WHERE ARE YOU GOING?

[agogemod]

WHO? Everybody!
WHAT? Agoge's fifth TDM.
WHEN? January 1916, Gallipoli.
ANYTHING ELSE? Violence, as always. Please warn in subject lines for anything beyond physical violence, and move to a personal journal if things go beyond PG-13.

And you know what they say;

Nobody deserves to die.

READ THE SETTING INFOPAGE.

arrival for new recruits

You wake up to the sound of bombardment, shells exploding in the distance, the smell of mud and rot and...mustard? You're in a tent and the cold wind rips right through it. You have none of your clothing, just black military-issued underwear, and none of your previous possessions beyond the one you chose (if you remember choosing) to bring with you. It's not a lot to go on, but the enemy isn't going to care very much if you remember why you're here on not. If you want to survive the next few hours, you'll all have to fight - and fight hard.

There's a man nearby in a corner, wearing an ANZAC uniform and sitting on a stool that's seen better days. When he sees you're awake, he answers any questions you may have and provides a quick briefing: you are a member of COST, a paramilitary organization of time travellers fighting against the Regency, a tyrannous kingdom of the future who are trying to stamp out freedom and individuality in the name of peace. And you are now in World War I on the planet Earth, in the doomed Gallipoli campaign on the coasts of Turkey. These specific trenches are known as Lone Pine.

He provides you with the clothing necessary to fit in and shows you how to use your BCE implant to look up information on this dimension, including its social and political mores. He won't let you leave until you're properly dressed, but once you are, he'll wish you luck. We could all use a little luck, here.


FOR VETERANS

It's been some long, long weeks since the veteran COST soldiers arrived in Gallipoli.

Despite the Regency's best efforts and the horror of the World War itself, it seems that the overwhelming majority of the ANZAC soldiers left behind have been saved. The men and few nurses still alive are looking forward to getting out and going home, and that's finally possible due to the work of dedicated COST veterans.

Congratulations everyone, there's a chance of getting out of here alive.

Groups 1 and 2 successfully established contact with a French ship, the Marie Antoinette. The French were in the middle of pulling out of Cape Helles and the Captain agreed to take on the stranded forces and bring them to Egypt - the training base for all Australia and New Zealand troops in this corner of the world, from where they'll be returned home. If all goes according to plan, COST's agents will slip out somewhere in the middle and back to BASE to regroup.

Which leaves getting there, made exceptionally easier by the work of Group 3's diplomats. They struck a deal with Ataturk - who, true to the tone between the ground soldiers of this war, greatly respects his enemy and recognizes no need to further pointless bloodshed.


LONE PINE

The situation at Lone Pine is dire. Food has run short and ammo even shorter. The fight with the Regency - disguised as German troops - has tainted morale. Their movement has been limited and, cut off as they are, the defense group has had little hope since the others left. The ANZAC troops are nervous and restless with the waiting. After all, they don't have the reassurances that COST members do through the use of their BCEs to keep in touch. They don't know what's coming or if the other groups have been captured or killed. They look for whatever cheer they can find in this truly desperate situation.

But they have some relief: the extensive tunnels in Lone Pine that cut into No Man's Land are still mostly intact. They offer some insulation against the cold snows that turn the ground to sludge and somewhere to sit where a sniper's bullet can't reach. It's in this space that meals are cooked and the wounded are kept out of harm's way.

...And then, in the early hours of the day before evacuation, the Matron Mary Smythe disappears. There's the sound of someone screaming and maybe you're awake in time to see Mary Smythe walk out of the medical tent, covered in blood up to her elbows. She disappears into the morning fog and, inside the makeshift medical tent, you'll find bewildered nurses and a few dead soldiers. They were recuperating, but the Matron did her best to slit their throats.

However, the Matron left in a hurry. Some of the bleeding men may still be saved, their injuries grave but salvageable. Act quickly.


