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

[prizeneck]

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."

[neutronium]

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?"

[prizeneck]

"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."

[neutronium]

"...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.

[prizeneck]

"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?"

[neutronium]

"...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."

[prizeneck]

"I don't think it is, actually." He shrugs. "It's more of a chemical burn than a burn caused by flames," he explains, fully aware that this kind of information could have various uses, considering the hands it lands on.

"Let's just say that what I look like doesn't fit with the times, more than my name," he chuckles. "I'm wearing technology that was only discovered a lot later than this year."

[neutronium]

"...and yet some of the effects are the same." Hux nods, understanding what the other man says. He falls silent as he passes by some soldiers, clearly not members of COST. There are few more pieces of scattered ammo here, and Hux picks them up, pressing his lips into a thin line.

"Ah." Hux tilts his head to the side, as if he's regarding something, regarding Mamoru, even as he doesn't look at him. He makes a decision, however, and continues onward, the hand not on the wall gesturing, slightly.

"Perhaps when we reach a more neutral place, you can show me. I'm infinitely curious to see."

[prizeneck]

"Pretty much, just how you can pick up a hot surface and still burn someone," he nods. He knows about it first hand,

He waits for Hux to grab the ammo, as he doesn't really have much use for it - his rifle lays beside him, strap across his shoulder, still bent a little out of shape. He snorts. "It's the technology that captures your interest, huh?"

[neutronium]

Hux nods his head, seeing no need to hide his interest. "Yes, actually. Technology is somewhat of a specialty of mine. Upgrading, taking the ideas of something, the blueprints of something, and adapting it to reality--perhaps it is presumptuous, but I think I excel in it."

After all, what he did with the warp drive tracking was second to none; no one else had been able to accomplish it.

[prizeneck]

"Huh," here's a hum with some thought to it. It made sense. Hux didn't seem like the kind of guy who'd either throw himself into the frontlines, or someone whose discerning commander would think he'd be valuable there. He belonged, somehow, to the back, supervising and organizing, and, finally, tinkering with any supporting technology.

Mamoru has felt something about it since they started venturing into the tunnels - the opposite side of the same coin, of sorts - the same Igawa had been, except with a little more edge. "Like what, specifically?"

[neutronium]

Now when the man asked about specifics, this is when Hux waved him off; not because he was trying to hide anything, but trying to explain the advanced technology to someone unfamiliar to their Galaxy would take more time than he felt like spending in the tunnels, currently.

"Tracking and weapon systems, mostly. One system that was specifically abandoned because none could sort out how to make it work--but I did." It was something he was very proud of, even if he had never gotten any praise for it, in the end. He knew that what he had done was singular.

[prizeneck]

That's specific enough for Mamoru. He had wanted to know the function of that technology, and not entirely the specifics whatever intergalactic tech would bring him. He finds that pride wrap neatly along that last part, but it doesn't really phase him. A sense of achievement doesn't hurt much. "So military equipment, then?"

He frowns, though. "What, a prototype? Or something else?" How would a piece of tech leave no knowledge legacy for other people to use?

[neutronium]

"Yes; I spent my entire life," literally, "in the military. Everything I've created has been for our goals." And here he is, in another military-type group. It seems his entire life will always be caught up in it, one way or another.

Ah, Hux lets out a breath, shaking his head. "All of the records for some prototypes were thought lost when the depository was destroyed by terrorists, about eight years before I was born. But I managed to find a secondary copy after deep research," years of research, "and started to find the errors in their calculations, and complete the work."