agogelogs | AND THE ANZAC LEGENDS DIDN'T MENTION...

AND THE ANZAC LEGENDS DIDN'T MENTION...

AND THEN SOMEONE YELLED OUT "CONTACT!";

and the bloke behind me swore

THE SILENT WAR

The news of the day of the retreat spreads like wildfire through the Trenches. Leading up to the final date, all soldiers on the ground are instructed to limit their gunfire, to make it look like the usual traditions for warfare, which have determined much of human history up until this point: no one really goes to war in winter. Everyone is to maintain a verbal and physical presence, but the time to confuse the Turks has really become paramount. At times, whole sections are ordered to be perfectly quiet until the last possible second and then spring out before the Turks can get too close.

Which is just how it is supposed to be. In fact, for COST recruits, there's a real sense that this might just go according to plan.

Around this time, the Rear Guard signup starts. COST recruits are met with some surprise by Captain Lewis; he will blink in surprise at a group so new wanting to volunteer so readily, but he's glad and gives everyone who joins a big warm handshake.

Each day gets closer and the mood of the soldiers becomes more jubilant and tenser; the erratic sense of relief that they might be leaving what has become the graveyard of so many friends and, often times, family, combines with the frustration of not being able to do anything but wait. This leads to more than a few fights breaking out, often over nothing important. Just the edge of temporary relief.

Then, before dawn on Jan 7th, the evacuation begins in earnest. It's possible to see it from the top of some sections: a bustling populace until it trickles down to the ghost of the Trenches, where there is nothing left but the rear guard. It's a smooth, efficient evacuation.

The Rear Guard

This is a skeleton army, just enough to make it seem no one has left. Everyone is encouraged to come up with ways to make it seem like there are more men than there actually are.

The local soldiers have come up with a particularly sneaky one - a rope is wrapped around the trigger of a rifle, just loose enough not to pull it, and from the end of it hangs a bucket. Another container slowly drips water into the bucket until it fills and drops, pulling the rope around the trigger and firing the gun. Soldiers are tasked with emptying the water, refilling the cannister, or checking the gun if it looks like it has jammed.

Outside of that, if someone has a sneaky idea to keep up the ruse - even if it's lighting small fires or singing loudly in a chorus to give the notion of people still around - it's all encouraged.

THE THUNDER OF GUNS

Everything is going well. It's not even that worrying when a thick mist comes up, heavy and difficult to see through. But, for those with powers, it prickles oddly on bare skin, followed by a pressure that builds in the back of the mind. It seems to dull any extra powers or senses; magic and its ilk are still usable, but require more concentration to reach now.

In the stillness of the night, however, there is no breeze to move the fog on and it settles like oil through the trench.

It's 1am when the first shell drops. It falls to the east of the recruits' position at Lone Pine. It's a shell that comes down and splits apart the night air in an explosion of shrapnel, dirt and heat. Then a second, then a third, now starting from both sides.

All the soldiers' clamour out of the way and Captain Lewis can be heard shouting over the din: "Into the Tunnels!"

But not everyone can make it. The shells are coming steadily now and one step in the wrong direction is the difference between life and death in such a small space. It's chaos - some soldiers are killed outright. Others get buried under the debris and dirt. Others catch shrapnel that, if not fatal, is enough to throw them and make it hard to get up. But COST's mission is the same as it always is: save as many of these men's lives as possible.

There are four direct entries into the tunnels, all about four or five meters apart, and they're all interconnected within the tunnels themselves.

One by one, however, shells fall and destroy the entrances to the tunnels.

WARTIME ARCHEOLOGY

It takes another three hours for the bombardment to stop and, once the tunnel entrances collapse, it becomes very dark in there. Might be time to fish out a match and strike up a torch.

While Officers previously told soldiers to keep out of the tunnels and otherwise left them ignored, these tunnels are huge. Not like the ones in other sections of the coast; here, they seem to go far into No Man's Land. They're crudely constructed and only some sections are reenforced with heavy beams of wood. But once journeying into them, there are all sorts of things to be found. There are old gas lamps that can be used to light your way or hung on a secure nook or cranny. The stone has been worn smooth in some sections, and other parts have been carved with graffiti of the soldiers who cut them out.

