Wing and Sword: Life During Wartime
Normand, his safety off and finger loose on the trigger, continues to scan the perimeter, ready to fire at the first sign of aggression. Without looking at anyone in particular, he speaks up.
"A third body in the ditch guys, looks like another gendarme. Let's make sure none of us makes the fourth, I'm not that eager to play bridge in Heaven."
"A third body in the ditch guys, looks like another gendarme. Let's make sure none of us makes the fourth, I'm not that eager to play bridge in Heaven."
The Shaman
First Post
The four legionnaires – Nedjar, Pamuk, Pyotr, and Marcel – hustle along the edge of the road to the jeep. Nedjar motions with his hand for everyone to stay low, taking a knee and pointing his submachine gun over the top of the jeep toward the truck.
A gendarme lies on the ground behind the jeep – Marcel crouches down next to the man and gazes into unseeing eyes. A bullet, probably from a rifle, struck the man in the throat – a large pool of blood has spread from the pale, still body across the gravel road surface.
Marcel: If you’d like to get a rough idea of how long the gendarme has been dead, make a DC 20 Treat Injury check.
Pyotr watches the truck – there is no sign of movement. There are, however, a number of bullet holes – automatic weapons fire? – across the grille and hood of the truck. A puddle of fluid lies underneath the front of the Skoda.
Sgt. Katsourianis glances at the irrigation ditch, toward the third body in the water. “Mador, keep an eye on the culvert and the other side of the road there, past the junction. Gaspard, follow me.” The sergent leaves the cover of the GMC and dashes forward to the jeep, to join the rest of the choc group. Normand feels someone move up behind him – Sgt. Müller, who waits with the big Frenchman beside the OD deuce-and-a-half.
As he watches the road and the ditch, a movement, a shadow on a shadow, catches Normand’s eye. Something is moving in the culvert where the irrigation ditch crosses under the road.
A gendarme lies on the ground behind the jeep – Marcel crouches down next to the man and gazes into unseeing eyes. A bullet, probably from a rifle, struck the man in the throat – a large pool of blood has spread from the pale, still body across the gravel road surface.
Marcel: If you’d like to get a rough idea of how long the gendarme has been dead, make a DC 20 Treat Injury check.
Pyotr watches the truck – there is no sign of movement. There are, however, a number of bullet holes – automatic weapons fire? – across the grille and hood of the truck. A puddle of fluid lies underneath the front of the Skoda.
Sgt. Katsourianis glances at the irrigation ditch, toward the third body in the water. “Mador, keep an eye on the culvert and the other side of the road there, past the junction. Gaspard, follow me.” The sergent leaves the cover of the GMC and dashes forward to the jeep, to join the rest of the choc group. Normand feels someone move up behind him – Sgt. Müller, who waits with the big Frenchman beside the OD deuce-and-a-half.
As he watches the road and the ditch, a movement, a shadow on a shadow, catches Normand’s eye. Something is moving in the culvert where the irrigation ditch crosses under the road.
shadowbloodmoon
First Post
Pyotr catches sight of the fluid underneath the truck. It could be oil. It could be coolant. It could even be... "Fuel! Amis! I think that is fuel underneath the truck, I don't think it's safe to be sitting here right now." He thinks of where else to be. "We might have to watch our fire near it."
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The Shaman
First Post
Pyotr: The liquid is acutally under the front of the Skoda truck, not the jeep - sorry if I didn't make that clear.
shadowbloodmoon
First Post
guess I missed that you said truck three times.... Went back to edit post.
The Shaman
First Post
A hand appears from the mouth of the culvert, streaked with mud. “Please help me,” a voice calls, echoing in the corrugated metal pipe. “I’m hurt.” A arm follows the hand, and then a face emerges from the shadows – a man in a gendarme’s uniform, soaked and covered with grime, crawling to the mouth of the culvert, face contorted with pain.
