agogelogs | 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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As soon as that mist had rolled in, Sebastian could have anticipated what came next. It felt unpleasant, and the dampening effect was hardly something he could ignore. Someone knew that there were people that could do a bit more hidden in the ranks of soldiers, and it felt clear that this was an attempt to lessen their effectiveness. However, before he can give any thought or conversation to that, the shelling starts, and Sebastian immediately falls in line with the orders he had been given.

It's somewhat risky to use his abilities, and annoyingly difficult to do so, he finds, but for the sake of efficiency, he decides it's worth it. He's not going to waste time bringing int the dead or the soon to be dead, and instead is looking as he runs down the lines of trenches for the souls of people that were still hanging onto them. It's shown through how his eyes change character, no longer human at all, but a bright, almost glowing red. It's also why he goes for those that are at least addled, if not unconcious. He doesn't imagine it would be very pleasant for your first sight after a shelling to be a demon's eyes. It's likely a bad omen, really.

He's going down a trench quickly and looking hurriedly as he decides which bodies are going to be the best uses of the limited time he has when Midnighter grabs him to pull him back. Those inhuman eyes meet Midnighter's with a look of surprise, but it's followed with a laugh.

"The offer is appreciated," he answers politely, but with a wry smile, "but I believe I can manage."

Though it's perhaps not direct enough to make it clear that it's more than bravado. Still, Sebastian wipes at his cheek, though his hand stops as he feels a piece of shrapnel lodged there that he hadn't quite noticed. It wasn't the only one, but he (slightly erronously) thinks that it doesn't particularly matter. He plucks it out, then rubs his cheek with the back of his hand as if to hide the blood in the mud caked on his face while he looks down the line.

"There are still more we can collect," he says, and after a moment's consideration, he adds, "We'll be able to carry more together, and I can tell you which ones are most likely to live."

"Fuck that."

Midnighter saw the bit with the shrapnel. It's... interesting, but he doesn't mention it. It looks like something he'd do, after all. More interesting, really, is the 'most likely to live' comment.

"Show me the ones most likely to die."

Those are the ones Midnighter's been focusing on. It's the sort of gamble he prefers.

Sebastian's brow knits together, and he frowns as he makes his displeasure fairly clear. He's naturally more inclined for logic than what he would call sentimentality, so this doesn't seem wise to him.

"You realize that is a far less effic—" he starts with a note of exasperation in his voice, but the rest of the sentence is cut off by the loud boom of a shell hitting close enough to send more mud and whatever else is mixed in their way. Sebastian holds up an arm to shield his face, and though some of those blunt impacts would bruise, at least none of them are piercing this time around. He shakes his head with a sigh that's probably too quiet to be heard in this cacophony, but he starts to run down the trench.

"If that is what you insist on, this way," he calls out. He'll at least go the efficient route himself to save someone that has a better chance, but there isn't quite time to argue and try and convince Midnighter to take the same stance. It's not too far before Sebastian stops, since that recent shell had thrown quite a few men back as they had started to run for shelter. He looks at the bodies, and he almost immediately picks his own man to carry. He's still concious, but addled, so surely not able to make his way to shelter.

For Midnighter, Sebastian points to another nearby that's definitely not in good shape. Whether it was from that shell or simply being unlucky enough to have run into multiple isn't clear, but Sebastian is certain that in this group, that man is closest to death.

"There," he says as he carefully but quickly hoists the soldier he's chosen, "I would recommend you be quick, in any case."

"Fuck efficiency," Midnighter says, grinning, invigorated. "We're here to save lives, asshole."

He sees the felled soldier, and rushes forward through mud and filth. The man's got a fair amount of shrapnel in his left side, bits of exploded bullshit buried into him. It's a gut wound, and it's deep, and the guy's crying out for somebody, his mom or his sister or his wife, Midnighter doesn't know.

He picks the guy up out of the mud, and holds him tight to his chest with a gentle sort of strength. And then back to his companion, "you got any other insights you wanna share?"

Midnighter says this as he runs back through the trenches, blood and dirt now covering him anew.

"And saving lives is what I am doing," he asserts, though he can't help the creep of annoyance into his tone one the last word. He thinks there's a strong argument to be made for the fact that saving the dying is a waste of time with their limited resources, but luckily, he's not the type to get into an argument in the middle of a fight. Or at all, really, but that's a separate matter.

The man that he had picked up is secure on his shoulders, and as soon as Midnighter is also ready, he starts to run as well. Technically, there's no real need to wait, but he can at least see that Midnighter can handle the load without any problem. If he insists on the cases that are a waste of time, that's his prerogative, but they can at least gather more people together.

"If only," he comments with a scoff. He pauses briefly to look at the man on his shoulders, since he's muttering something near Sebastian's ear, but it's quickly dismissed. He's fairly certain it amount to "I can walk on my own," but Sebastian is inclined to disagree. With a shake of his head, he continues his thought. "That... mist is causing a problem. Seeing which people are worth putting effort towards is about the extent of what I can manage at the moment."

AND THE ANZAC LEGENDS DIDN'T MENTION...

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