Wing and Sword: Life During Wartime

[Barak]

Still pretty keyed up with the grenade-launcher training, which had came as a huge relief from the extremely boring tedium of the day, Normand was in the process of telling Vidal and Pyotr all about it when he spots Marcel getting in line being them.

"Hey doc! Nice to see you again. I see you've been stuck in the camp like us, eh? How are things going in the medical world?"

 

[Bobitron]

"Hey doc! Nice to see you again. I see you've been stuck in the camp like us, eh? How are things going in the medical world?"

"Hey Normand! Hey guys! Yeah, stuck here. Nothing special at the tent. It's a tightly run ship. The head medic is a bit of a hard ass", Marcel says glumly, "but he does run a nice infirmary."

Marcel rocks back ond forth from leg to leg as he speaks. "I'll be honest, I'm looking forward to our leave coming up! I heard about some beautiful local girls in Portemonte. And hey, maybe they have a football league set up! I'm not very good", he shrugs, a bit ashamed, "but it still would be nice to play."

Marcel's trademark grin once again surfaces. "But first things first. The ladies call. I'm sure the girls back at Zeralda are still crying about my departure."

 

[The Shaman]

A voice comes from over Marcel’s shoulder. “You like football? That’s your man right there,” says a legionnaire, pointing at a husky blonde man sitting down at one of the tables. “Silvio Ortu is a backup striker on the Legion team. He’s always looking for players around camp. There’s a scratch league in town that plays on Thursdays, and I know he’s there when we get a permission for the day.”

The speaker sticks out a hand. “You’re the new medic? I’m David Nedjar, Third Platoon.” The legionnaire has dark curly hair and a thin, somewhat scruffy beard – a star of David on a pendant hangs around his neck.

 

[Barak]

Normand turns towards the légionnaire, and before Marcel can even respond, he speaks up.

"What about boxing? Any matches that can be set-up? I'd be all over that!"

 

[Bobitron]

The speaker sticks out a hand. “You’re the new medic? I’m David Nedjar, Third Platoon.” The legionnaire has dark curly hair and a thin, somewhat scruffy beard – a cross of David is visible around his neck.

Marcel grips the mans hand and pumps it up and down. "Yeah! I'm Marcel Fortier. Just came in last night. We were assigned to Third as well! Looks like we are going to be seeing a lot of each other. Hey, this is Pyotr, Vidal, and Normand. We went through training together."

 

[shadowbloodmoon]

Pyotr nods to Nedjar as he is introduced. Slide-footing his way down the chow line, he listens to them talk about sports and women and his mind wanders to a certain Ukrainian farmgirl he once knew in another life. Smiling, he says, "At this point, anything is better than cleaning up after the rest of the platoon. Right, Normand?" He then jokingly bumps the boxer's shoulder.

 

[The Shaman]

Normand turns towards the légionnaire, and before Marcel can even respond, he speaks up. “What about boxing? Any matches that can be set-up? I'd be all over that!”

Marcel grips the man’s hand and pumps it up and down. “Yeah! I'm Marcel Fortier. Just came in last night. We were assigned to Third as well! Looks like we are going to be seeing a lot of each other. Hey, this is Pyotr, Vidal, and Normand. We went through training together.”

Nedjar nods as he shakes Marcel’s hand with a firm grip. “There are regular matches put on by the Army,” he answers Normand, “and sometimes units in the field will put a bout together, for fun.”

The legionnaire looks Normand up and down as he reaches for a ladle of green beans. “You look like you can handle yourself, but a word of advice: watch out for sergent-chef Verdurand. He likes to pick out the big guys during hand-to-hand training.” He grins. “He’s a savate expert, and he was the French national champion last year. Verdurand turned down the chance to be an instructor at Sully, so he tends to practice on the guys in the company.” Another grin. “Especially the new guys.”

 

[Barak]

Normand grins back at Nedjar, and shrugs.

"Acknowledged and understood.. And thanks for the warning. My experience is mostly in boxing, and while I can certainly hold my own in a regular fight, I expect a savate expert.. Could probably kick my derrière."

 

[знаток]

Vidal listens to all the conversation about athletics from a short distance. He couldn't shake his discomfort at the whole thing. Didn't we come here to fight? To do a job? He justified it all by telling himself that the activities would keep them fit and boost their morale, but didn't have any immediate plans to participate. He reminds himself to keep his ears open for something that may actually suit him, but expects that the running and rucking will be the extent of his sport.
He remains silent throughout the conversations, listening and smiling, until an idea occurs to him. "Does anyone teach martial arts around here?" Quiet excitement overwhelmed him at the thought alone.

 

[The Shaman]

Normand grins back at Nedjar, and shrugs. “Acknowledged and understood.. And thanks for the warning. My experience is mostly in boxing, and while I can certainly hold my own in a regular fight, I expect a savate expert…could probably kick my derrière.”

From behind Normand comes another voice. “How good are you, exactly? What’s your record?” Turning, Normand sees the speaker is Sánchez, from his own section. Whereas most of the rankers in the platoon appear to be in their early to mid-twenties, a graying, receding hairline and deep folds in the corners of his mouth suggest that Sánchez is older than many of the non-commissioned officers in the unit, yet the insignia on his sleeve is that of a simple légionnaire. He looks intently at Normand, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, a pack of Ideales peeking from his pocket.

“Does anyone teach martial arts around here?” asks Vidal. Nedjar nods. “A couple of the sous-officierss are pretty good, but sergent Verdurand is the best by far. You’ll learn a lot, if you can stand the bruises.”