Nurses At Belleau Wood

Medic Station
[The Grid]-----> > > > > THE LOST GENERATION < < <

An old stone villa has been taken over by the Americans to be used as a medic-station, the first and sometimes last stop for those being brought in from the front. Red Cross personel or army personel of both American and French nationality are working hard to save the lives of the young men. The bottom floor is where they emergencies are taken cared of and the upper floor is used for recovering, though some are also moved further west to more safer areas.
It is currently daytime.
Alex stumbles along into the aid station, being ushered about by Medics to wait in line for triage, his hand having been shot through, bleeding rather profusely.

Josephine is the one to take care of Alex once it's his turn in the line, giving him a quick smile. She works efficiently to stop blood flow, hoping it'll be enough.

Mancuso hauls himself into the medical station. He ain't bleeding at the moment, but the hasty field bandages that've been slapped on his wounds from the previous night don't look exactly healthsome. "Well what the hell do you know…?" he mutters to himself, idling to watch Josephine work. And just watch Josephine in general.

Pete manages to crawl into the aid station, stumbling toward an empty cot, collapsing on it. Or, next to it. Not one who can aim right now. He finds himself sitting down on the ground, resting his back aganist the wooden supports.

Luc dashes along after the soldiers, carrying the same old shotgun he'd proudly held before. He waves over to Josephine. « I've brought wounded! » in French. To the man nearby, "See? See? Tres belle." and smiles.

Alex smiles at the female medic as she dresses his wound, clutching his bandaged hand to his chest as he moves to the recovery area, making room for the next in line.

Mach just lays there after reaching the doorway of the small stone villa, blood seeping out as he murmurs quietly with his face in the ground, "..Motherfuckin' bastards..can't even help carry the wounded back..fuckin' pricks.."

Josephine suddenly gets rather harried with all the new wounded coming in. Not that she's alone here to help the marines, but there's always a lot to do so many of them fall on her lot. She rushes to Mach and starts with him as he's worse off. "Hush now," she says in her broken English. She looks up and gives Luc a wave and another quick, habitual smile. She never runs out of smiles. <Thank you, Luc! I wouldn't want to have no work,> she jokes.

Pete looks over to the nurse Luc indicated, and grins. "You weren't foolin', kid. They got some lookers at this place." His head turns to Mancuso. "Cap'n order the Corporal to take us an' capture this hill… Ahh.. sumthing like Hill 124, like that. Lost a few men, but the fuckin' Germans lost more. Hill's ours!" He smiles. It's an achievment, after all.

Mancuso grins an ugly grin that twists the knife scar on his face. That didn't come from no Jerry bayonet. He's had it since he set foot in basic. "That Luz is a damn tough bastard. Of course he took it." He nods, looking all satisfied with the day's killing. Then he leers at the nurse some more. "When did we get those kinda medics?"

Luc smiles a quick nod over to Pete, and then steps to take a seat on a new stump from where a tree had been cleared by the stream. "Victory. Death to Boche invasioners!"

Josephine sends Machowitz into the house after she's helped him, then washes her hands hastily before moving to next in line, which is Pete. She recognizes the wounds by now. "Machine gun?" she asks quietly, pressing a tourniquet against the worst wound to stop the bloodflow. She glances at Mancuso and blushes when noticing his leer, focusing on what she's doing in a pretense she hasn't noticed.

Pete looks over to the woman, suprised that she knows English. "Got that right. Took a few slugs in the stomach, I think. Maybe somewhere else. I dunno." He gives her the once over while she's occupied, and whistle's lowly. "Really bad wound, right!" He says, in an attempt to cover.

Mancuso keeps right on leering at Josephine while she works, his thuggish face twisting that grin even further. He knows she likes it.

Luc squints a look towards Mancuso, his expression more tenative before smiling again to where Josephine's tending Pete. He looks down, checking out the shotgun as if pretending to clean it. The youth has no cleaning kit, of course, just a belt with holes cut to fit shotgun shells into stapled leather.

Josephine takes out a pair of scissors and simply cuts Pete's shirt open to better get to the wound. She presses down hard on it with quite a lot of patience. She gives Pete a suspicious look. The blood stops finally and she is quick to wrap bandages all around his waist to keep the tourniquet in place for now. "Doctor!" she calls to get the attention of someone more skillful. A doctor rushes in to take over and she steps back, to once more wash her hands. "Anyone else?" she asks, looking around; she avoids looking at Mancuso, perhaps in the hopes that if she ignores him he'll stop leering.

