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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Hux watches the stranger interact with the soldiers; for all his critiques of their military method, he has to admit they are always willing to lend a hand, to assist. Not always the wisest choice of action, but definitely something typical of the types this army seemed to attract.

Shaking the hand firmly, he quickly separated himself, trying to draw himself up to his full self--well as much he could in these cramped quarters. At least everything had stopped shaking, at least it had stopped reminding him of how the Starkiller fell.

"Yes; it's just bruised is all. Tighten the boots a bit and I'll carry on." A tight smile. "My name is Armitage--are the other entrances shuttered now, as well?"

"Matthew," he replies, and the nod is noticeable even though he still is wearing the mask - he's used to communicating while wearing masks from back when he taught Kendo.

Mamoru doesn't yet know that he is with COST, and that with the accent and the formalities could well place him as another soldier. Hux is actually good at keeping cover, he looked timely.

He locks the blade against the barrel of the rifle again, but he's not looking at it. Instead, he assesses how the sound is spreading out through the tunnel, how the other soldiers are reacting. Some are wandering off, even holding their weight against the wall, see if they find a companion they know. Others are catching their breath. "Seems like it. They started by bombing the outskirts of the camp, locked us up."

The mask genuinely doesn't phase him; but then again, he's used to dealing with troops that are wearing helmets constantly. Hux watched Matthew for a moment, following his gaze, his jaw setting a bit more the more he sees the same assessment.

"Not a surprise; it's what any smart counter-attack would do. Kill those left out in the open, trap those who fled so they can be dealt with, later." He glanced around at the tunnel, shaking his head. "I assume this will be a 'dig our way out' situation. Unless air ports were built into these tunnels, we're going to run out of fresh air before long. I'd prefer not to suffocate."

This certainly wasn't what he had intended, when he had started his little plan. But there were so many more variables when it was just him having to deal with things.

Thinking about it, Mamoru isn't really sure if it will be an issue - he's read about tunnels in the war, but it was a general approach that could probably not be applied to this place in particular. For the brass to order their soldiers into them would be foolish...

... or the last resort.

He nods - it's a good strategy, regardless, no matter how bad the results could be for their mission. That, he's not afraid to admit. He follows Hux's line of sight, wire grid lining up the length of the tunnel in front of them. "Guess we could check out how deep this goes."

Hux had a feeling it was a last resort--it was better to survive the barrage and move on to the next step of survival, than not survive at all. It was what he would have done, had he been in this horrible situation, and in control--except he wasn't.

"Might as well. I have a small box of matches--that can help us determine the direction of any valid openings, still--but exploring might be a good idea." He took a few steps forward, giving a nod of his head. His ankle would handle it just fine.

"Ok." He pays attention to how his foot lands on the floor - searching for the slight pang of pain as he rests it. While Mamoru does want to figure out just how deep this tunnel is, he doesn't want an injury to be a hindrance, even if he figures it would vex Hux more. "We can use those if we reach a fork, decide from there."

Like a wounded beast, Hux would mask if the injury was causing him a great deal of pain--he wasn't going to allow himself to keep them from moving forward.

At Mamoru's idea, he nodded. "Fair enough." Luckily they weren't the only ones looking for things, either--and with the cave in, it seems his 'accident' was well covered.

"Are you expecting to find some valuables, or do you just wish to see how far the rabbit hole goes?" After all, some might go for the latter, rather than focus on the former.

Mamoru has started to walk, adapting the length of his steps to when he's not being aided by his sunglasses, a shorter distance covered as he walks. He does this to make sure that Hux follows without being too pitying - he feels a big sense of pride from him but has yet to figure out if due to the way he hitches his breath through his nose before speaking or the way his shoulders are set. Probably both.

"You think we can actually find something here?" Not that he had actually considered it.

"I have no bloody clue, frankly." Hux sighs, pressing his lips into a thin line. His face rarely showed his expressions; it was carried in his voice, which should help Mamoru.

