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.

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"No," she agrees with a distinct note of bitterness. "I have felt nothing quite like it here before now."

That may not mean as much to him right now as it does to her, but it is a small consolation that know that she is not alone in feeling ill at ease. The fog is thick enough to make the world around them eerie, yes, but eeriness alone is far from enough to bother her.

She looks down at his offered hand, not unfamiliar with the gesture but still not accustomed to it. So much touching over simple greetings, she remembers complaining once, and she knows Aedan wanted to laugh but held it in as best he could. It seems clasping and shaking hands is a custom for many people regardless of where she goes.

"I am Morrigan." Let no one say she makes no attempt to adapt. Under the circumstances, she is curious to see if that feeling of power is stronger on contact. Her hand clasps his, firm, but only for a moment. "You are a new recruit?"

"Yeah, in my experience Earth-- Well, Earths are usually magic free zones." Merlin nods curtly. "I don't think I've seen spells used by uh, local people in any of the Earths that I've visited."

But the multiverse works in mysterious ways. He's quite sure there is a version of Earth where magic is used. However, it hasn't seemed that way in this particular one at least this far.

The way she pauses before she clasps his hand makes him think that she's not accustomed to handshakes. But when she does grab his hand he lets that smile slip over his lips fully and squeezes her hand firmly. Whether or not the feeling of power is stronger or not depends on her. He's but a conduit for the world altering primal force of Chaos. Logrus has a mind of its own, Merlin can command it but not quite control all of its deviations, which are plenty.

"Morrigan. It's a pleasure. Even if the circumstances could have been better. And yes, I am new. I don't suppose you have any pro tips for the rookie."

Edited 2018-01-29 07:22 (UTC)

"You have experience with multiple Earths." A single note of laughter huffs out of her, more than a little dry. "What a delight that must be."

This one is quite enough for anyone, she thinks, though that does give her pause. To her recollection no one has explicitly said that everything she has done with COST has happened in one timeline on one Earth. That has been her assumption, one she has had little reason to doubt.

"My advice is that you should expect to never feel satisfied." The brief handshake feels like something of an affirmation, but it tells her nothing more. Whatever power clings to him is entirely unfamiliar. "We are not always successful at meeting our goals. Even when we do, we are not lingering to enjoy it. Some of us do not even recall joining the cause." Her head tips, not so far from owlish. "Do you?"

Merlin can't help the snort of laughter he gives at her dry reply. Despite feeling the tingle of nervous energy, like a ring of ice around his ass, he isn't completely blind to the humour of it. "I'm quite fond of it," he shoots back with a small, crooked grin that curls in one corner of his mouth. "Earth, in its various versions. But I'm rather particular to the ones that are further along with their history. Almost a hundred years forward from this date."

He relaxes a little bit, assuming a stance that has some longevity, at ease and shifting his weight back instead of constantly hovering on the edge of ready action. He's gotten used to living on that recipe since leaving his preferred shadow Earth behind. Gallipoli seems almost like a relief compared to that. No one is gunning specifically for his head here after all.

"You don't seem exactly impressed, I take it," he says with a hint of a teasing note in his tone of voice. "If this is what your sampling has been, though. I'm not surprised."

He considers her pro tips curiously. The general attitude around the COST operations seem somewhat familiar to him - a fact that might be comforting to some is rather terrifying to Merlin instead - he could imagine one of his aunts or uncles leading a project like this without a problem.

"I do, remember," he says a little awkwardly, reaching up to ruffle the hair at the back of his head. "But I have to admit that I had completely different kind of expectations." At first he had assumed he might actually lie about not remembering. But the closer to the truth you keep your stories, the better. And he's still at liberty to spin this depending on her reaction to it. (Merlin could do with a reminder that not everyone is out to get him.) "What about yourself?"

The crook of his lips earns an arch of her eyebrows. "I assume Earth means quite a bit to someone. Almost all of my time with COST has been poured into preserving its history." Her mouth slants, though perhaps not entirely without humor. She supposes it could be interesting to find out what it is like in a hundred years, but only because she has been forced to live here for months as it is. "This is as advanced as I have seen it."

His posture relaxes a bit, she notices, and she would not mind being able to do the same, but the thick fog makes her feel as though something looms. If magic has no roots here, who should she blame for something that hinders her magic? The Regency is the obvious answer, but COST itself is not above suspicion.

"One wonders what your expectations were." Her hands feel restless enough that she folds her arms loosely. "But no, I do not remember. I am told that the agent who approached me would have won me over by explaining that my world's future is threatened by Regency, that my progeny--" As disbelievingly as she says the word, something about it wants to lodge in her throat for a moment. She had scoffed at the idea at the time, but then she discovered what is supposedly her own unborn son neatly contained and labelled in her capsule on the station. "--is in danger."

