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

Comments

[ryuji]

[Thank god that he turns at his beckon, that he doesn't have to chase after Siegfried as he helps those soldiers push deeper into the tunnels for safety. He looks at Siegfried as an arm is held out to steady him into place properly, clicking air through his teeth in a hum of disapproval. Aside from the energy drain, Ryuji was actually fairing alright, which just makes him inwardly annoyed that someone like Siegfried was pushing himself to his limits like this.

He had stumbled upon Mordred barely alive- he knows your resilience, knows that you're doing absolutely everything you can for those around you, and yet, Ryuji moves to take the other's hand off of him. He thins his lips into a straight line.]

Sit down, I can't reach you from down here.

[Ah, the difficulties of being nearly 6 inches shorter in stature to the hulking figure of the hero before him. How's the weather up there, anyway?]

[gerechtigkeit]

[He means to help however necessary, but usually that comes at the price of not helping himself. Knowing when he gives too much is a problem he has never really noticed, nor fixed, and it shows. Siegfried expects Ryuji to guide him to wherever needs his help, and instead he has his hand pushed off and is given a disapproving look.

That response alone causes him to still very quickly, blinking in surprise more than anything else. Didn't he need his help? Why push his assistance away so suddenly?]

What are you-

[Ryuji speaks, and something clicks. Oh. Siegfried complies without even arguing, finding a place to sit so Ryuji can take care of the wound on his head. He sighs.]

...sorry.

[GODDAMMIT SIEGFRIED STOP.]

[ryuji]

[He wrinkles his nose at the apology before taking out a piece of balled up cloth and opening his own mouth to monkey mimic what he needs Siegfried to do. Watching as the other more or less complies, he nods. He's a medical professional, this is Medically Professional for the practice he's running in this Med School Dropout gig. Once there, he smiles weakly. God, his energy stores are just decimated.]

Good. Now ya have to stop apologizing for a minute.

[It's met with a warm look, even through his tired features, relieving any specific mal-intent that might've been there in deviousness before. Ryuji's not even sure how this friendship turned so sadomasochistic---- wait, he did punch him in the face before. Sound legit.

But Ryuji starts to take another piece out, to start wiping the blood off. He reaches down to pull out some antiseptic as he pours onto the cleanest (reads: not very clean at all) cloth that he has left in the kit and begins to wipe softly across his forehead. He examines it, and narrows his eyes. Takes a look around to make sure no one else is snooping around.]

You're runnin' low on mana, huh. That's why this ain't healing. Don't ask how I know. Nod once if I'm right.

[gerechtigkeit]

[For the briefest moment, Siegfried stares back at Ryuji when he mimics the cloth in his mouth like he's seeing things, before huffing out and conceding. He takes the cloth into his mouth and bites down, letting the other get to work.

How long ago was this something he watched soldiers during his time? When they lost battles, when men needed wounds taken care of- it wasn't as extensive as this, but the practices were the same. Siegfried remembers watching others from afar, remembers hearing the pain of others when they were taken care of, for what little that could be done. Now, for the first time in a long while, he's feeling it. Without the Armor of Fafnir working as well as it has, normal injuries have started to last on him, and they actually hurt. Siegfried bites down harder as Ryuji cleans the wound, open eye twitching just a little as the antiseptic stings, exhaling to keep himself quiet.

But it's the question of his mana that gets him to pause, other eye snapping open to look at him with intensity. He's never told Ryuji who he is, or even what. It wasn't a matter of trust, it was simply out of habit to keep his identity hidden at any cost. Siegfried doesn't really know how else to open himself to people about himself without time and patience; it's how he is. So to hear Ryuji ask this question... Siegfried listens, closes both eyes, and nods. He won't lie or hide anything about this, because it's true. His mana is starting to take a beating, thanks to this mist, and he's not going to deny that.]

[ryuji]

[All in all, the biting down on cloth thing was something he learned when he had to figure out how to take a bullet out of someone's arm or leg when it was too dangerous to take them back to the medical tents. Screaming was death. So was leaving it in there. He works somewhat quickly here; Chiron's taught him how to do enough of the field work, but it was only a backbone for the reality of things. Even though his concentration wavered all the damn time, he could always find himself doing this- keeping people alive, keeping them safe- with the same intensity he gave anything he was passionate about. Maybe if he had more wits about him he could've applied himself better in school and made it out to study medicine. Probably not, but. The thought was nice when he had nothing else to think about at night.

