The First Wave

Allied Front Line South
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[The Grid]-----> > > > > THE LOST GENERATION < < <
----------------
Here you are at the end of the line, the very cusp of the Allied war effort. The efforts of the free world are focused here, on nudging this line, inch by tortuous inch, towards Berlin.
The front line trenches are the least habitable. Constructed under the fire of the enemy, with little opportunity to adjust or improve them, they are barely trenches at all but cavernous, flooded, collapse prone pits, mostly inhabited only by rats, or the dead.
Fritz is to the east, not all that far away. The wise man keeps his head down, for snipers ply their trade here, at the absolute front.

Chaloux just returned to the front and is smoking, shifting his feet on the duckplanks in a vain effort to keep them dry as long as possible. With the sudden hell breaking lose, he blinks and cocks his head, moving into a cover position reflexively. "That sounds… heavy," he says, having to raise his voice considerably, almost shouting.

«Artillery» Feuerwaltz! artillery barrage rips through Allied Front Line South to deadly effect, landing near Shell Holes!

Samantha was on duty on the front tonight.. when it happens. Her eyes just go a bit wide, fighting the instinctive reaction to just hit the dirt. She turns her head, screaming back to Chaloux.."Where the hell is it coming from?" She does stay down, shielding her face as best possible..

«Artillery» Feuerwaltz! artillery barrage rips through Allied Front Line South to deadly effect, filling the air with lethal shrapnel!

Murphy is also present at the front, shaking his head a little as he hears the sounds of doom. And ducks down at the artillery, using the trench wall nearest to the enemy as cover. "Hell?" he suggests at Samantha's question.

"I don't know, but it doesn't sound good," Chaloux replies grimly. He just waves to Samantha to take some cover before he crawls into a position at the edge of the trench, taking as much cover as he can while at the same beginning to deploy his machine gun. "There's one out there," he explains, relatively calmly. "I see a hun."

«Artillery» Feuerwaltz! artillery barrage rips through Allied Front Line South to deadly effect, filling the air with lethal shrapnel!

Samantha isn't dare going to go behind orders, so she does finally get down, taking as much cover as she possibly can and frowning as she occasionally peeks out from under her arm to look over..

«Artillery» Feuerwaltz! artillery barrage batters Allied Front Line South ineffectually.

Peering out there as he hears the Frenchman's words, Murphy frowns a little, "Two of them," he says, readying to fire, but then some of the nearest barrages causes him to duck just as he tries shooting, and causes him to miss, in addition to calling out a few words that should not be used around here.

Chaloux grins and is doing just that too; he lets rip of the machine gun and immediately kills one german, changing to shoot at the other one he spots, aiding Murphy.

«Artillery» Feuerwaltz! artillery barrage rips through Allied Front Line South to deadly effect, filling the air with lethal shrapnel!

Murphy fires off at that other German as well, managing a hit, it seems. He then ducks down again. "I wish someone could just break that artillery of theirs."

"I'm not volunteering," Chaloux replies shoutingly back to Murphy, looking around for more targets. One of the Germans run back to his own lines and it gives him some grim pleasure when seeing it.

«Artillery» Feuerwaltz! artillery barrage batters Allied Front Line South ineffectually.

Murphy tries firing at a German out there, but his weapon jams. And then comes a howl in frustration.

«Artillery» Feuerwaltz! artillery barrage rips through Allied Front Line South to deadly effect, filling the air with lethal shrapnel!

Chaloux stands steadily and holds the CHauchat with both hands, spraying lethal bullets out over the edge of the trench, doing some serious damage. "This is big," he comments as if that isn't obvious already. "They might be trying a real one this time."

«Chemical Weapons» The reek and the green tinge of chlorine is in the air!

Chaloux shouts, "GAS!".

«Artillery» Feuerwaltz! artillery barrage batters Allied Front Line South ineffectually.

Murphy frowns a little, "Those gas users should been shot!" he mutters, after having gotten his gas gear on. And peering out there again.

