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.

READ THE OOC INFOPAGE.

NAV. NETWORK LOGS OOC MEMES PLURK

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While Hux spoke, Ren turned his attention back to the agent. None of the native soldiers seemed to mind the presence of these odd people in odd masks, but other COST recruits would be watching. Hux was right about that. Still, with the fog, and general unease and confusion of everything else...

He could order Hux out there. Martyr him for a chance to talk to one of those agents, use him as an experiment to see how amiable they were to defectors. No doubt Hux would argue against it, puffing up his importance again. But Kylo knew he would be a poor choice anyways. Even with his powers subdued or nullified, he'd withstand whatever the Regency might throw at him better than Hux. He was a trained officer, certainly, but so was Phasma. And she'd be an even better choice.

Plucking the cigarette out from between his lips, he held it out to Hux. It was only half burned down, and it seemed a pity to waste it now.

"Then keep a look out for me, general."

Without bothering to explain his plan, or lack of plan, Kylo pushed himself up, keeping ducked low along the trench wall, and headed for a break in the fortification. Stealth wasn't exactly his forte; he considered this an intelligence gathering objective. Maybe they'd find out COST was the side they really wanted to fight on after all, maybe not. They weren't going to find out by sitting around speculating.

Hux looked at the cigarette that was being re-offered to him. As if he wanted something that had been in Kylo's mouth. Still, he took it back, not putting it anywhere near his mouth--then he just stared at Ren.

"What do you think--Kylo, what do you think you are doing!" Of course, there was no way he was thinking. Hux tossed the cigarette away-- because who gave a flying fuck-- and followed after his idiotic leader. His leader who wouldn't even listen to him, even if he had a plan, but he was going to muck it up with whatever he was doing.

Kylo ignored Hux's protests, right up until he realized the general was following after him.

"I told you to keep an eye out, not trail after me," he snapped. He didn't stop, though, watching a few of the native soldiers loitering nearby, talking in hushed tones as they moved away towards a safer location. He crept forward again, not caring if Hux was still behind him. As long as he was silent, which was unlikely. Hux did like to hear himself talk.

His bold plan, unfortunately, got harder to achieve the closer he got to the Regency agent. The fog seemed to intensify, both outside and inside his mind, hazing the edges of his vision. It would be just like training through pain, he decided, and kept moving.

Hux, again, wished to point out that he was not going to take orders from a Supreme Leader without a First Order--but he knew that would fall on deaf ears; besides, he knew there wasn't anything to 'keep an eye out' for but Kylo Ren himself. The man could be his own worst enemy, and try as he might (and Hux truly should just leave him to flounder on his own), he found himself following after in the event he needed assistance.

Contrary to what Ren thought might happen, Hux did stay silent, instead watching the entire scene play out, keeping his focus as best he could. He could feel the haze, the pressure building as well, knowing it had to be worse for Kylo; if he wished to keep moving forward, let him--Hux was going to stand still, now, watching, waiting.

At some point, and Kylo didn't know when, he stopped advancing. The Regency agent either hadn't noticed him, or wasn't reacting, but at the moment it no longer mattered. The pressure bearing down on him was just past too much, and he dropped down to his knees.

This wasn't unlike one of the many ways Snoke had inflicted pain on him and expected him to stand back up. What was different was now he had no power to resist the fog -- it wasn't just his reduced powers, but the lack of them entirely. For the first time in a long time, and at the worst possible time, Kylo felt himself freeze, consumed with dread. Even in the chilly air he was sweating, and he reached out blindly with one hand, trying to find the wall he'd left behind.

Backing up was his best course of action. It would be, once he got his limbs back under his command and escaped this sphere of influence.

Hux frowned as he saw Ren fall to his knees, his hand moving without touching anything, like a blind man. It served him right; he should leave him there, to deal with the consequences of his actions--something that Hux felt Kylo struggled to see, even now.

But even as these thoughts passed through his head (even the brief one that it would be so easy to put a bullet in his brain, now), Hux felt his feet moving forward, heavy but sure, towards the fallen man.

Everything within him felt stuffed with cotton, a horrible feeling of dread and opression pressing on him. And still Hux shuffled forward, gritting his teeth against it all; he'd survived worse--he just tried to block it out, swallow it down, like the worst of what his father had said.

Finally he reached Ren, and to that blindly-reaching hand, Hux grabbed it's wrist, squeezing hard.

"Get up." Hux's own legs were trembling, and this was not the Starkiller; he couldn't drag Kylo out of here.

The sudden contact made him jolt, head whipping around. It was enough to almost make him pitch over, and seeing Hux's face, seeing him at all and so close to him was not a comfort. The need to lash out or defend himself was defeated only by his own disorientation.

It was enough to ground him, though, something else to focus on instead of the fog in his mind. Not far from them, the agent started to move away. Kylo hardly cared if they'd been noticed. He lurched backwards, stumbling up onto his feet and nearly knocking Hux down as he forced them both in the opposite direction.

Each step was like a breath of air, though it was still heavy and polluted. He was dragging Hux along with him, having grabbed his arm at some point, not even certain if he was leading or not. That had -- not gone well. Contacting the Regency might take a little more work than he'd initially hoped.