There are times when she wonders if COST does not simply play games with her.

"Is that what you were told?"

All the topics she raises are delicate and Merlin feels an urge to respond to them honestly - it would be his first instinct to do so - but he's learned better than to trust at the first handshake. He's well versed in reading the pauses in a conversation - more is said between the words than what is actually said aloud - and her maternal instincts endear her to him immediately, which of course is something he instinctively reads as an unfortunate situation, for himself. He knows he has a problem with yielding more than would be strictly speaking necessary or wise at all because his friendly, sympathetic position.

He attempts to shake his mild inner turmoil by turning to gaze into the mists again.

"This isn't the first time I've been part of a world altering campaign over larger-than-life issues. Looking at it from the grass root perspective is still a little bit of a disorienting experience. I don't know how but they stripped me off of quite a bit of my abilities, which seems backwards to say the least considering I volunteered for the job." Which in fact makes him suspect this as a trap. But first impressions can be deceiving.

"I do not have any progeny, to my knowledge," he continues because he doesn't want to answer her question directly. But he also doesn't seem to want to outright lie to her for whatever reason. (His bleeding heart never fails to make an appearance at the least convenient moments.) "But I do have people in precarious positions. People I care about. A lot." His laughable luck with relationships and how they've been played out of his hand is definitely not a lie, even if it's not the real answer to her question.

"How old is your child?"

She does little to hide the surprise in her eyes. Campaigns over larger-than-life issues are not necessarily new to her, but something on this grand a scale? It is more than she knew to imagine.

"You have been limited?" If he did not have her interest before, he does now. It was just recently that she wondered if COST only recruited from worlds less advanced than they are. At the time she was thinking of technology, but this is certainly relevant. "In what ways? This is the first time my magic has felt hampered in any way."

Otherwise she has felt no different. And she has met someone who appears to have a type of inhuman strength, no doubt useful in a time of war, so she has to question where lines are drawn.

She can accept the fact that perhaps what convinced him is not the same as what supposedly convinced her -- everyone has their price -- but his question makes her pause. She had not meant what she told him to be a confession so much as a statement of fact, but this is still the closest she has gotten to acknowledging her supposed condition to anyone.

In truth she has never felt as much self-doubt as she does over the topic of whether or not she is truly to be a mother, and she does not like the way it tastes. Nor is she eager to say much more of it to anyone, stranger or not.

"I have yet to bear it." She chooses the words with a modicum of care. "If they are to be believed."

Limited. There's a word for it. Merlin feels positively stumped. "In ways that I've never seen anything capable of restricting my abilities before. I come from a place where my kind have quite a bit of--" How would he word this? He takes a brief moment to think about it. "--unusual abilities, let's say." He sighs but it's more about air than it is about voicing any sort of exasperation. "I should be able to exit this world, for example. By no less than three different methods. None of them seem available for me, however. I should be able to shapeshift. This is impossible as well. And I'm afraid that only describes half of what I'm missing."

He's not bragging. It's a fact that greatly troubles him. It seems like a topic that would be both beneficial and interesting to entertain for the moment, which is why he actually answers her honestly instead of finding some way to side step her question.

"My magic seems to be mostly intact as well. Do you think there's a connection?"

Merlin realises that he took a bit of an aggressive tactic with her on the matter of her child. It had been a conversational gambit to assume she meant offspring when she described the party in danger as her progeny and just calling it that has now verified his assumptions but probably put her on her toes a little bit. That wasn't something he meant to do in the least, but it's hard to take it back now.

Her answer makes his eyes widen, though, and any thoughts of manners and delicate approaches slip from his mind as he tries to figure out what she means by it.

"Are you saying you're--" He bites his lip, realising a little too late again that what he's going to ask could be considered rude as well. "--with a child right now?" He still finishes the question, hoping that she isn't going to tell him that it's none of his business and leave.

If his claims are true she is surprised he can be this calm about it. Had COST taken half of her abilities she is sure she would have raged hard enough that they would have sent her back home just to be rid of her.

Or perhaps they would have done something worse. At times this whole organization strikes her as clumsy, but she doubts she knows the full extent of what they can do.

"It sounds as though the abilities that have been taken from you are another unfortunate accident, like my missing memories, or someone considers you too powerful to be fully trusted." The idea of exiting this world has distinct appeal; she assumes that is how he has experience with multiple Earths, but can only guess as to why COST would interfere with it. "What can you shift into that would make them take that talent from you? I am a shapeshifter as well, as it happens, and I have yet to experience any trouble."