«Artillery» Feuerwaltz! artillery barrage rips through Allied Front Line South to deadly effect, filling the air with lethal shrapnel!

Samantha coughs, hitting her knees just a few seconds after the gas rips through.. it was rather.. violent. She reaches for her mask, fumbling just a moment as she tries to pull it on… still coughing rather violently.

Chaloux gags and coughs and lets go of the machine gun, ripping the gas mask out and putting it on hurriedly after shouting the warning.

Wallace shouts, "CONTACT!".

Samantha was just going for her medical kit.. when it hits… and she's down, blood… everywhere.. medical kit just a few feet out of reache.

From Allied Front Line Central, a male voice shouts, "Do you require assistance?".

Chaloux shouts, "SAMANTHA IS DOWN! WE GOT WOUNDED!".

Murphy grimaces a bit as he looks out at the enemies out there. And then adds to the shouts.

Murphy shouts, "AND LOADS OF JERRIES INCOMING.".

From Allied Front Line Central, a male voice shouts, "Give a count?".

Chaloux knows this is it. The Germans are welling in and this is just too much, there's too many of them. "GET BACK!" he shouts at the nurses, or anyone not here to fight.

Chaloux shouts, "TOO DAMN MANY!".
Murphy shouts, "AT LEAST TEN OR SOMETHING.".

Samantha isn't much of a threat to anyone right now…. though someone still might want to run for the medical she was holding before she went down. If anyone can see past the Germans and the gas..

Murphy fires at Manfred, then ducks down again. "I don't suppose they'd just go away?" he offers a bit wryly.

Manfred lets rip with the submachinegun and shoots Chaloux full of holes, whee!

Antonia comes through the front line trench at top sprint, or as well as she can in her long skirt. She shouts in a raw voice to the nurses behind her, barely able to be heard behind that gas mask. She throws down her kit, popping it open and grabbing out supplies.

Allied Front Line South
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[The Grid]-----> > > > > THE LOST GENERATION < < <
----------------
Here you are at the end of the line, the very cusp of the Allied war effort. The efforts of the free world are focused here, on nudging this line, inch by tortuous inch, towards Berlin.
The front line trenches are the least habitable. Constructed under the fire of the enemy, with little opportunity to adjust or improve them, they are barely trenches at all but cavernous, flooded, collapse prone pits, mostly inhabited only by rats, or the dead.
Fritz is to the east, not all that far away. The wise man keeps his head down, for snipers ply their trade here, at the absolute front.
It is currently dawn.
Sub-Rooms :
1. Front Line Trench
2. Shell Holes
===============================< In Your Location >===========================
CentPw (#526) Zoidberg (1) - Front Line Trench I. Kar98k
CentPw (#473) Wolfgang (1) - Front Line Trench I. MP18
CentPw (#593) Erik (1) - Front Line Trench I. MP18
CentPw (#591) Amadeus I. MP18
Allied (#507) Antonia (1) - Front Line Trench I.
CentPw (#590) Konrad (1) - Front Line Trench I. MP18
CentPw (#592) Ludwig (1) - Front Line Trench I. MP18
CentPw (#594) Manfred (1) - Front Line Trench I. MP18
Allied (#524) Wallace (1) - Front Line Trench I. Lee Enfield SMLE
Allied (#514) Samantha (1) - Front Line Trench I.
Allied (#121) Murphy (1) - Front Line Trench I. Lee Enfield SMLE
Allied (#488) Chaloux (1) - Front Line Trench I. Chauchat

Murphy shouts, "THEY'RE IN THE TR-ARGH!".

Murphy fires at one of the Germans, before he takes a number of bullets, just as he shouts out a warning to those up north. Then looks at the Germans, "Is that all you stinking shitbags can do?"

Antonia is probably bumping shoulders with Germans by this point. She can barely tell who's who in this crush. She goes slamming against the trench wall as someone shoves her, and screams an order to a nurse beside her, trying her damndest to keep going.