FOR VETERAN RECRUITS RETURNING TO LONE PINE

Recruits who return with Group 3 have an easier return, with something of an unofficial escort through the Ottoman Turk lines. Though they have to keep their heads down, they are safe mostly if they stick together. The last thing Ataturk wants is for them to be shot down after he personally organised their safe passage. Nor does he want anything to tarnish what should be his flawless victory over the Allied Forces. They are brought to the edge of the Turkish Lines and make the rest of their way back alone to Lone Pine. Ultimately, Group 3 arrives back with a day to spare on their organised retreat.

Those still with Groups 1 & 2 make it back and in one piece, but they don't have the luxury of an escort. Nor is it easy going - they'll have to dodge gunfire the whole run down from the Nek and the French Dugout - but ultimately they make it. They arrive an hour later than Group 3.


UPON REGROUPING

The return and good news is met with raucous cheers from every soldier present - they clap members of the returning groups on the back, whistling with excited cheers of "You bastards did it! You bastards really did it!" It's an all-around hero's welcome, some of it shamefully tearful. They've assuaged fears that the surviving ANZAC troopers wouldn't see their homes or their loved ones again and the mood is palpable. "I'm going to tell my Darling to thank her stars for you every night!" These men have lived through hell for many months now and have had their hopes of going home shot already; many of them believed they'd never get out alive. But as the plans come together, there is a second where it dissolves into painful relief where they grip any other soldiers or nurses tight. "We might just make it." It's been a long while since anyone has even dared to think it.

The disorder from excitement only lasts a little while, before the order comes then from Captain Lewis - "Alright, settle down, we're not there yet." But even he looks relieved; the last few weeks and days of pointless waiting have turned him grey at every edge.

The terrain is now their biggest enemy. It's easy enough for COST recruits to communicate via their BCEs, but the ANZACs have their own communication system to circumvent the difficult, hilly country that often makes it impossible to track fellow soldiers. It's old - far older than the white colonists who have come to inhabit Australia - but it's a very simple cry of the word "Cooee". Adopted from the Dharug language of the Australian Aboriginal people who inhabited what is now Sydney, it has been used for years by everyone, from city folk to bush workers for a simple purpose. It's a loud resonating cry to let other people know where you are.

It may come in handy, when there are wounded men to transport down the heights of Lone Pine. Stretcher bearers are needed, to dodge anyone and anything that might mean them harm. Maps need to be studied to come up with the best routes and diversify the lines, to ensure they don't get funneled together at any point. This requires planning; it's vital everyone know their respective roles and shifts come the evacuation in the morning. Many COST recruits have an easier time of this than the average ANZAC, so maybe its the time to stretch some middle management skills or a hidden talent in deciphering turn of the century cartography. Sitting down and going over this with the local soldiers is important; some of them can't read very well, so it might be slow going. Others are just overeager and likely to do something stupid. Do what you can to get the words into the heads.

Meanwhile, for the long-standing COST recruits, there is another pressing matter: the six of their number kidnapped by the Regency. Just what might have become of them?


escape from bullshit mountain

Veteran recruits have heard plenty of explosions since they arrived in Gallipoli, but this one is different. It sounds nothing like a shell or grenade. There's a shock-wave quality to it, echoing across the trenches, but the epicenter can't quite be found. It seems to come from nowhere.

There's a moment of confused silence, but those with BCEs (those with COST), will notice a momentary glitch, a split second where their holographic technical interfaces blur.

Six captives have managed to escape and destroy this Regency cell's base of operations. The captives are ejected back into No Man's Land and must make a run for it back to Lone Pine. If they're fast, dodging bullets and slipping through mud and barbed wire, they can return to the closest approximation of safety in war-torn Gallipoli: the trenches most familiar to them.

Which shaves this affair down to the truth of what it always was: COST vs. the Regency. Until this point, it looked as though the Regency had the upper hand - they cut off supplies, launched surprise attacks on the defenders of Lone Pine, and captured a number of COST recruits - and were happy to goad everyone with their position. But the tide quickly turns.

For the escapees, it comes down to the same point: regroup to Lone Pine, gather up what remains of the soldiers, and get ready. There is only limited time to get everyone out with their lives intact. And COST has invoked a more resolute ire of the Regency, now without a home base. While most of them are too disorganized and disoriented to engage the escapees directly, others still in disguises of the era line up in the trenches and open fire.

