Shaken On The Caso De Campo

Saturday, November 04, 2006

The Grid-----> > > > > THE GREATEST GENERATION
< < <

Coordinates : 8 2

Off to one side of the busy road there is a makeshift aid station, a
small grouping of tents. A steady flow of minor and major injuries are
brought here from all around Madrid. The Republic's medical facilities
are as stretched as its military ones.

It is currently night time.

Sub-Rooms :


West East
South North
Marchand arrives from the South.

Micah looks up at the nurse, broken out from his trance. His eyes are
still watery and there is a distinct primal fear which is quite
disturbing. "I failed my comrades. They will surely execute me for my failure."
he whispers to the nurse.

Marchand has a firm disgruntled expression on his face as he walks down
the street, heading for the tents of the medical station. His rifle's
slung over his shoulder, and the soft rain soaks in without a poncho to
shield his uniform.

Renata is sitting on a stool by Micah's cot, having brought some water.
She listens to him, not understanding everything he says. Her dark eyes
are concerned, and her small fingers come to rest on Micah's shoulder.
"No, no. You are here fight. You not fail."

Micah begins to sob like a baby. "I did." He feels a sudden sharp feel
of dread, perhaps foreshadowing his future?

Marchand enters the tent, lifting aside the flap in a rigid
uncompromising manner. He removes the helmet once inside, and looks around for
signs of where those soldiers who are kept for non-physical conditions,
such as shell shock and disturbed psychologies are seperated.

Renata frowns. She picks up the cup of water she'd brought for Micah,
reaching for his hand to put the cup into it. "Please…" She makes a
motion from his hand to his mouth. "Drink something." Micah's cot is
probably a little away from the main area for the wounded, but not hard to

Micah reaches his shaky hands for a sip of water, as it may be the
amongst the final things he gets to experience before either he is shipped
out or worse. As he does so, he looks like a simple child but a child
who lost his innocence. His only comfort is the water and the nurse.

Marchand enters the section where Renata's tending assistance to Micah,
a gruff no-nonsense expression on the American former Marine's face.
His head turns as he scans the room, eyes drawing down to where Micah is
laying. No words spoken as yet.

Renata smiles slightly as Micah takes the water. Her hand reaches up to
give a single stroke against the side of his hair. "Good, good. Drink
this, have some rest." There's little else she can really say, being
more adept at controlling bleeding than craziness. "You are okay."

Micah does not notice that Marchand is in the area and continues
sipping his water. At least the water has stopped his sobbing for a moment.

Marchand steps around to stand directly before Micah's cot, not behind
where Renata's seated. Standing tall, he looks down to where the man is
sipping water, lips closed with a hint of a frown, eyes fixed on
Micah's eyes from above him.

Renata turns her head as someone comes up beside them. She stands up,
brushing off her skirt. "Buenos dias," she says quietly, not recognising

Micah watches as the nurse stands and greets someone who just came in.
He turns to face the visitor, and his face at once becomes twisted and
bloody red. Quickly looking down and unable to look in comrade in the
eye, he begins to rock back and forth again. The water left in the glass
he is holding follows his motion and tiny amounts begin to spill out as
his motion grows more intense.

Marchand just speaks plainly, "Steady that glass, comrade. You know
fresh water's not easy to come by." He nods to the nurse, responding with,
"Buenos dias, comrade nurse. I'm Comrade Frank Marchand." He's not
making any physically threatening gestures, but might be imposing in his
manner nevertheless.

Renata nods her dark head. "Renata Salazar. I am nurse." She looks at
Micah, surprised at his reaction, then back at Marchand. "You are
command of him, comrade?"

Micah begins to settle down by Comrade Marchand's orders. Even in his
state, Micah appears to be unwavering in his obedience to the veteran
for some odd reason. Maybe in that broken inner shell is still a sense of
normalness. Or maybe the veteran is in a way, a lifeline to keeping him
from becoming completely crazy. Whatever the reason, he complies and
stops rocking back and forth, keeping his glass steady as he can be.