"If we had a map, or an understanding of the reason these tunnels were built, the answer might be easier--as it is, escape is the most important thing; any other ventures secondary."

"Tunnel warfare is simple. Dig a tunnel beneath the enemy, or the battleground itself, plant a gunman or explosives," at least that he knows, albeit vaguely when he learned about how modern types of warfare developed along the times, Sino-Japanese war included. "Could be that, or something else, but watch out for mines."

Hux frowned at the thought of mines; especially since one could go off and destabilize an entire section--a section they were in, without them actually touching it.

Grabbing one of the nearby lanterns, Hux kept in front of himself to provide additional light as they walked, a gloved hand running over the walls. Feeling something, he stepped in closer, giving a snort when he actually saw it--

" 'Dick was here.' Well, I'm glad the diggers of these tunnels decided to leave their mark. Shame they couldn't have left more than graffiti and lewd phrases."

A slight glance at where Hux is looking at, the proximity making the grid on his sight find the detail in the carving. "If the artillery won't kill them, boredom will, I guess," he can't help saying with some ill-placed mirth.

He stops, finding that the tunnel splits into three. "How many matches do you have, again?"

Edited 2018-02-18 21:41 (UTC)

"Boredom has never killed anyone. There are ways to make yourself useful in all situations." Yes well, Hux, you've always been a little soldier; not everyone can be a robot.

Still, they moved on, and when they reached the tunnel split, Hux pulls out his match pack, counting quickly. "Six." Not as many as he would like, but luckily he had only used a few prior to this. "I also have a lighter, but I'd rather use that, last." With the butante, and ability to hold a longer flame--it would be useful if they need to set something on fire.

Taking out one of the matches, Hux struck it quickly, watching the flame as it flickered to life--and once he was sure it had caught, he moved it between the different spilts, watching for subtle changes and ah!

"To the right." The flame had caught on some breeze, pulling towards that entrance. A good start, at least.

The snap of the match to its ignition is interesting to watch in the system in his sunglasses; it works through soundwaves, so it merely creates a wave in the grid, much like the ripples of a pebble in a lake made out of a black and red checkers game. The technology blips an arrow to the tip of the match, following it while Hux moves. FIRING POINT.

Huh, it associated the combustion as if it was the firing of a shot. That made sense.

"Is that what we're doing, being useful?" He asks with some curiosity, following Hux through the rightmost tunnel.

"We're attempting to survive--I tend to think that keeping myself alive, and that of someone who assisted me is useful." And of course, if they find a way to exit, or find something interesting down here, it might help others--again, something of 'use'.

"While labor and movement for the sake of it is counter productive, what we are doing has purpose." He glanced over at Mamoru, quirking an eyebrow. "Unless you don't think so. We could just sit and wait, if you would like."

Working his jaw as he considers that idea, Mamoru shakes his head. His shoulders were still set wide, muscles coiled into alertness, his nostrils are still flared from the exertion from before. He's not quite sure he can stop, not yet.

Not ever, says a figment of his imagination. A chiding little voice from a 12 year old girl in the back of his memory.

"Purpose is good," he shakes his head. "Let's keep going."

Hux watches him; there is energy in the man, coiled up, clearly needing another outlet. Sadly, he had none--and hopefully their extrication from the tunnels won't need any huge exertion, but he isn't going to bet against it, either.

"Purpose is sometimes all we have." In the darkness of space, sometimes the only true bright light is that goal, stretching out before you.

Hand sliding along the wall, Hux held the lantern out in front of him. There was less activity here, but he still occasionally saw a troop go running past them, or hear something in the distance. There was some scattered magazines on the ground, so he reached for them, placing them in his bag--more ammo the better, he thought.

"We might be together for a while. Care to tell me a bit about yourself?"

"Ain't that right," the soft, almost-not-there rumble from Mamoru could be something similar to a single chuckle. Fighting for this one purpose, that had been his entire life, since the loss of his parents when he was eight years old, since his grandfather placed a wooden sword in his still-soft hands.