The former captives will not make it by themselves. The Captain, while confused, yells the same order he's been giving for his last six months here: "Cover them!" Which is simple, really. Grab the nearest gun that looks like it might have a single bullet left and haul it up to the trench wall to fire over the top of it.

Do try not to hit the escapees though, will you?


THE CEASEFIRE

Ataturk, the one-day future founder of the Republic of Turkey, has earned the accolades of victory. They will position him upon the fall of the Ottoman Empire to free his homeland.

But, at the moment, he isn't able to give a direct order for everyone to stand down. Today, he is still at the instruction of the Ottoman Empire, allied with the Germans in this war and unwilling to let so many of Prisoners of War go. But due to his own opinions about the Ottoman Empire, Ataturk instead orders his soldiers to involve themselves in activities elsewhere. Namely, no matter what they see and hear on the front lines, with only Ataturk to oversee them, they will not move on other soldiers unless attacked. There are many other things they could be doing and he heartily encourages this.

It will last one full day, as agreed upon: from the dawn of the chosen day to midnight. No Turkish soldier will attack unless it becomes unavoidable for them to do so - and, as they are the main forces in the peninsula, this massively cuts the numbers they might have been facing.

This means that now the only enemy they are truly fighting are Regency soldiers disguised as Germans. Those who remain disguised are imperfect actors of the era and look rough around the edges; they may be better at fitting in than COST soldiers, but only on average.


THE DESCENT

In the morning, it snows.

But the evacuation can't wait and begins with the break of dawn. The process is fairly simple: one or two soldiers, armed and ready, break up the slower moving force of stretcher bearers and the wounded. The plotted paths send them on a winding trek through three alternative routes. Sometimes they overlap. In all cases, it makes clear the real obstacle to the ANZACS and the greatest aid to the Regency is, again, the terrain.

The Regency agents take potshots, snipe from safe positions, and ignore the ceasefire that does not, truly, apply to them. The ANZACs know that the order might not have gotten around, but when the first shot goes off, the soldiers swear something furious. "Haven't they already won?" The ANZAC soldiers can't know that the soldiers ignoring the ceasefire are Regency operatives in disguise.

But not all members of the Regency like these acts of subtlety; the jackal-masked soldiers are difficult to fight and harder to kill. They use the terrain and increasingly snowy weather to target any COST operative sloppy enough to expose themselves. Still, these soldiers are off their game. They're disorganized and reckless; if you kill one successfully - and it is possible, if difficult - the body will disintegrate.

Do what you can to stop them.

It's going to take teamwork to distract and keep them off their true marks, the ANZACs. When the Regency soldiers strike, it's clear they're not wasting any time. Every move is, if not kill, to incapacitate, to slow down the procession reaching the beaches and off the coast. They've got ample places and opportunities to ambush and attack unsuspecting groups of soldiers. One moment, the path is empty; the next, a Regency agent bears down on your position.

But ammo is low on COST's side and it might be better to scrounge around when you can.

Luckily, the trenches were abandoned in a hurry when the call for evacuation came. While the soldiers took as much as they could and removed bodies when and where possible, only so much could be taken. There are still quarter full boxes of ammo left behind, half covered in snow, and canteens still full of water drape off the knives stuck into the walls. If it's a piece of munitions, there's a chance of finding it on the way down.

There is something more, though. Left on tables and desks, in drawers and in cupboards, are fond farewells. There are notes, left in a myriad of chicken scratch handwriting to proper curving letters, that say: To Johnny Turk or To an honest Turk. And, occasionally, you may find gifts left behind as well: a bottle of wine, a fine cigar. Gifts of a fight so hardly meant.

In those little pockets of calm, when even the Regency needs to regroup, do you take it? Or, between a shift of ferrying people down the lines, do you just look at it and leave it be?


THE BEACHES

For those who remember coming to Gallipoli and landing on the beach weeks ago, the change is striking. When they arrived, it was a 300,000 strong teaming force of people, moving like its own city; ships pulled to the shore and the might of the British Navy sat just off the coast.

