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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[ well this is going to be a disaster...

Heine is just going to give him a Very Unimpressed Look, like he isn't really convinced that Achilles will do a great job at it if it came down to it, and definitely doesn't think much of that promise. ]

Let's just get to it.

[ He's in agreement, then.

He'll laugh a little, wondering if he'll have the opportunity to show off a bit later. ]

Have you heard of me? Achilles?

That's the second time.

[ he's just going to push past him, heading in the direction of the sea. ]

No. Should I have?

[ The first time he asked, it was never answered. He distinctly remembers this, because he's been anticipating what Heine would have to say ever since.

His answer isn't surprising, though it is disappointing. ]

That depends on whether you're from my world or not.

[ He'll kick a leg out, so he nudge the back of his ankle, where his achilles tendon should be, with the toe of his boot. ]

What's this called where you're from?

[ FUCK YOU ACHILLES he nearly tripped down a fucking cliff. heine regains his balance with only a minor stumble though, and looks back over his shoulder at the other man. ]

It's called kick me again and I'll shoot you in the face, asshole.

[ please let them get to fishing without heine trying to murder him... ]

[ He's laughing.. He just about keels over from how hard he's busting a gut. ]

You know, you remind me of a cat. You've got a bad attitude, but you're so cute!

[ cute?????? ]

Fuck off. I'm leaving.

[ he's just gonna not eat and sleep somewhere. hope achilles drowns. ]

[ Is he trying to turn around and leave? Because Achilles is grabbing him by the back of his collar, yanking him kind of. ]

Wait a second. You didn't tell me what that part of your body is called where you're from.

[ i can't believe this ????? he has zero manners for someone who's supposed to be a hero. ]

How the fuck should I know?

[ Is he being purposefully obtuse and stubborn? It's hard to tell, especially when he's bristling up like this.

Just like a cat.

And his father always told him it was cruel to hold an animal when they don't want to be picked up in the first place. He'll let go of his shirt. ]

Then never mind. I guess you really haven't heard of me.

You should stick around though. I promise to feed you plenty of fish. [ That's what cats like, right... ]

[ he doesn't need to know what the body parts are called..... it's all the same to him. when achilles lets go, he's just going to step a few paces away from him before turning around, his eyes narrowed. he really isn't doing the cat metaphor any favours here by behaving like this. ]

I don't want any.

[ he can't exactly just leave him though, if he's just going to venture out of the camp. those Regency soldiers are still around. ]

Just give them to your Master, or something.

That's why I'm going, actually. [ For Noctis. ]

But I should be able to catch enough for both of you. [ He'll continue walking whether Heine follows or not. ] Tell me about your powers. Are you a mage?

[ your BDSM slavery is showing... ]

A what?

[ Heine gives a snort, apparently unimpressed. ]

No way.

Edited 2018-02-06 13:33 (UTC)

Is it magic? [ His powers.

But, it could also be... ] Or is it a curse?

[ Heine doesn't answer for a bit, mostly because he's trying to pick his way down to the beach after Achilles. Let's just say he's distracted. ]

Nope, just cold fucking science.

[ Achilles will look over at Heine like "well?" for as long as it takes for him to answer.

His total frame of reference is based on what he understands, which is magic and the influence of Gods. Science is something that didn't expand in Greece until well after he was dead. What he knows about math and technology is limited to what the Grail informed him of. ]

How can science do something that even most Gods aren't capable of doing?

Explain this to me. Would you die if your heart was struck by an arrow?

[ Heine will just shrug, the movement jerky and laconic, deliberately disinterested. ]

Fuck if I know anything about Gods.

Something like that can't kill me.

Science has made you immortal. [ A statement. He leads the way over to the ocean, leaving boot prints in the sand. It's a cloudy day today, which makes the waves look rougher than normal. It's nothing suitable for swimming. ]

Are you still human?

[ are you still human?

the question catches him unawares, and Heine stops in his tracks following behind Achilles to stare at the back of his retreating head, but only for a moment. The ocean crashes against the sand, the foam white and frothing, violent. ]

Who knows?

Edited 2018-02-06 22:21 (UTC)

[ This conversation is somewhat personal for Achilles as well. It's well known in his lore that his mother had tried to make him immortal when he was just a baby; his father had put a stop to it because he feared that if he became immortal he'd no longer be human.

And that's something he'd considered before. What if she'd succeeded in making him a God? Was it better to be human and experience death? ]

Immortality was always something that most considered to be a divine right. To be exempt from death meant you were a God.

[ Many men sought after immortality for that very reason. He thought it was pathetic, how men would desperately cling to life and their youth simply because they feared death. ]

Or in some cases, a monster. [ There are stories about those as well. ]

Whether it's a gift or curse, only you can decide what it means to you.

[ Reaching for a branch of a nearby tree, he bends it and snaps it off. He'll begin carving it into a spear with his hunting knife, seating himself on the sandy beach. ]

[ Why was he saying all this crap? Heine doesn't want to know, nor he doesn't need to, and he hangs back a little as Achilles sits himself down on the sand with the branch in hand. ]

People playing god...

[ Heine stands nearby, watching, slouched over with his hands in the pockets of his trousers. The salty wind blows through his hair, and the skin between his brows pinch into paper thin creases as he frowns, squinting his eyes against the sand.

A god? Don't make him laugh. A monster is closer to the truth, or so he feels, but there's no point in saying anything out loud. ]

They can all fuck off.

I'm talking about real gods.

[ But he lets out a breath of a laugh. ]

What kind of people are you talking about?

The one who made you, maybe?

What are real gods?

[ Idly, he kicks out at stray stones, the dried seaweed and branches strewn about the beach. Turns away from the other. ]

Nah. [ his voice is half-muffled in the wind, casual. ]

They're always playing at being something else.

The gods of Olympus. [ Not that would sound familiar to Heine. ]

Here. [ Passing the makeshift spear to Heine. He reaches for another branch so he can carve another one. ]

[ Heine takes the offered spear, twirling it around his hand experimentally. ]

Never heard of them.

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