Some locations go down a few steps, while others go up and small holes seem to have been dug through the roof of the tunnels.

It's definitely best to get away from the front of the tunnels, where the bombing is still going on. There are wounded to be seen to and secured from bleeding out, people to find to make sure everyone is still alive. Maybe you want to go farther into the interweaving tunnels to see what else can be recovered. Or maybe you're being stubbornly sensible and looking for a way to dig your way out again, once the bombs stop firing.

Either way, it's a long, exhausting wait in the dark as the ground shakes, showering dust and rocks over everyone.

INTO THE DAWN

The sun has risen when the firing stops - and it's time to search for a way out of here.

Stepping into the light reveals utter destruction. The concentrated bombing has done its work; everything is strewn or buried in dirt and rubble. Machine guns are overturned and parts of the Trench have collapsed; going over the top would be disastrous, given that the Turks have no idea what is happening and will pick off anyone who sticks their head up.

There also isn't...anyone else around. All that's left is this one segment of the rear guard, just 500 men and the COST soldiers. It isn't possible to discern if the other groups have been evacuated or killed at this point.

It's time to consolidate, count their losses, see who is alive and who isn't, and salvage what supplies are left after some digging clean up is done. Work out who needs to stand watch. For now, Captain Lewis' orders are to use the tunnels as a new base of operations.

SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES

They appear first as a shimmer of off-light, no more than a haze against the resettling mist. A faint shape against the grey - the long lines of a dog's face, almost Jackal-like, in a clean black uniform that gives more to the appearance of shadows - moves closer, but not too close. They could almost be a trick of the light, out of the corner of your eye. Almost intangible.

They're not moving closer, however, choosing to hang back in the rubble of the Trenches. The ANZAC soldiers don't seem to notice them at all.

Ten minutes after they're first spotted, Commander Grothia issues a priority message:

Contact. Regency soldiers. Do not engage.

If a shot does get fired that way, whether it's from Turkish or ANZAC soldiers unknowingly or from COST operatives: it's quick but, as the bullet seems to come into contact with them, the air around them shimmers blue, like it's hitting a field of light. This effect seems to be stronger when they're standing close together and, as of now, they remain unhurt.

Moving closer to them increases that feeling of mind fog on powered characters; for the unmagical, a sense of unease prickles up. It's a feeling not unlike the beginnings of the time-step, the hum of sensation that marks a transfer through time. Veteran recruits will easily recognize the buzz that dances through their bones before it stills as they move away; rookies might recall it from their initial arrival from BASE.

READ THE OOC INFOPAGE.

NAV. NETWORK LOGS OOC MEMES PLURK

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Chokes up on his makeshift dagger and takes a steadying breath. His own adrenaline rush isn't as well-received as M's is, but it makes him feel alive even under the cold sheet of rain (they've been cold for weeks and weeks now, numbness a feeling he's gotten quite familiar with). Sometimes, that's all he really needs.

"It could compromise the mission—" admonishes him while getting grabbed and pulled in whatever direction, boots sucking into mud with anchoring steps, "—carelessness, then I'll have to deal with them."

A moment of silence as shells pound noise against his eardrums and he swears he's either acclimated or half-deaf... then he notices their direction. "Where are you taking me? I'm not going back, I'm helping with evac."

Edited (my phone tag looked nasty) 2018-01-29 04:05 (UTC)

"I'll explain later," Midnighter says, shaking his head. He tilts his chin to the side, as though catching a strange sound, and then he's moving much more swiftly, tugging Hei along much more forcefully. "Sure, whatever, but not here. Shell coming in ten."

Nine, eight, seven... Midnighter breaks into a run.

Watches the rain sluice from the brim of his slouch hat, jogging along with M before the shake of his head tips him off -- something's raised red flags and that alone has him speeding up, but there's just one thing keeping Hei from his full range.

With a hard shake of his arm, Hei attempts to free himself from the grip with a sudden scowl.

"Let go of me." He hasn't forgotten how to run and he'll make that very clear when he can go at his own pace.