Now, it's a ghost town of half dismantled tents, holes from shelling in the earth like craters. The smaller docking vessels used for transport are riddled with machine gun bullets. And there are bodies too - always more bodies - with the ever-present stench. But the smell of the sea is, for once, stronger than the damp and death. After a war of so much sound and fury, the world muffled by an already thick blanket of snow, the emptiness and silence is striking.

But there, in the snowy distance (but thankfully not too distant), is a singular warship. And it's flying, much to everyone's relief, French colours. The rescue boat is there.

The cheer that goes up travels all the way down the line.


david vs. goliath: final round

Still, as you hit the beaches, the air crackles and more Regency soldiers appear in a desperate last attempt to stop COST. There is little cover and the Regency soldiers hit hard, all interest in subtlety gone. They aim to kill, not caring who they hit or what cover is lost in the process.

But, hey, if they're going to fight dirty, so can you.

Protect as many ANZAC soldiers as you can. There's no point in maintaining your cover at this stage; hit them with everything you've got. The Regency will target escape vessels and the wounded first, going for soft targets in their final offensive. Fight for your life and the lives of the men and women you want to survive, the people you don't want to die on this stinking beach, so close to escape and so far from home.

When the smoke clears, you'll have to deal with the fact that some ANZAC soldiers did see what you did. However, you'll find anything beyond the comprehension of the average 1916 soldier is often written off as a miracle, a touch of the divine, a legend. They don't think it was you. They think it was a greater luck and magic than can be fully comprehended.

Also, after weeks and weeks in the trenches, sometimes spending days living underground completely and low on food rations, they're all a little delirious.


meanwhile, a message from our sponsors

As soon as the fighting breaks out, Grothia issues a high priority, cell-wide bulletin.

@CMDR. ATTN: ALL.

Get to that beach. The ship won't wait and neither can we.

Some of you may have noticed we called in for extra reinforcements to ensure victory at all possible costs. I do mean all possible. Until these soldiers - every last ANZAC whose lives you have preserved up until this point - has survived this fight. Their lives must come first or all of this, everything you have been through up until now, counts for nothing.

If death comes for them, it is you who will take their place. You, we can revive. As such, you are to treat yourselves as expendable from this point forward. If you find a downed COST member, do not stop for them, we can bring them back.

Lastly - and most importantly. We give no quarter to the Regency.

I will see you on the ship.

She means it; the ship cannot afford to wait, exposed as it is in enemy waters. Successful completion of this mission rests less on a complete defeat of the Regency and more on getting everyone aboard the French ship as quickly as possible. Fight and fight hard, but don't become so consumed by it that you miss the last call to the boats.


anchors aweigh

The boats taking the soldiers to the Marie Antoinette seat around twenty, tightly packed. The wounded go first, then ANZACs. In the interest of being able to protect the convoys as long as possible, COST recruits are told to wait last, so you're liable to be stacked with a lot of your fellow recruits when you do get aboard. Try not to look too relieved. The water is bitter cold and the wind whips snow into your face.

But once you board the ship, you may be in for a strange sight: celebration. No one expected to make it this far, but they have and their joy is effusive; cheers bubble in the crowd. Men hug and laugh, shaking the hands of their saviors and slapping the backs of their comrades.

French wine rations are handed out in celebration; it's not the good stuff, low quality and recently bottled. But after the horrible rum rations given to ANZAC soldiers, it likely tastes like the holy grail. Soldiers sing and drink, cheering with tears in their eyes, glad to be alive. French soldiers ask what happened and ANZACs answer with outlandish and outrageous stories, angels and devils, fairies and goblins, soldiers accomplishing impossible feats.

Those COST soldiers who secured diplomatic ceasefire, repaired the radios and contacted the French, or protected both groups: all are cheered on, wine almost forced into their hands. And, hey, if you're a good enough liar, you can probably convince someone that's exactly what you are, even if you weren't around for it. It's not like everyone's sober for this leg of the trip.

Only fifty ANZAC soldiers died, largely of wounds sustained in transfer, and their funerals are short and solemn; a priest speaks their last rites, reads their names and ranks, and they are buried at sea. Among them are both the Long brothers and Captain Morangey shows his first emotion other than frustration and annoyance.