Mancuso is distracted from his creepy stare at Josephine by Luc. Who he does not leer at. "Hey, kid," he gruffs, fishing around in his own supplies, to dig out his cleaning hit. He offers it to the French lad. "Here. Might have better luck with this than that piece of shit."

Pete coughs. "Damn." He looks over to Luc. "She's got a way about her, don't she? Doesn't waste anytime!" He chuckles as the more skilled doctor comes over. Bah! If only there we're more female doctors! He looks over to Luc, and shakes his head. "Fuck that, Lance. We should get him one of out M97's, instead a' that piece of junk. Think the Corporal can swing it?"

Luc hops down off the stump, tilting his head as he looks curiously over to Mancuso, wandering over to join him. "Eh?" and leans to peer at the cleaning kit, then his shotgun. He peers back to Pete as the man speaks in English, not looking like he quite understands. "Corporal? Corporal Brass?" and lifts his head to quickly look around.

<I can teach you English, Luc,> Josephine offers, speaking up loudly from where she washes her hands thoroughly. Then she switches back to English. "Do not give him a weapon and encourage him!" The words come out sharply and her eyes widen in alarm. "He is…" She hesitates, glancing at Luc. She doesn't want to insult him either. "He is so young," she finishes weakly, looking down at her hands as she wipes them off on a towel.

"The corporal ain't no brass," Mancuso gruffs at Luc. "Them's just the officers. Fuckin' Sirs. And maybe we should see about that, Alister. Boy ain't gonna kill many Huns with that rusted piece of shit." He smiles at Luc. A big-brothery sort of smile. He likes him. Josephine, however, gets a frown. "He's a hell of a lot braver than those grown men of yours who were telling us to retreat," he talks at her. "This ain't none of your business, /miss/."

Pete waves over to Mancuso. "Lance, Lance, take it easy! God, she's a fuckin' nurse, for Chrissakes. No tellin' how long she's been here or what she's seen." He turns his attention to Josephine. "And what would you rather have, ehh? Him goin' out with that piece a' crap and dying, or goin' out with one of our guns a survivin' longer? You ain't gonna tell that kid he can't fight, I don't think."

Luc can only offer a tenative smile, only picking up bits and parts of the words in English. He doesn't look ready to hand over that shotgun, though, and the shell's he's slid into knife-cut slits in his belt look to be enough ammo to last him through a week of fighting. He quickly calls out to Josephine in French, « You will? Yes! I would like to learn English. » "Merci!" A turn then to Pete and Mancuso, trying to make out their words again. "I am French." and points to the earth where the dressing station's set near a bridge and stream. "Land is France. I fight."

Josephine's eyes suddenly spark with temper and she lifts her chin at Mancuso. "This is not my business? I live here, I tend to all the wounded, I watch /kids/ die from being shot. And you tell me this is not my business? I have a younger brother only a few years younger than Luc! Luc is someone's younger brother!" Her face flushes again, but this time from anger rather than embarassment. "Hundred of thousands of French have died and you talk about bravery to me?" Pete's words finally kick in though and she takes a deep breath. "No, I can't tell him that. I wish he would not though. But if you give him a better weapon you /better/ look after him." A soft smile is given to Luc, at that.

Mancuso stands up real straight as Josephine dresses him down. His big, thuggish face going bright red. For a second, he glowers at her. But it's just a second. That's all he can manage to look at the nurse before he has to drop his gaze. "Kid can fight if he wants to," he grunts to Pete and Luc. "Ain't nobody's business but his." He looks down at Luc. "You want a better gun? Good gun. Kill lots of Boche with it."

Alex glances up as the New Yorker interrogates the civilians, shaking his head with a little sigh as he shrugs out of his gear, leaning his rifle against the wall as he lies back against it, knowing he'll probably be here awhile.

Pete nods over to Mancuso, looking from him to Luc, and then to Josephine. "Well… Good. Things settled then. Real good. Don't you worry, miss. We are United States Marines. Anyone fights with us, we take care of 'em. Always." He looks over to Luc again. "And, if you're gonna fight us us, pal, you're gonna need a better gun."