"Fuck, try to do a guy a favor..." But Midnighter lets go of Hei's hand, still running as that telltale whistle breaks through the howling chaos around them. "Go!"

'Go' isn't an order taken lightly and Hei's pace doubles with a lean into a run only fractionally slowed by muck. His steps are light enough to keep him out of the worst of it and his rifle knocks against his back as he sprints down the trench's pass.

The shell makes contact behind them and the resulting explosion makes his ears ring. It's deafening and, with his inner-ear affected, it throws him off-balance into a stagger and a slick slide in the mud. "Tch—!"

The explosion goes off, and Midnighter grabs Hei, folding him into strong arms. He uses his body to shield Hei from the worst of the blast-- not too terrible, considering they both got far enough away from the worst of it. Midnighter can already hear the ghostly whine of the men who weren't so lucky behind them, the moan of the wounded and dying.

He lets Hei go, and turns, begins trudging back toward the sound. There's a bit of shrapnel lodged in his back, stabbing through his coat and into a shoulder-blade, but he's choosing to ignore it for now. "You okay?" He asks, though he knows the answer. "Let's go."

When arms tuck around his, Hei knows exactly what's happening and can't say he has any love for it. Being protected is the most foreign aspect of being a part of a team and not even Amber, not even his own sister, would stick this close to him. What's meant to happen should happen — but he wasn't going to die from it.

He can't fault M for that when he'd do the exact same thing. He does refuse to answer his question, however, before taking the couple of steps towards him in order to grab at his wrist.

"You're going the wrong way." There's a grim look on his face now, eyes dropping to the shrapnel drawing blood from a shoulder... he'd recommend he pull it out, but it'd make it bleed far more. "They'll be liabilities, if they aren't dead already. We should leave them."

Midnighter had, honestly, expected better of Hei. Usually he likes being surprised by his companions, but this is... Midnighter's expression is ghoulish at best under the cowl. A stern, disappointed glower is only accentuated.

"Now you're a coward." And he turns back toward the sound of soldiers crying out into the dark.

Snorts at the comment, watching him march back to the soldiers. Told him that in a moment of weakness and now it's being brought up to insult him. Hei takes it as an invitation to leave. He never said he was a good person, always claiming the opposite; M gave him that title on his own. So with a lingering look in his direction, he steps into a turn away.

Then hears the soft plunk of something dropping between him and the group of soldiers M's intent on helping, the telltale crack and fizzle of a fuse. He doesn't care what happens to them, but M—? Goddamn it. Hei's jaw clenches as he shoves a sliding footprint into the mud, darting into a low run, ability activating in a flash of blue and red that makes the dark glow.

"Grenade!" a shout in a voice that never seems to lilt above a conversational volume, falling onto his elbows and knees around it to cover it, nullify it, and protect the superhero who doesn't need protecting.

Midnighter sees the grenade, of course; he's reaching for it swiftly, intent on throwing it back as quickly as poissible. And then Hei's there, and he's-

The computer runs projections, gives him data-- an outpouring of some kind of energy, a change in the atmosphere, an analysis uncompleted. It needs more data, and Midnighter doesn't care. All he can think of is Hei blown to peices, and the last words he would have said to him were an insult.

He's grabbing for him in the mud, tearing him off the fucking grenade, and- it should have exploded by now. It hasn't. "Oh, thank fuck." It was a dud. The fear in Midnighter's voice is obvious, and he doesn't try to hide it, pulling Hei into a close (muddy, disgusting) embrace. "You're okay, oh, fuck, you're okay."

The energy doesn't crackle or make a sound, simply infects the explosive agents inside of the grenade. His ability forces its molecules into an arrangement even the user's unaware of, rendering it completely stable — and the blue light enveloping him ebbs away when he's grabbed. Grabbed—?

Blinking the red light and rain out of his eyes, Hei lets himself be extracted from the mud, be pulled into a tight hug, and exhales roughly against M's shoulder. "Of... course I am."

Has to raise a hand to M's back, selfishly indulging for just a moment, before taking a fistful of his uniform and tugging to signal the end of it. There are things to be done and this is, unfortunately, neither the place nor time. "I'm not weak... surely you realize that by now. Do you want a souvenir that'll remind you of the fact?"