The funerals are over quickly and more wine is passed out as the ship is gently rocked by the sea. The mood shifts between solemn and joyful depending on the group, or even the moment. The people here have made it out, they're alive, and it's not unusual to hear their shock at this, repeated over and over, grateful despite it all.

READ THE SETTING INFOPAGE.

NAV. NETWORK LOGS OOC MEMES PLURK

Comments

a ;;;)))

[faenthras]

[ Shit shit shit.

It's frustration that has Vex's fingers tremble, half aware of her feet taking her after Ryo deeper into the trenches. Frustration that has her jaw tight and brow furrowed. They were faster than she expected, more resilient than they looked, and she had only her bow despite the guns available to her. Never been her thing, really, much preferred something that didn't have the potential to blow up in her hands. More Percy's domain.

Still, she had been caught off guard more easily than she should have been. Looking for a shock of white hair, familiar antlers, maybe even Grog's massive form, that she hadn't noticed the jack-masked soldier until it was to late. Four arrows wasted, slowing the bastard down rather than killing him. If she hadn't lost him...

Vex barely notices Ryo at first, reaching for the quiver strapped to her back, feeling for the remaining arrows. Five, seven, ten, fifteen - not ideal, but enough to last if she can make her shots count. She hears the knife being pulled from where it had been lodged, twisting on her feet arrow already knocked. An unfamiliar face, just like the rest of them. Fingers smooth against the arrow's fletching, a tight smile quick to find her lips. ]

Well, I never asked for your permission darling.

[ Young, she notes, easy to see even amongst the dirt and grime from the battlefield behind them. He isn't even trying. Vex can't exactly talk, however, hat she had been given some time ago to obscure her braid absent. Hanging over her shoulder, frayed in places, it is clear if she had been trying to cover up her gender she isn't any longer - and the same definitely goes for her pointed ears. ]

Not that they left much behind to take. [ Arrow returned to its quiver, eyes glance over their surroundings. ] You may have found the only useful thing left here.

so many winks. so blessed in this chili's tonight.

[reillumination]

[ Fuck.

It isn't so much that he hears it as much as he feels it. It's the slide of feather over bowstring, the tension drawn like music between the wood and flesh. He may be a human, but he's perceptive enough to know he has about two seconds to shove himself out of the way. He doesn't have back-up here. He doesn't have anyone he can call out to, that he can trust to square up to the opponents he couldn't take out on his own. Viscerally, in the moment it takes him to jerk himself around, he misses the sight of scarred shoulders breaking forth with wings.

The point of the arrow would have punctured his already banged up shoulder, he assesses, heart thumping. He supposes that isn't the worst that could have happened and the thought is enough to pull an odd, sharp laugh up from his chest. Whereas her smile is tight, Ryo's bares teeth – eyes wide and bright against the dim and damp.

The lines of his body stay lit with adrenaline even after she places the arrow back, throws him a line that strikes sour at his anxious edge, but – ]

Then don't take the push if you don't need it. [ Blunt. To the point. He'd been trying to get stragglers out of his space and moving along. He doesn't take his eyes off her, like a gazelle watching a lion. Her peculiarities don't slip past, but compared to what he's seen today and what gist he gets – she passes his usual suspicions. ] And anything good should be in places others wouldn't think to look.

[ He's found a respectable amount of ammo that way, considering the circumstances. People do what they can to keep an edge. ]

[faenthras]

[ He reminds her of a cornered animal, ready and willing to fight to the death even with the odds stacked against him. She can't blame him for it, the situation has her constantly on edge, jumping at almost every shadow she comes across. Even know she stands on it, poised to pull and knock the moment he makes any sort of move towards her. ]

Now, is that any way to talk to your allies?

[ Hilarious, really, she wouldn't call him an ally nor herself one either. Vex exhales, sparing a quick glance around the room before it flicks back to Ryo. He is probably pretty without all the mud and grime clinging to his face, she muses idly, shifting her weight as she moves towards the table he pulled the knife from. ]

I did say may have. [ Notes, cards, remnants of people who had been enjoying something to take their minds off of the chaos outside. She moves around the table, leaning towards a part of the wall. Fingers smooth across the surface, tracing a line almost impossible to see, before Vex grins glancing back at him. ] If you could spare your knife for a moment.

