smock's pockets and readjusts the rifle on his back, as if to make sure it was still there. As they reached the top of the rise, Pyotr found a place to keep his silhouette from being skylit and laid down prone. Quietly removing Ekaterina from his back, he lay her down in front of him, ready to cover his CO's advance.
Watch: (1d20+5=14)
Sneak: (1d20+9=23)
Watch: (1d20+5=14)
Sneak: (1d20+9=23)
The Shaman
First Post
The paras spread out along the ridgetop and peer cautiously over the side, taking in the scene.
The steep wall of the ridge falls away into a rocky gorge, the bottom a hundred meters below where the paras lurk. A narrow trail, barely the width of a pair of boots side by side, snakes its way down the steep wall of the gorge to the rolling floor of the defile.
Perched on a small rise in the bottom of the gorge is a small white structure with a dome perched on top. From the ridge the paras can see what appears to be low stone or brick walls, perhaps, or maybe the ruins of another structure, a dozen meters from where the tomb sits on its tiny rise.
Narrow streambeds cut deep into the sandy floor of the gorge. Hugging the base of the wall are lonely palms, while scattered shrubs dot the thin terracotta soil.
A flash of movement catches the eyes of Pyotr and Marcel – black vultures perch on rocks near the bottom of the slope, the object of their attention lost amid the boulders. Marcel sees a jackal skulking around as well, eyeing the vultures warily.
As the rest of the paras take cover, the captain and Nedjar gather their striped robes around them, concealing their submachine guns – only their combat boots give away their true association as they set off down the narrow trail, picking their way carefully down the steep slope. It takes several minutes for the two men to reach the bottom – watching their progress from the top of the hill, the paras can see that the trail passes just above where the jackals and vultures have gathered. In fact the two men are close enough that a pair of the vultures spread their wide wings and leap from the rocks where they rest and fly away with slow, heavy wingbeats. The capitaine and the légionnaire pause briefly to observe the animals then continue on toward the tomb and the cluster of low walls. The two men conduct a quick search of both structures, then Nedjar sweeps back his hood and raises his submachine gun high overhead.
“Let’s go,” Kat orders, and the ragged line of paratroopers descend the steep, narrow trail. Reaching the spot above where the scavengers hang about, the paras see the object of their atttentions: a dead donkey lying in the rocks, legs awkwardly askew. A pair of jackals with bloodstained maws stare up at the men on the trail cautiously, their meal interrupted – another vulture takes flight, but several more wait patiently for the jackals to eat their fill before gorging themselves on the donkey’s torn flesh in turn.
“Lost donkeys, my ass,” says Ortu as he glances at the scene, then looks up at the ridgetops overlooking the gorge. “Putain fels.”
Reaching the lower end of the trail, the legionnaires cut across the rolling ground to the tomb. The whitewashed bricks are pitted and the paint flaked. Drawing near to where Capt. Martini and Nedjar stand, the paras get a closer look at the low walls - constructed of unpainted mud bricks, two appear to define the outline of a building that has since disappeared while the others enclose a small cemetery with crooked and broken headstones. The walls of the gorge loom silently over the funereal tableau.
“The marabout of Abd-el-Hamou,” Capt. Martini says, nodding at the old white tomb.
The steep wall of the ridge falls away into a rocky gorge, the bottom a hundred meters below where the paras lurk. A narrow trail, barely the width of a pair of boots side by side, snakes its way down the steep wall of the gorge to the rolling floor of the defile.
Perched on a small rise in the bottom of the gorge is a small white structure with a dome perched on top. From the ridge the paras can see what appears to be low stone or brick walls, perhaps, or maybe the ruins of another structure, a dozen meters from where the tomb sits on its tiny rise.
Narrow streambeds cut deep into the sandy floor of the gorge. Hugging the base of the wall are lonely palms, while scattered shrubs dot the thin terracotta soil.
A flash of movement catches the eyes of Pyotr and Marcel – black vultures perch on rocks near the bottom of the slope, the object of their attention lost amid the boulders. Marcel sees a jackal skulking around as well, eyeing the vultures warily.
As the rest of the paras take cover, the captain and Nedjar gather their striped robes around them, concealing their submachine guns – only their combat boots give away their true association as they set off down the narrow trail, picking their way carefully down the steep slope. It takes several minutes for the two men to reach the bottom – watching their progress from the top of the hill, the paras can see that the trail passes just above where the jackals and vultures have gathered. In fact the two men are close enough that a pair of the vultures spread their wide wings and leap from the rocks where they rest and fly away with slow, heavy wingbeats. The capitaine and the légionnaire pause briefly to observe the animals then continue on toward the tomb and the cluster of low walls. The two men conduct a quick search of both structures, then Nedjar sweeps back his hood and raises his submachine gun high overhead.
“Let’s go,” Kat orders, and the ragged line of paratroopers descend the steep, narrow trail. Reaching the spot above where the scavengers hang about, the paras see the object of their atttentions: a dead donkey lying in the rocks, legs awkwardly askew. A pair of jackals with bloodstained maws stare up at the men on the trail cautiously, their meal interrupted – another vulture takes flight, but several more wait patiently for the jackals to eat their fill before gorging themselves on the donkey’s torn flesh in turn.
“Lost donkeys, my ass,” says Ortu as he glances at the scene, then looks up at the ridgetops overlooking the gorge. “Putain fels.”
Reaching the lower end of the trail, the legionnaires cut across the rolling ground to the tomb. The whitewashed bricks are pitted and the paint flaked. Drawing near to where Capt. Martini and Nedjar stand, the paras get a closer look at the low walls - constructed of unpainted mud bricks, two appear to define the outline of a building that has since disappeared while the others enclose a small cemetery with crooked and broken headstones. The walls of the gorge loom silently over the funereal tableau.
“The marabout of Abd-el-Hamou,” Capt. Martini says, nodding at the old white tomb.
Attachments
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shadowbloodmoon
First Post
Pyotr felt uncomfortable leaving his perch, but orders were orders. He continued to scan the area as he trudged along the trail with the rest of his unit.
Upon hearing the Captain, his mind races trying to remember the name. "Pardon sir, but who was that?"
Upon hearing the Captain, his mind races trying to remember the name. "Pardon sir, but who was that?"
Bobitron
Explorer
Marcel makes his way to the others with carfeul steps, doing his best to stay quiet. While Pytor asks the Captain for a little of the history behind the tomb, he is watching the donkey and the scavengers. "We should clear the jackals. I would like to see what caused the donkey's death, just to be sure we are clear."
He removes the safety on his rifle and tentatively steps forward. "But how? I don't want to fire."
He removes the safety on his rifle and tentatively steps forward. "But how? I don't want to fire."
