AND THE ANZAC LEGENDS DIDN'T MENTION...

[agogemod]

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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i | last jedi spoilers

[garbagepilot]

[She's seen dead bodies before. She's found them mummified from the heat and the sand on Jakku, she's seen them at her feet after a battle with a sword that cauterized as it killed, and she's shot people from far enough away with a blaster that she never saw the mess it made.

There's never been blood with death for her despite the fact that she kept herself alive by profiting off the dead and now, after that explosion, that can never be true again. She's getting sloppy, too tired after using the Force too much to prevent what just happened, and in her heart she knows it's not her fault and that she couldn't stop every single bomb, but-

There's red everywhere. Men moaning and dying, parts of them blown completely off, and it feels like there's more red here than there was in Snoke's throne room, more red than the dirt that got kicked up on Crait. She doesn't know how to use the Force to heal, so these men are just- lost causes. There's no helping this kind of damage and it makes her stomach churn, her ears are still ringing with the explosion, but her face is set and grim when she kneels down beside one of them.

She can't tell he's COST, same as her, not with all that blood and the screaming going on around them.]

Close your eyes. [She says it while she's slinging her gun off her back, willing to use one of the few, precious bullets she's got to end the pain and terror she assumes he's in.] I'll make it quick.

[whitehair]

[ it would be nice if this was really the end of it. of course, Heine would have infinitely preferred going down in rubble and flames in the underground, just put everything that ever happened to rest, to shatter it all into complete oblivion, but he's tired of fighting other people's wars when he has plenty of them in his own head to deal with. It's all just senseless destruction, all of it. To hell with everything.

close your eyes, someone says next to him, or maybe it's all in his head. close your eyes and it'll be better soon. the voice is unknown to him, it's some complete stranger but there's something familiar in the cadence of it, and Heine sucks in a breath of air through what's left of his lungs, and coughs again when they won't expand properly, drowning in half-blood, half-air that rattles in his throat.

Pale hand in the darkness. Blond hair wound into his fingers, cutting into flesh. Close your eyes.

But you won't let him rest, will you? Lilly.

Smoke rises from his side, bones and flesh slowly knitting together in some gross formation straight out of some horror movie, tendons forming over the whiteness of bone.

He coughs again, spits out a gob of blood, and opens his eyes to look up at Rey. Eyes as red as the blood all around them. For a moment, they look disorientated, unfocused on her face like he's seeing something (someone) else. Then it sharply focuses with the crack of bones setting, ribs cracking back into place, and he scowls. ]

's fine.

[ rough and raspy around the edges from the smoke and blood in his mouth, Heine raises himself up on his elbows, letting out a curse. ]

Fuck, that hurt.

[garbagepilot]

[Watching the mess of blood and bone and flesh reform into something that looks human, whole and relatively healthy, is something that Rey has certainly never seen before. It's hard to look away from, all that carnage fitting itself back into something so normal looking as a man's side, and she feels her entire world tilt sideways just for a second.

So that's what people look like on the inside. Good to know.

She doesn't reach out to help him sit up.]

How- [Yeah no that doesn't really matter when they're actively being bombed.] Unless you can do that that well again immediately, you should probably get moving. They're not going to stop.

[None of this even feels real anymore, so it's oddly easy to just keep moving, just keep pushing through things she has no way of coping with. Eventually everything will stop, the weight of all of this will crush her, but she's pushing and pushing hard to make it through and save as many as she can.

The number is dropping, there are bodies around them that can't do what he does, and it makes her feel like she's failed after all. How could she shoot down three First Order fighters with one shot and then turn around and fail to save a handful of soldiers on the ground?]

Can you get up?

[whitehair]

[ He's already going to struggle back to his feet, pushing off .. bits of limbs and pieces of what he didn't really want to think about. The shells are still falling, and that and the sound of guns are deafening so that they have to shout over the din of noise.

He gives a quick glance down to the other bodies scattered around, before giving a nod; there's nobody else left here. These poor fuckers, he'd think if he weren't someone who was born for the sole purpose of fighting wars that didn't belong to him. He doesn't think any of the sort at all, because he can't start thinking about how everyone is dead when he isn't, how he left them behind. There's no time for regret or guilt, right now — maybe later. He's just luckier than some at least; there won't be a later for any of these guys. ]

Let's go.

[ Turning, the motion brings him too close — it was hard to tell before, but in this distance, now that his vision has stopped blurring along with the last of the trace of the gaping wound closing in a dissipating smoke, he can tell what she is now. Even with her hair pushed back in underneath the helmet and streaked with grime and dirt from the trenches, it's hard to mistake her features as anything but a girl. He quickly takes a step back, then another, baring his teeth in a scowl that isn't meant for her but is rather of annoyance. Maybe she'll take that as being rather ungrateful. ]

Start running, it's coming again.