[ Hand out goes, wiggling fingers expectantly. ]

[reillumination]

[ He's smart enough to know that she's stronger and quicker than he is. She's built for fighting. He doesn't need to see the musculature in her arms to know it's there. All archers should have it. And considering the size of that bow, it isn't likely to be a small amount. Ryo, on the other hand, can throw a good punch or two in a scrap and shoot a gun. He's more suited to back-up, staying on the sidelines and sniping in when claws and teeth can only do so much. Even then, that doesn't always save him. He's known wounds enough. Under his uniform, the amount he bears would be concerning to anyone else.

But, not to Ryo. He's always healed remarkably quick.

Even still, no need to add. He absorbs the quip back with the faint narrowing of eyes, mouth pressing into a thin line. Absurdly, he almost wants to laugh again as she extends her hand back to him as though she thinks that her calling herself his "ally" means anything to him. He won't take a step forward, but he won't take a step back either. Instead, he'll watch her and gauge her intent. Paranoia needles at the back of his neck, especially now. ]

If there's anything there, [ he starts, swiping dirt from his cheek in a manner too sharp to be casual. ] I won't have any problem getting it myself.

[ He's just a touch reluctant to hand over a knife to someone like that. Better to offer to do it himself. ]

[faenthras]

[ It's not that she expected him to comply with her, so his reaction comes at no real surprise. If their positions were reserved there is a chance she would have done the very same. Disappointment flicks across her face before she shrugs, stepping away from the spot in question.

He's smart at least, she thinks, it bodes well. ]

You're welcome to try. [ She motions, casually, towards she had been looking. ] The wall there looks newer than the rest, a hidden compartment or something similar.

[ With any hope it has ammo one of them can use, or something equally as useful. It doesn't matter what, as long as it is something that can be used in order to survive this mess. ]

[reillumination]

[ He doesn't so much answer with words as he does with the slight inclination of his head – a sort of wary acceptance.

But, that's the problem with people like Ryo: They were brilliant in ways that never gave up dividends. He could have studied his whole life away – could have become famous like his father, but who gave a shit about that in the end? His father was dead and his mother had long since been put to rest. He wasn't home – a home under siege of creatures so vicious that it set his fears here to a comparative and roiling disquiet. It's the absence of what he's accustomed to, the absence of who he really trusts that gnaws away at him. It's his drive for justice, the fact that everything sits on an artificial pause while he's away wresting the lack of freewill from the hands of some nebulous group to throw back to the masses. Would it actually matter? Maybe not. Maybe not, for him.

But, he has to believe it – has to maybe humor it. There's nothing else he can do in this moment, until he can claw his way into alternatives. And Akira isn't here to pull him from his self-inflicted death march when it came to saving Akira's skin. And so, he plays it safer than he typically has been.

His comfort with the weapon is more than evident. He bends to pull the hunting knife from his boot by the handle, adjusting his grip with a lazy flip. It appears he isn't dumb enough to come into her range without it, though the point is down and the serrated edge faces toward him. If he had intent, it would have been obvious. He isn't the sort of waffle about it, if the way he yanks his arm up and back to drive the tip into the space she's indicated without hesitation is any proof of it. It cuts in easy with a dull crack and the spider-webbing of fissures into the waterlogged grain. He doesn't even have to pull the blade all the way out again to pry up board from the true siding, his mouth curled into a self-satisfied grin, eyes bright and focused.

What he comes back with, after pulling the offending plank from the blade, is a full bottle of whiskey and box of ammo that seems enough to feed a gun or two. He cuts a look her way as soon as he shoves the knife back into his boot again, cache bared to her with the extension of a pale hand. ]

They were smart enough to save a few good things, [ he says, absent. The amber liquor sloshes up against the dirty glass, shells rattling. But, considering her choice of weapon she pulled on him, it seems pertinent to add in the rest. ] But, there's no other ammunition.

[ He keeps an eye on her, until she decides what she wants to take. ]