He points at Hux's hand. "Y'should use the back of your hand, will prevent you from injuring your fingers if they make contact."

He snorts. He still doesn't know if this guy is COST or not, so he tilts his head. "Haven't heard the rumors about me, yet?"

Hux frowned a bit at the suggestion at using the back of his hand. He wouldn't have thought of that; he was a tactile person, even when he wore his gloves, he liked to touch things. The back of his hand would lose some of that sensation--but the man did have a point, so he did shift the way he was leading himself.

"No; though I confess I'm relatively new. I only arrived just before being dumped here." Hux tilted his head back, keeping his face passive, though he was curious.

It's a natural thing, to go for the most sensible part of your hands to see where you're going, to find your way in darkness. But at the same time, you're risking that part to what requires more finesse - you only need your ring and pinky finger's knuckles to rest on the wall to give you a sense of balance, standing upright in the darkness, walking straight.

But it's not the time for a lesson in mobility. "Same here. Name's Matthew. People here have been saying that I wear this due to a mustard gas incident," he chuckles as he taps the filter of his mask. "But most aren't sure where that happened, if in Japan, or some fight somewhere else."

Hux reaches another split and pulls out another match, watching as the flame flares and burns, the flame going right, so he starts going that way, as well. There is some discarded ammo magazines a bit down the way, and he picks those up, putting them in his bag.

"Armitage. I confess I don't know what mustard gas is--I assume some sort of neurotoxin?" It would make the most sense. He glances back, giving the man another look over. "Japan is unfamiliar to me, as well. Country, continent, or planet?"

"Chemical compound used in warfare. Not really a gas, either, but its composition is similar. Causes blisters on the skin and in your lungs if you inhale it," he explains.

So this guy was COST. If anything, that he asked for "planet" as an inhabitable option kind of made it obvious. Either that or the shell shock really got to him.

Either or, that meant that he could switch the information a little. "Japan is a country," a beat, because... "of this Earth, actually. But I'm from a different time." He's going to need to get used to this idea, though.

He grins. "My real name isn't Matthew. It's Mamoru."

"...sounds curious. Almost how napalm reacts to things." Well, when it isn't being used to set things on fire. He would have to do some research into this 'gas' though--perhaps it could be used back home, in a different form.

Hux gave a slight nod of his head--the air seemed to be getting a bit fresher, at least. "I've heard of Earth at least, though just when coming here. We haven't discovered it in my Galaxy, if it exists at all. Though the idea of different times is a concept I understand."

Ah, well then. "Mamoru certainly is a name that wouldn't fit in with the times, here. I normally go by Hux." There is a little smirk at his lips. No need to say anything about what Armitage truly was--no one needed to know it was his real name.

"Kind of. Napalm blisters if it's alight, right? Mustard Gas, as far as I know, doesn't need combustion to have that kind of effect," vaguely, he wonders if he has the correct information. Napalm had been used, later on, wasn't it, in Operation Meetinghouse, amongst others. But that's another war that they're not part of. "It's just a ruse, anyway, this story. Just a convenient rumor to avoid questions about why I'm wearing this and keep cover."

He chuckles low, and it reverberates in the tunnel. It makes the system that grants him some sort of sight become a little more defined. "Not so much a matter of times, as it's actually a very common name. But it wouldn't explain why I would be in the middle of ANZAC forces."

A pause. "Hux. Suppose you prefer that to Armitage, then?"

"...is Mustard Gas flammable?" He's just curious, is all, Mamoru. He isn't trying to compare different methods of mass destruction and if he should try and take another back to his Galaxy...no, not at all. But then Mamoru continues, and he makes a small 'tsk' sound. "Ah, but then the question has to be asked--why are you wearing that, then?" If it is a cover, after all.

As to names, Hux tilts his head slightly. "I do. While it fits here, it is overly familiar. It isn't something that people use lightly."

AND THE ANZAC LEGENDS DIDN'T MENTION...

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