His brows knit, as he examines the source of the wound. He's definitely seen worse, which is somehow a sardonic relief, and as he pulls the cloth with antiseptic away, he watches him nod at him. He can't tell if this embarrassment or a conceit of honor, or worry. It's hard to pick up anything from the other without words to guide. Ryuji smiles softly, though, encouragingly.]

S'all good. You don't gotta talk about it. The mist is messin' me up too.

[He bites his lip and takes out the needle and thread. This primitive handiwork should do the trick, he hopes, at least until he can get far enough away from the mist to let his mana regenerate. As he leans his hand into the box, Ryuji absolutely forgets that he has command seals on his hand, too preoccupied with making this as quick and painless as he can.]

Your sister from a different mister said I should look out for you. In her own way, kinda. [And he lets out a breathy laugh.] Ah, sorry, man. There ain't no easy way to say this, but it's gonna hurt.

[Ryuji's mouth opens to speak. Closes it. Then threads, as Chiron had taught him. He remembers Paris, and---]

Focus on me, okay?

[gerechtigkeit]

[If anything, it helps to have something to grind his teeth against rather than possibly biting his tongue and making this situation even worse. It's been so long since something has actually hurt, beyond that of a minor annoyance, or something he barely feels. Siegfried doesn't really remember the last time that happened; it was before bathing in dragon's blood, but as to when... he can't remember.

Your sister from a different mister said I should look out for you. It takes him a moment to register the meaning, but when he does, he looks surprised (or, well, tries to- there's only so much you can do when you can't move your face much thanks to a head wound being cleaned). Mordred doesn't strike him as the type to watch out for others much, at least not when it concerns living and being proud of who she is. But he also knows there's more to her than what's first seen, as well.

(It suits her, he thinks. A surprise, but not an unkind one. He doesn't expect it to happen again anytime soon.)

When Ryuji gets to work and the needle actually goes into his skin, it takes a good amount of willpower to not automatically jerk away from the other. Siegfried's free eye closes and a sound emits through his mouth, muffled by the cloth, and he exhales afterwards. God, it hurts. Not as bad as when he fought Fafnir, or perhaps even other battles before meeting the dragon- but it's still painful. He can endure the pain, of course, but it's always something that surprises him in the oddest of ways when he's not used to it as he once was.

Focus on me, Ryuji says. It's a brief reminder of Paris, of him trying to help his friend get over the shock of seeing death and others simply rush into the madness like wolves, and he opens one eye to try and keep himself steady. It's funny, because it's hard to keep himself centered when he wants to help so many people, and do so many things, but this, for now, is easy enough. His breath steadies, and he keeps his attention on his friend, doing what he can to allow him to work as quickly and efficiently as possible.

...he wishes he could speak. You didn't have to do this. Ryuji could have just gone by, and let Siegfried continue to help others. Thank you.]

[ryuji]

[There's not much that Ryuji can really offer much of anyone in this war; he's yet to fire a single shot out of his pistol, too afraid to end a life for a conflict he deeply doesn't believe in, but this- this is his contribution. He won't win a war by fighting, but by raising spirits and keeping people alive. It's... good enough, right? He has to believe it is. It's the only thing that's actually holding him together anymore. How easy it would be to give up, lose that sense of humanity, and join the fray.

But when he sees Siegfried's face as he starts to pinch skin, skin that shouldn't even exist all things considered, his intense concentration starts to break up and he's taken aback. He doesn't need to talk to Siegfriend to sense that he's appreciative, and again, he starts to look like that lost kid in Paris trying to find his place in all of this. Just a moment though, nothing more, because there's still things to do. He pushes the needle through another loop and begins to thread close the wound. As it punctures, he bleeds, and Ryuji has to take a moment to soak up the blood with one of the last pieces of bandage rations that he has left.

He exhales, not even realizing that he had been holding his breath as he finds the last few stitches that he has to make to keep Siegfried together long enough to keep going.]

Aight. I think that's the best I can do.

[He pulls taut, the thread coming to finally close the open wound as much as he could do. Chiron's taught him well, experience has taught him better. Carefully, his hand dips into his surgeon's kit and takes out a pair of scissors to cut. He ties up the loose ends.]

You can take that out now.