Palm out between them, offering him the dead grenade.

Midnighter lets go when Hei begins pushing him away, but he remembers, for a moment, how Hei had held him back for a moment. He remembers, as well, the ridiculous thrill he'd felt to be held by him. That's- he can't think about his dick right now, they're in a fucking warzone. Fuck, he's being stupid.

He takes a step back from Hei, giving him space.

"I know you're not weak. Doesn't mean I think you can survive a grenade, shit." He looks down at the thing in Hei's palm, just as the computer completes its analysis. "You... you did that. Something with the electricity. Shit."

His expression slides into a grin, sharp and proud of his companion.

A little shake in his shoulders, finding that particular comment... funny. It feels awkward, it's so rare when he's not putting on some great act, but he lets the laugh come. "I've survived far, far larger explosions," half-chuckled out of him, shaking his head with a clearing of his throat. "You're still underestimating me, M, but I suppose that's par for the course..."

Props the little grenade up with his fingers, pinching it and raising it to eye level with a slow rotation of the thing. Even with careful examination, what's been done to it is undetectable, but it's his own fault M knows. He happens to care too much, but he warned him, just like he warned Noctis.

Throws the grenade over his shoulder and steps around M. As he thought, he'll have to help; Hei can't leave him here to do all of the drudgery alone.

"I'll tell you later, if you remember to ask. You want to help these people, fine. I'll help you."

Edited 2018-02-10 21:58 (UTC)

Hei laughs, and Midnighter feels that same thrill. He's not big on compartmentalization-- he has a fucking computer in his brain, he can think about two things at once-- but he's never been in a fucking warzone before. Now is not the time.

He just wants it to be.

"I'll remember," he says, still riding the emotional high of Hei being alive and well. Bombs are going off in the background, but all he can think about is how happy he is to see Hei's wet and dirty face. "And I was wrong. You're no coward. I'll never say that again."

Doesn't know what to say to it. Cowardice comes in many forms — physically, he's not. He's always been one of the first to jump headlong into things with minimal planning involved, face dangers far beyond his level with a viciousness you can't find in just any other man, but fundamentally... a coward of the mind, someone who hides behind vices and thoughts of his own mortality.

M's happy, maybe that's all he needs to do. Protect that happiness, for him and Noctis. If he himself suffers, it still sounds like a good trade-off.

Holds out a hand to him, not in a bid for contact but an invitation for them to proceed together. If M wants to help these people and that makes him happy, then he'll carry as many men as he can out of these trenches. Expression falling into one of surprising calmness, Hei urges M on, "Come, these men are dying and they need you. We'll take them into the tunnels and call for stretchers."

He's expression is really-- his face is- Midnighter smiles back, and keeps forcing himself not to think about it. He nods, instead, smile twisting into the cocky grin he uses for work, fighting and killing and, occasionally, saving people's lives. He turns away, walking again through the mud, toward soldiers moaning out into the darkness. How much time have they wasted?

"I've seen what you can do, now," he says. "We'll be unstoppable."

Takes up stride next to him, matching his pace, eyes refocusing on writhing soldiers. Immediately, upon reaching them and hearing them beg for help, Hei experiences a moment of abjection that makes him pause, stare down, and reach deeper to dredge up the empathy necessary to care about lives so close to the brink. To carry them to the beach, only for them to die there instead.

No matter. Answers M vaguely, but if anything gets mistakenly said then it's a simple matter of erasing the soldiers' short-term memories, "As close to it as we can get when we're being blocked like this."

A crouch, touch far from gentle as he gathers a man's arms and shoves a shoulder against the boy's bare and bloody midsection. So much younger than him. Yet so much older than the boy he once was in a war so unlike this. He's hefted like a sack of potatoes and treated as roughly as one, no mothering bone in the contractor's body — only quick efficiency. Hei sinks a bit in the mud, rises into a stand, and ignores choked sobs at his back.

"This war... is pointless. I'd like it to end." With that, Hei walks back to where they narrowly avoided the shell and heads for the tunnels.

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AND THE ANZAC LEGENDS DIDN'T MENTION...

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