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Message: <blockquote data-quote="The Shaman" data-source="post: 2851792" data-attributes="member: 26473">Raffaele whips off around the corner of the mechta as Nedjar hesitates, looking up at the window, then at the open doorway at Normand’s warning. Racing around to the rear of the building he surprises a pair of goats that scamper, bleating as they scramble up the rocky slope. Peeking around the building, Raffaele sees an Arab woman with an armful of laundry, watching the tableau unfolding down slope. She glances up at the sound of the goats and spies Raffaele – with a gasp she drops the clean clothing to the dusty ground, standing stock-still in surprise at the sight of the Legion para.“Stop where you are and identify yourself!” Marcel calls to the approaching figure. He stops and sees the weapons pointed in his direction by the medic and the grenadier, then glances down at his own mud-caked uniform. “Lieutenant Thierry Ferrand,” he replies with a smile, “Sections Administratives Specialisées.” The officer rubs a mud-crusted shoulder board, revealing twin gold bars.A hand grips Marcel’s shoulder firmly. “It’s a little early in the day for shooting officers, doc,” says Sgt. Müller. The sergent-chef continues quietly in German, and Georg von Krenzl, Lt. Ramadier’s runner, chuckles softly.Kat and Vidal draw close to where Pyotr, Normand, Burhan and David wait at the doorway. “What’s this all about?” the sergent says impatiently. Lt. Ferrand walks up to Lt. Ramadier and extends a grimy hand. “I received word yesterday to expect paras. Please excuse my appearance.” Marcel gets a closer look at the SAS officer. He stands a full head shorter than Lt. Ramadier, but then many men do. Ferrand’s skin is deeply tanned on his face, arms, and legs where his pant legs and sleeves have been rolled up. The pale blue kepi of the SAS is nowhere to be seen, and the lieutenant’s scalp is burned pink beneath his closely-trimmed brown hair. Ferrand’s face is open and frank, his smile genuine. He looks to be in his early thirties.“Lt. Ramadier, 1st REP,” replies the platoon commander, saluting. Ramadier glances up at Kat’s section, waiting at the house. “We were preparing to search for weapons, mon lieutenant...”“The villagers’ weapons were inventoried when we arrived,” Ferrand replies. The smile is still there, but his eyes are hard. “There’s no need to inconvenience them again over a couple of shotguns and an old Lebel that was an antique before the Marne.”Lt. Ramadier shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Sir,” he replies after an awkward pause, then turns to the German platoon sergeant – Müller nods without a word and whistles to Kat, motioning to the section leader to pull back. At the mechta Kat grimaces. “What the devil?” he says again, looking at the house once more. “Fall back,” the Greek orders impatiently, warily watching the windows and doors.“Mon lieutenant,” Lt. Ramadier resumes, “My CO Capitaine Martini was expecting you to meet us this morning in El-Biya, to provide an intelligence briefing.”“I won’t be back in El-Biya for at least two more days,” Ferrand replies. “We are covering the village cistern and building a new pen for the goats, as you can see,” he continues, gesturing at the workers and supplies, “and there are inoculations to finish.” The SAS officer is courteous but firm.Lt. Ramadier stiffens. “Sir, my orders come from Capitaine Martini...” he begins, but Ferrand cuts him short.“And mine come from Colonel Marchand in Géryville,” Ferrand answers firmly, like a schoolteacher’s remonstrance to an outspoken pupil. “I was informed that the paras would be operating in the area. I received no orders about an intelligence briefing. We have a great deal of work to complete here, sous-lieutenant - ” the emphasis on Ramadier’s junior rank is subtle “ - before I can return to El-Biya.” Ferrand tilts his head slightly. “Unless you care to help us.”The platoon leader’s face is dark as Pyotr, Normand, Raffaele and the rest of Kat’s section rejoin Marcel and the platoon command. “Help you how?” Ramadier replies with annoyance, abandoning military courtesy.If Ferrand is offended, he doesn’t show it. “With your legionnaires’ help I believe we can finish the projects this afternoon and return to El-Biya by nightfall. If you leave two sections with me to finish the cistern and the goat pen,” he continues, “you can take the third section on a patrol with Zabana here - ” he nods to the moghazni “ - and he’ll give you a first-hand look at a new route the ALN is using to move men and supplies between sectors.” The SAS lieutenant looks at the platoon leader expectantly.Lt. Ramadier draws a deep breath and holds it, then exhaling slowly he nods. “Oui, mon lieutenant.”Sgt. Müller steps close to Lt. Ramadier. “Mon lieutenant, this officer - ” the word is an epithet coming from the sergent-chef “ - is not in your chain of command. Our operational orders are clear, including conducting searches for weapons and viets.” The German glances at Ferrand, who shows no reaction.