Marchand nods with consideration of the nurse. "Nurse Salazar. Thank
you." He looks back to where Micah's laying. "Yes. I am in command of
him, now." The tone is even, not with alot of emotion obvious.
Renata nods briefly to Marchand. When she looks back at Micah she
smiles a little bit, trying to comfort the young man. Then she begins to
duck away, giving the two some privacy.

O'Callaghan has arrived.
O'Callaghan arrives from the East.

Marchand is standing above where Micah is laying in a cot, Renata just
now moving away. He's currently facing Micah, as if waiting.

O'Callaghan has left.
O'Callaghan heads off West.

Micah justs sits there, holding his glass of water, and keeps looking
down silently.

Marchand lowers himself to take a seat on the stool where Renata had
been previously seated. He doesn't look back to check on her, as if the
question of whether she can overhear doesn't seem particularly
concerning to him. "Give me your name, soldier." It's spoken in a sober paternal
sense, like an officer to an enlisted man, not in harshness.

Micah says, "Micah Tho…Thompson" he says, choking up in between "Tho"
and "mpson". He sucks up the mucus in his nose, the result of crying.
Still like a little boy. The tears that once poured down his face has
dried, and he can feel the residue on his face but makes no effort to
wipe it off.

Marchand nods in affirmation. "Comrade Micah Thompson, of the XIth
International Brigade." He looks to Micah after stating that, as if
considering the young man's demeanor. "Where are you from, Comrade Thompson?"

Micah says "Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada."

Marchand absently reaches to draw up a washcloth without averting his
eyes from the man in the cot. He hands it to him, with no explanation,
placing it beside his hand. "Vancouver, BC. I heard it's rainy weather
out there this time of year, and damned cold to boot. Does your father
still live out there, comrade?"

Micah nods quietly as he takes the washcloth to wipe his face. Ah, it
felt clean again. "Along with my mother. They both did not approve of me
coming here."

Marchand slowly gives a nod, but with his lips closed. An air of calm
seriousness about him, as if listening to what is said to consider the
words. "Tell me why you came, Comrade Thompson."

Aid Station
The Grid-----> > > > > THE GREATEST GENERATION
< < <

Coordinates : 8 2

Off to one side of the busy road there is a makeshift aid station, a
small grouping of tents. A steady flow of minor and major injuries are
brought here from all around Madrid. The Republic's medical facilities
are as stretched as its military ones.

It is currently night time.

Sub-Rooms :


West East
South North

Micah whispers, "I wanted to fight for something noble. I thought I
could make a difference. But now I know I can't… because of what
happened. I failed my comrades." He manages to look Comrade Marchand in the
eye for once with sincerity.

Marchand just gives a slight nod to the first part, keeping lips closed
when he's not speaking himself. The nostrils aren't flaring, his
breathing seeming rather calm. It's a detachment sometimes seen among more
veteran soldiers. "I'm not asking for conclusions, I'll draw those on my
own. But what's important is why you came, why you're here as part of
my family."

The IC time is November 1936 02:01:33!

Marchand looks to Micah's face from where he's seated while the young
man remains silent. "So tell me. Do you want to be a part of the family
of comrades or not? To fight and maybe die alongside our brothers and
sisters in Spain, on the front line."

Micah says "I would like to, but how can you trust me? How can I trust
myself? I am a liability out there."
Micah says "After what happened yesterday… I don't know if I can be
relied on to do my duty."

Marchand sucks in a deep breath. "Comrade Thompson, you'll fight
alongside me if I choose to have you fight alongside me. I'll risk my neck
and back if I choose to risk it." He narrows in his gaze to Micah's eyes.
"And I only want that if I'm sure that's what you want. Really want in
your heart."