Hux felt concerted relief when Ren finally got up and started to walk back towards safety--he even ignored that he nearly got knocked down. He hadn't expected to have his arm grabbed, but after the escape from Starkiller, he was getting used to having Ren having to grab onto some part of him when he was extricating him from a bad situation (like in that situation, he didn't expect that Kylo would be appreciative, at all).

"...Did your conversation go well?"

Kylo didn't think to appreciate anything Hux did for him, especially if it seemed to benefit him. He either assumed Hux was following orders, or he was shocked by any expression of help from the general. Right now it was the latter, and he couldn't be thankful when he had to question Hux's ulterior motives.

"Shut up," he growled. Once they were back to relative safety, Kylo collapsed against the wall, burying his head between his hands. He'd seen Hux knocked flat by Snoke, and Hux had seen him punished in a similar fashion. As much he hated looking weak or unwell in front of Hux -- what did it matter? Hux had seen him at his worst already. Letting it happen repeatedly was the real problem. After a moment Kylo straightened up, reaching up to brush his hair back out of habit. Some of it had come loose from the braids, but hardly enough to cover his face.

He looked back towards where they'd been, breathing still labored, sweat dripping down his face. It was cooling fast in the winter air, but he resisted the urge to curl into himself.

"Now I know what to expect." His voice was stronger, with a barely discernible waver in it.

Hux rolled his eyes, smoothing his hair back down once Ren had let go of him and had his little collapsing-pity-party over by the wall. He didn't watch it, let him have his privacy in it. Hux simply straightened his hair, then placed his hat back on his head, and adjusted his sleeves--all his own way of calming his nerves from the haze dissipating out of his mind.

Finally he looks back at Ren, at the mess he was, and just quirks an eyebrow. No, Kylo does not know what to expect, but let him think that. This was his new bloody Supreme Leader. The First Order's Supreme Leader.

They were doomed, unless he could manage to find some way to control this.

"The fact remains that they need to be contacted. But at the proper time. And this is not it."

Kylo watched Hux fuss over himself, the same routine he always had when he'd been roughed up or ruffled, usually by Snoke. He was a petty little man, so concerned with appearances and stature and protocol. It was all a front, like everything else -- he'd felt Hux shaking when they'd retreated.

"I suppose you think you know what the proper time is," Ren scoffed. He tipped his head back against the wall, hating that he was craving a cigarette. Hux had tossed away the last one, when he'd specifically handed it to him for safekeeping. That sounded like some sort of metaphor -- maybe for the future. A lesson to not trust Hux. "And whatever you think it is, keep it to yourself."

He ought to be less dismissive. If Hux had contact first and brokered a deal that excluded or harmed him... well, he'd deal with it. It would come one day, either here, or back home.

Hux gave Ren a withering glare. "Yes, I'll keep it to myself. But you'd do well to remember where you are. And you were just brought down without anyone raising a finger. I was not."

There apparently was some advantage, here, in not having any supernatural abilities. Every moment that Ren dismissed him, was another moment that made him wished he had pulled the trigger earlier, had found a way to stab his blade into his chest. He hadn't survived his father, just to see him reincarnated in a younger, force-user's form.

Brushing a bit of dirt off his leg, Hux quirked an eyebrow. "Are we done here? Or are you going to tell me to keep quiet, yet want to be in my presence, more." Contradictory, given how Ren knows Hux--but Ren hasn't acted sane in a good while.

Edited 2018-02-19 01:42 (UTC)

The withering glare was met with a show of teeth from Kylo, a silent snarl of contempt. Hux had never been so bold in front of Snoke, or even himself on Crait. He'd tried, certainly, acting like he had some vital insight that his Supreme Leader couldn't see for himself. Now he was just making a pest of himself, and testing whatever patience Kylo had left.

"Get away from me," Kylo barked, anger boiling over the surface. He didn't need to be reminded of the power imbalance he was facing against the Regency, or the fact that Hux had witnessed it firsthand. "I won't listen to you yapping for another second, general. You're dismissed."

He'd never met anyone who loved the sound of their voice more than Armitage Hux, and it infuriated him. Maybe he'd have more tolerance when his head didn't feel ready split open. Maybe. Likely not.

Had Snoke been here, perhaps things would have been different; had Kylo had his full powers, his Knights, or any sort of backing to him, Hux might have acted a different way--but as he had been vocal on Crait (and paid the price), he was vocal now.

He was also, simply, exhausted, and frustrated with watching someone not listen and face consequences that could have been avoided had he listened. Why he cared, he didn't know--but this was still the leader of the First Order. It looked badly on both of them to have Ren acting as he was, in Hux's mind.

Hux snorted when he was dismissed. He could, of course, just stay, and force the situation, but he wasn't a fool--he knew when things would be overplaying his hand. So instead he backed up a step, and took some tension out of his frame, relaxing.

"Of course Supreme Leader."

And he backed off, and away, making sure never to fully turn his back as he started to head another way in the trench.

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AND THE ANZAC LEGENDS DIDN'T MENTION...

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