[garbagepilot]

[It's almost funny, what those bared teeth do to her. It puts her right back on Jakku when people got too close to her for comfort, when she'd snarl and show her teeth too.

The thing is, she would bite. She wouldn't hesitate to bite down on anything at all that got near enough if she thought someone was going to try to touch her, take something from her that she didn't want to give. Heine does it now and it's not offensive, she just- understands.

It's almost like it has no effect on her, the way she just nods and doesn't reach out to help him.]

I can stop it, so just go. Don't look back.

[whitehair]

[ What does she mean, she can stop it? He gives her another guarded, careful look, and the twisted corner of his lips don't diminish in size; she doesn't look like she could do anything much - but then, appearances were always deceptive like that. But without any weaponry or anything, how does she even come out and say things like that? ]

Fine.

[ Although the outside may be sealed (better to keep everything inside, really), Heine is still far from actual functional recovery though. He doesn't make any outward sign of it save for a slight grunt of pain as he slides down the rubble on the other side, catching himself just in time. ]

You, [ he barely turns his head to look at her, but who else would he be addressing? ] Don't be too stupid.

[garbagepilot]

[She did warn him not to look back. There's a nasty whistling sound, the same one that preceded him getting blown into little pieces, but instead of running she does something that must look insane.

She stops, turns around to face the sound. It crests the trees, shot up high like someone is doing their best to hit the tunnels themselves, and Rey lifts her hand up in the air when she knows there aren't any soldiers alive left to see it. It's just them, and it's easier for her to do this while using real, physical gestures.

Her hand goes up and the missile in the air just... stops. It hangs there for a second before she pushes, teeth bared in an expression that had been so like his, and it fires off in the direction it came. Seconds later there's an explosion and the telltale screams of good aiming.

So... that's probably fine, right?]

[whitehair]

[ What...... the..... fuck........

Yeah, okay, she did tell him not to look, but you can't tell someone that when there's another fucking missile coming their way again. Heine hears it, and there's no mistaking that sound - it's coming, and they haven't got much time. It's not really his job to care about some random do-good Samaritan who is stupid enough to hang about, but he turns back anyways. Call him stupid, yeah, but she had stuck around when she didn't need to. She would have helped, when she didn't need to. Guess he's stupid as well.

Heine is silent, reaching out a hand so he can lean against a crumbled wall, the smoke still rising faintly from the former-gaping wound on his side. He watches her hand move, and the missile moves in line with the motion of her hand as if thrown by some sort of an invisible power that tingles through the air like electricity. The explosion is deafening, though distant. ]

the last jedi spoilers

[garbagepilot]

[Her shoulders sag from the effort of it, the relief of having pushed the bomb away, and when her arm swings back down to her side it's heavy. She's so tired but still pushing, running herself down, and she doesn't even care.

The effort would kill you, Kylo Ren had said of their bridged minds, and she gets that now more than she ever has before. Of course Luke had just... faded from her perception of him.

Of course the Force can kill in this way too. She looks weary when she turns around, but when she sees Heine still standing there she frowns at him.]

You just had your insides hanging out of you. Why are you still standing out here?

[whitehair]

Don't tell me what to do.

[ the frown, almost equally mirrored on his face, Heine hunches his shoulders defensively and takes a step backwards. ]

How did you do that?

[garbagepilot]

[She's too tired, to worn to point out that she didn't tell him to do anything, and if that's the kind of reception she's going to be getting she just- can't, with this. Not right now.

She doesn't roll her eyes, but there's no mistaking the sense of tired annoyance that rolls off her as she moves to just walk past him toward the tunnels.

Ain't nobody got time for that, Heine.]

Magic.

[Not exactly, but it's close enough for now.]

[whitehair]

[ nobody got time for his anything, tbh.

Heine steps back a little as she moves past him - she looks tired and annoyed, the line of her shoulders sagging. Even he could tell that she's on the verge of something beyond exhaustion.

He doesn't say anything, though - if she wants to run herself into the ground, fine by him. He keeps a few paces away behind her, a hand held to his injured side as whatever's inside scrambles to right itself.

It's chaos of movement and sounds inside, once they make their way into the tunnels. Especially when not a few minutes after the entrance caves in, sagging under the weight and force of the explosions, showering them all in dust and darkness. ]

[garbagepilot]

[As she walks she keeps her head turned just a little towards him, listening for any signs of him stumbling, having trouble walking, anything that might tell her he really is as hurt as she expected.

He shouldn't have been able to get up and walk away from those injuries, but she doesn't have the time to follow the line of questions she has for him, the curiosity that eats at her, because right when she's turning around there's a tremor, the light gets cut out when a tiny rock slide pens them in.

After a moment of silence she laughs, weakly.]

More lifting rocks... wonderful.

[She says it to herself, really, but it's just loud enough that Heine will be able to hear.]

I need a few minutes. Do you think you can clear everyone back away from this mess?