Micah realizes that Marchand is offering him a chance to prove himself
again. This chance will not come again, and he decides to take it
before it is withdrawn. He could not come home a failure. His parents would
just say "I told you so." He nods to Marchand. "I cannot come home a
failure. I would never hear the end of it from my parents. I will fight."
he says, determined but also unsure of himself. Perhaps after some
combat experience he will be confident; either that or dead.

Marchand leans forward, his right hand coming to rest on the hand of
Micah closest to where he's leaning towards him. The hand comes to grip
it firmly unless it's pulled back or away. "Don't fight for them, or
what they'll think of you. This fight has to be from the heart, from all
our hearts, a part of our very spirit." and nods down a single time. "Do
you want to be a part of my family, Micah Thompson, a brotherhood of
men and women fighting for the freedom of the people of Spain?"

Micah ponders for a moment… then finally says, "I'm here already and
I might as well contribute for the good of freedom. The Fascists must
be stopped here." Communist or not, the Fascists are the common enemy
for both ideologies. His last statement was bold for his emotional and
mental state, but should show where his loyalties lie.

Marchand firmly nods, still leaning forward and looking to Micah
directly. "Then while you're here, so along as I'm still breathing alongside
you, you'll honor me like your father, or older brother, or whoever you
respect most in your family." There's a pause, as if gauging the
Canadian's reaction to this. "You've come here as a boy seeking adventure, to
fight for something right. What I'm here to do is make that boy into a
soldier. A man of honor and pride" another pause, "and discipline."

Micah nods at Marchand. "Yes, Comrade Marchand." He stands up and gives
his comrade a firm and enthusiastic Communist salute, having been given
back a little dignity.

Marchand draws back too, to stand up himself and return the salute.
"Good, comrade Thompson. You will stick with me out there, and trust in
whatever I tell you, or tell you to do. We all fight together, and I risk
my life everytime an artillery shell falls just like you do, but what
we remember is…why we are here. Know when you're afraid, but swallow
that gut in and keep moving forward. Make that fear a part of you, not
the master of you, and hold yourself together. Got that?"

Micah exclaims with a raised voice, "Yes, Comrade Marchand!"

Marchand nods his head firmly, a pride in his eyes and confidence. "If
you have anything that sticks in your craw, that's eating you from
inside and you feel a need to tell someone, you come to me and I'll listen
with no prejudice. No jumping to conclusions. Be it a problem with one
of the other men, or something else, anything else, that's causing you
to have doubts or second thoughts." He lifts his chin up, drawing in a
breath. "For now, you're in the family of this brigade, and will fight
alongside your brothers in whatever task we're given to do." A quick
nod down. "And I'll be right there, alongside you. We all will work as a

Micah nods receptively to Comrade Marchand's speech.

Marchand nods too, a firm hint of a smile but not a big grin. "Good.
Now come with me and tell the nurse that you're returning to your family
at the front. To stand as a man." He takes a step back, then, turning
just once to look for who's in charge.

Micah puts down his now empty glass of water, and begins to follow
Marchand. The empty glass strangely symbolizes the emptying of his
emotional and his mental troubles. But of course, he is not going to ever be
the same again. He offers Renata a half smile as he gets ready to leave.
"Gracias," he says to her.

Renata is busy rolling up some bandages nearby, having given Micah and
Marchand their space. She looks over her shoulder as Micah comes over,
looking surprised to see him back up. Her smile is bright, relieved.
"De nada. You fight now?"

Marchand just offers a calm nod to Renata, trying to hide a hint of
smile. He manages to say simply, "We're done here. Gracias, senora." He
adjusts the tunic and jacket of the uniform he's wearing, making sure the
belt's slid to be properly even with its gear, and holds the helmet
he'd removed earlier, ready to fit it back on.

Micah nods solumnly at Renata. "Yes, I fight now." He picks up his
rifle and combat pack which is sitting near where all the gear of the
wounded soldiers are. As he leaves he turns back once more to the nurse,
then back towards the exit. Before he leaves the tent, he puts on his cap.