“Our orders were to rendezvous with Lt. Ferrand and return with him to the company bivouac,” Ramadier replies quietly. “I’ll square it with Le Capitaine. You know how he is, Hans,” he adds, almost under his breath.The platoon sergeant says nothing, his face blank. “Oui, mon lieutenant” he answers evenly. “Who do you want? Altmeier?” The last is clearly a suggestion, and apparently the young officer is bright enough to recognize it. Lt. Ramadier nods his assent.It takes a few minutes to sort out the duties. Lt. Ramadier and Sgt. Altmeier’s section join the moghazni, Zabana, to look over a tactical map – the Arab is clearly pleased to be doing something else other than watching the construction of the goat pen. Sgt. Müller remains with the other two sections, amidst much grumbling from the legionnaires.“What was he thinking, Hans?” Kat asks Müller. The German sous-officier says nothing, just shakes his head as the SAS officer approaches. Lt. Ferrand explains what he wants to Müller: Sgt. Szabo’s men will assist with building the rock-walled goat pen, while Sgt. Katsourianis and his section join Lt. Ferrand to complete an enclosure for the communal cistern. After these projects are completed the legionnaires will lay the pipe from the cistern to the goat enclosure.Marcel is given a different job. “Our nurse, Sister Courcy, is conducting examinations and vaccinating the children for smallpox. I’m sure your assistance would be appreciated,” Ferrand explains as the legionnaires walk through the village. The eyes of the Arabs village are glued to the paras as they arrive at the cistern.An Arab boy is enlisted as a guide for Marcel. Before the medic can depart Sgt. Müller pulls him aside and slips his sidearm into Marcel’s hands. “Keep it on you, under your smock,” the sergent-chef says quietly, “and sling your carbine so it can’t be pulled away from you.” When he’s ready, Marcel turns to the wide-eyed boy, who leads him quickly along a stony path to one of the mechtas.The cistern is built at the mouth of the spring that feeds the village fields. The bottom is carved from the native rock by years of weathering – Lt. Ferrand’s project is to expand the capacity by raising the walls, then covering the whole thing to reduce evaporative loss. A pipe will be extended to the goat pen to keep the animals away from the water source – “Cholera is a scourge in these villages,” Ferrand explains, [colors=sienna]“so protecting the water supply is very important.”[/color] The indifferent expressions worn on the faces of the paras doesn’t deter the enthusiastic officer as he shows the paras what he wants, laying the brick courses to create a low dome over the cistern.When Ferrand finishes, Kat turns to the section. “Sánchez, take the AA-52 and secure the rest of the section’s weapons. You and Kerenin are on watch.” Ortu’s mouth drops open, but Kat cuts him off. “Not a word. Put your muscles to work instead of your mouth. Barzini and Mador, give Sánchez your satchels.” The section leader unslings his own MAT-49, locks the magazine forward in the safety position, and hands it to Sánchez before removing his jump smock. “Let’s get this done,” he says without enthusiasm.Marcel...[sblock]The boy leads Marcel to a mechta and points at the doorway, which is blocked by a drapery of some kind, then turns and runs away as if from the Devil himself. A few curious Arab women watch the medic as he stands before the entrance.[/sblock]Pyotr, Normand, and Raffaele...[sblock]Lt. Ferrand speaks quickly in Arabic to the assembled villagers, and work on the cistern resumes. The Arabs watch the legionnaires carefully, their expressions inscrutable. They say little.The SAS lieutenant, on the other hand, is voluble. “I enjoy meeting legionnaires,” he says earnestly, standing up to his calves in the warm spring, setting bricks in place. “My uncle was an officer in the Legion during the Twenties, stationed in Syria. Such a rich history.” He wipes his forehead, leaving a trail of dirt. “How do you men find the life of a legionnaire?”[/sblock]</blockquote>

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