Luc is caught uncertain for a moment, his reaction to the angry expressions directed towards Josephine by the Marine not making him happy. He doesn't speak up offhand, though, looking again to Pete and then Mancuso in their uniforms and armaments. As he catches the looks down to his shotgun, he shakes his head firmly with lips closed, swinging it around to hold against his chest protectively. "Mine!" and swallows.
Luc adds in a string of French, "Ce fusil de chasse est le mien!" « This shotgun is mine! »

The look Pete receives from Josephine is nothing but intent, at his words. She opens her mouth to say something, but then shakes her head and turns to go over the supplies on a table, making sure it's well stocked for next bout of wounded. <They won't take your shotgun, Luc. They want to get you a better weapon,> she explains, in case Luc hasn't understood that. "He doesn't want to lose his shotgun," she then explains for the marines.

"Thanks for the translation, sweetheart," Mancuso gruffs at Josephine. He'd managed to get part. He heaves a sigh, looking down at Luc. "Relax, kid. We ain't gonna steal it from you. But we got better stuff you can have, if you want."

Pete looks at Josephine for awhile, waiting for a reply, before shrugging at one's absence. He turns over to Luc. "Yeah. You can keep it. Carry it with you, even. But we got some good stuff here, real good stuff. Ever handle one a' these pump actions?" Oh, like the KId would understand that.

Luc starts moving to stand more closer to Josephine, where she's with a nursing staff with wounded. "I fight." and calls out, "Vive les jeunes guerriers!" « Long live the warrior youths! » proudly, holding his hand up in the French salute. More quietly he considers, taking in Josephine's words to him. To her, « Please tell them I am good with this. It is my father's shotgun. I've killed boars with it. I can use it good. » more softly, in French.

Josephine removes the bloodied apron for now, she'll put on a clean one later. She removes her hat and runs a hand through her rather short hair for a woman. Listening to Luc, she smiles at him and nods. <I'll translate. And soon you can tell them yourself,> she promises. She puts the hat back, neatly tucking the hair away. "He says that he is good with a shotgun. It is his father's shotgun and he has killed…" She frowns, not sure what boars are called in English. "..wild pigs with it. I am not sure he wants another weapon." Protectively, she lifts a hand to place on Luc's shoulder as he moves closer, unless he moves away from it.

Mancuso looks away from Josephine to Luc, and Luc's shotgun. He just looks at the boy and the gun for awhile. Then shrugs. "Oh, keep it you little idiot," he grumbles, not unkindly.

Pete snorts, and almost laughs. He would, if it wouldn't have hurt the boys feelings. "Wild pigs? Well, I know the boy might have some trouble tellin' the differance between them and Germans. Hell, I would." He grins. "Alright, he can keep it. Maybe he'll see sense sometime later."

Luc looks down, frowning a little for a moment. But then he draws up his chest, and stands tall and proud once more, taking a step to be just ahead of Josephine. « I blew German head off yesterday. My second shot. » and turns to the nurse for her to translate.

Josephine is not taller than Luc, and when he straightens up proudly she drops her hand down and gives him an appreciative smile. "He killed a Boche yesterday, shot him in the head on his second shot." She makes an internal battle for a moment, then seems to win and she takes a deep breath and a few steps back. "I have to go sleep for awhile now, messieurs. It has been a pleasure meeting you."

"Pleasure's all mine, doll," Mancuso gruffs after Josephine. That seems genuine, too. In its thuggish way. He grins down at Luc, nodding. "Yeah, kid. You killed Boche real good. Your dad's gun's probably got some luck in it, so I guess you better keep it." With that, he slogs over to get in line to have a doctor look at the holes in him.

Luc bobs his head lightly in a nod to Mancuso, then to Pete. "You see. Yes." and begins to turn to follow Josephine. « They fought bravely. Very brave, these Americans. I saw it too. » to her, more quietly as he seems determined to keep near the young French woman and her promised English lessons. « I can help, no? » before heading into the dressing station.

Pete grunts, and rasies a hand in parting to the nurse. "See ya later, ma'am. Nice ta meetcha." He moves to hoist himself up to the cot he's setting under, and lay's down. "Good day, good day."

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