Marchand fits his helmet back on as he and Micah leave, taking the lead
in exiting the tent into the cool rainy November Madrid weather.

The Grid-----> > > > > THE GREATEST GENERATION
< < <

Coordinates : 8 3

A main thoroughfare going through the city of Madrid, the road is a
busy place, with people on some sort of business at all times of the day.
Revolutionary banners hang from the walls, and the citizens are out in
force, building barricades, fortifying the houses, moving back and
forth with supplies, or in some cases just standing around wide eyed,
looking for ways to help.

It is currently night time.

Sub-Rooms :


West East
South North

Marchand arrives from the North.

Micah has arrived.
Micah arrives from the North.

Marchand starts walking, looking to the street with a cautious eye.
"Sniper was spotted near here the other day." commented as he moves.

Micah says "Here? Behind our lines?"
Micah raises his eyebrow.

Marchand turns back and nods. "Yes. There are infiltrators. One Spanish
face looks like another, and you can't tell whether that face belongs
to a Carlist, an Anarchist, or a Communist."

Micah thinks for a moment then understands. "That is unnerving to know
there may be infiltrators here amongst us." he says, now looking
suspiciously at the people around him. Except for Marchand, who he trusts.

Marchand nods back, and motions forward as if to come along. "Let me
tell you something, Micah. Yes, shooting the prisoner was a mistake. That
happens in war. But what I don't want to see repeated, ever again, is
raising your rifle against a fellow member of the Brigade, or a civilian
allied with us." He looks back, "The Commissar is most unhappy about
that. He couldn't give a damn about the prisoner." Marchand's statement
in the third person might make ambiguous his own feeling on the matter.

Micah says "Yes, Comrade Marchand."

Marchand simply nods, and then continues walking, turning to pass under
the gate towards the wartorn parkland.

Puerta del Rey
The Grid-----> > > > > THE GREATEST GENERATION
< < <

Coordinates : 7 3

The main entrance to the park consists in a tall and sturdy stone gate
that locks its sullen arms along the fenced perimeter to the park. A
deluge of grandeur and solemnity is embedded in the stone structure that
rises high to reserve its name: The King's Gate. But the honor and
solemnity that was once invested in its building is long gone. The many
carvings are damaged by splinters from exploding bombs, and the tiled
paths that depart from here seem abandoned, soulless.

It is currently night time.

Sub-Rooms :
1. Limestone Building
2. Reserve Trench
3. Slit Trench


West East
South North

Marchand arrives from the West.

Micah has arrived.
Micah arrives from the West.

The Grid-----> > > > > THE GREATEST GENERATION
< < <

Coordinates : 6 3

The park of the Caso de Campo is a huge open space right in the middle
of the city. It's still in fairly good shape too, unscarred by war.
Park benches and picturesque pathways cut across the grass and past the
flowerbeds, which are all getting a little bit overgrown due to the lack
of tending. The main government buildings of Spain are somewhere to the

It is currently night time.

Sub-Rooms :
1. Reserve Trench
2. Foxhole

(Item 1) Satchel Charge Equipment
(Item 2) Satchel Charge Equipment
(Item 3) Flare Equipment
(Item 4) MG 34 Ranged Weapon
(Item 5) 7-57mm Mauser x 79 Ammo
(Item 6) 7.92-57 x 25 Ammo
(Item 7) Mauser M1893 Ranged Weapon / 1. Reserve Trench
(Item 8) 7-57mm Mauser x 97 Ammo / 1. Reserve Trench
(Item 9) 8mm x 89 Ammo / 1. Reserve Trench

West East

Marchand arrives from the West.

Micah has arrived.
Micah arrives from the West.

Marchand pauses here a moment, "Have your rifle, ammo?" and looks back
to see.

Micah nods to Comrade Marchand. "Yes Comrade Marchand, I retrieved it
in the makeshift aid station."

Marchand nods back, and continues moving on again, going west.

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