This fog would make maintaining another form much more draining, though.

The huff of breath she lets out is very close to humorless despite the crook of her lips. "Your phrasing is more interesting than you realize." Under the circumstances. If they were not already talking of COST being personally invasive, she would say less. "Not that it is business of yours, but yes, they would have me believe I am pregnant."

Merlin has learned along the years of being jerked around by powers that be, that screaming to the skies doesn't really amount to much when it comes to changing his own fate. It has also occurred to him that this could be just a ruse by either one of his relatives or those said powers that be. He wouldn't put it past the Snake to come up with this interesting scheme to get Merlin firmly wedged to its side of things. It's done crazier things. Like put him on the throne of the Courts of Chaos.

In short: he's learned to be patient and observe when he isn't sure what's going on instead of rushing in head first.

"I don't know what about my ability to shift shape was unappealing to them. I come from a place where shifting between different, often quite intuitive shapes makes the difference between life and death. Conditions change, often rapidly, and you have to change with them in order to remain alive." Merlin has never felt a particular fondness for this talent but he has practised enough to know when he is blocked from it. "But I don't see how it might be a talent that would bother the COST. Quite the contrary."

He can't help but glance down at her midriff when the baby comes up. But he looks up quickly, with a small smile spreading across his lips.

"It probably isn't any business of mine, but congratulations," says somewhat quietly, if with a tone of almost playful lightness. "You must be terrified for the baby in this situation. In war, I mean." Then after a beat: "Why is it interesting, though? My phrasing."

In a matter of minutes Merlin has managed to become one of the most interesting people she has met since her path aligned with COST's. She may not be able to let her guard down while the fog persists, but half a dozen curious questions sit on the tip of her tongue. "Have you had a chance to speak to our leaders about it? I doubt it will please you, but I am curious as to how they explain your problem."

There is much she can complain about, but she does not envy his position.

His glance toward her belly does not go unnoticed. He is courteous enough, offering congratulations, but she doubts they are warranted.

"'Tis complicated. It seems the child is safe enough for now." If she can call it that; it looked a bit closer to a mutated berry of some kind. "It is contained on the station in a cryotube--" A word previously unknown to her. "--and labelled like part of a collection. Not exactly with me."

"No, I haven't. I will have to do that in the future. I'd like to hear their thoughts on it." Not that he thinks he's going to get very straight answers out of them. He's taken a leap of fate with this whole business and it turned out to be quite a bit more trouble than he thought.

Her maternal instincts have already endeared her to him - it's a bitter sort of ache that makes him wish the best for her - but the way she talks about the baby, preserved in a cryotube that makes him actually feel something awfully sharp in the bottom of his stomach. He absolutely hates it when children are used as playing chips. It hits a little too close to home.

"I'm sorry to hear that about your child," he says quietly. "Glad of course that he or she is safe. But at the same time..."

He clears his throat, trying to shake the sudden surge of anger and melancholy that so often heralds revelations about human nature and the ugliness of it.

"You're a magic user, correct?"

"And I would be interested as well, if you are willing to share what you learn." It seems important to her to be able to compare notes with others, especially others with reason to feel skeptical.

Her mouth just barely twists, her only real acknowledgment of his kind words. If everything she is told is true and she will indeed be a mother, then... yes, she is glad that she is not putting the child's life at risk as well as her own.

Even though this is so far from how things were supposed to go, so far from the conditions in which she was willing to bear a child.

"I am indeed a mage." She wonders how unsettling the fog is to those who have no power at all. "Although I know of no one from my world who has abilities like the ones you have mentioned, with the exception of shapeshifting."

"It seems like we should be sharing our findings with each other, the whole group of us." Merlin would agree that it's probably going to be the only way to get a clearer picture of the situation.

He's half glad, half irritated to put the matter of the child to rest. But he realises that he shouldn't pursue it because he's emotionally compromised about it. And she provides a good distraction by mentioning someone with similar abilities to his.

"Leaving this world, you mean?" he asks curiously. Did they get theirs taken away as well? "Or magic?"

"That would be useful, would it not."

Her tone verges on dry again, but she could not agree more. She has found a few others, equally suspicious, who seem more or less willing to share what they learn. Or at least what they consider relevant. But there are those who seem too eager to risk their lives for this cause; it may be a worthy one in theory, but she has to wonder if they were told anything different when they were approached. The holes in her memory are difficult to forgive.

"What do you consider your ability to leave a world if not magic?" He implied the same thing earlier, but it certainly seems odd to her. "Is it closer to COST's method of travel?"

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AND THE ANZAC LEGENDS DIDN'T MENTION...

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