Chaloux is getting seriously shot up. He's barely standing as it is but manages by some miracle to reload the CHauchat. "DIE!" he shouts, chosing the English word over the French one. He shoots wildly, but in the trench and with his wounds and the gasmask, it's to no avail. He abandons it and moves towards the closest german, raising his fists in an obvious attempt to start a regular brawl with one of them. Then he's hit again and spins around, dropping face-first right next to where Samantha is also lying.

Singh comes sprinting down from the central line, still wearing his gas mask and gear. He makes himself not look at the wounded. He might lay eyes on Sam. He soon has other things to occupy himself, however, as shots ring out around him. Some finding their mark.

Wolfgang waves the mob of stormtroopers forward. "Forward!" he shouts, his submachinegun ready to argue with anybody who says otherwise.

"Soldat!" Antonia screams, seeing the man go down. She's too far away from him to grab for him though, her hands struggling with another hopeless case in front of her.

Garner finally manages to move forward with the big gun, placing himself in the middle of the Trench. A volley of fire get him however, and he takes a spill forward. Shot, and bleeding, he dispaetely tries to deploy the damn thing.

Antonia's voice has gone raw as she screams to her staff, though it's a useless try. There's too much chaos to be heard…

Singh goes down shooting, but he goes down hard. His right arm and leg receive nasty bullets from the incoming Germans, and other shots pepper his his chest. There is little he can do to keep them from going west. He just tries to make his fingers work on his rifle a little longer.

The weapon finally deployed, Garner just starts firing. Firing at anything that doesn't speak English or French.

Murphy has also been down for a little while, just staying on the ground for now.

Antonia can barely see Singh go down, and can't even scream as she did for the others. She just freezes for a moment that feels to her like forever, her hands pressing against the sides her head.

Wallace is, as is usual, a damn mess on the battlefield. But this time… the lights have gone out.

Singh tries to get off another shot but, like his others, it misses it's target. The Indian never was a good shot, really. His skills lay elsewhere. Another shot to the leg blows it clean off, and that takes him down. He lays there, bleeding, the last of his life draining out of him. "What has God done…"

Allied Front Line South
================================================================================
[The Grid]-----> > > > > THE LOST GENERATION < < <
----------------
Here you are at the end of the line, the very cusp of the Allied war effort. The efforts of the free world are focused here, on nudging this line, inch by tortuous inch, towards Berlin.
The front line trenches are the least habitable. Constructed under the fire of the enemy, with little opportunity to adjust or improve them, they are barely trenches at all but cavernous, flooded, collapse prone pits, mostly inhabited only by rats, or the dead.
Fritz is to the east, not all that far away. The wise man keeps his head down, for snipers ply their trade here, at the absolute front.

Samantha is down for the moment… still quite unconscious, the blood is.. horrible, a chest wound whatever hit her…

Singh just lies on the ground, bleeding. His breathing comes in short gasps. From the sound of it, it won't be coming at all after much longer.

Antonia's face is streaked with mud and tears she didn't even realize she was crying. She and the others are trying their best to get through the mass of wounded…

But, it seems, nothing of the sort happens. THe Germans move on, the firing stops, and Garner simply lays on his side, leaning aganist the machine gun. Blood rushes from half a dozen places, and his hands look like so much hamburger. He vainly attempts to prop himself up by his arms, aganist a trench wall. He leaves the Lewis Gun where is is. His rifle lays almost a world away, and, for once, he wish he had been faithful to her.

Chaloux is out cold for awhile, but perhaps some unconscious knowledge that a friend nearby is about to die makes him shake himself back to life. He lifts his head and looks over at Singh, watching the man takes his last breath. Though he got shot a bit here and there, he's surviving again, with a piece of life taken from him. He'll never quite be the same, but he's alive. For awhile longer anyway. Not that he's sure he finds that a blessing. With effort, he begins to crawl towards some kind of shelter.

Samantha stirs weakly from where she lays, apparently.. some how, still alive. She doesn't manage to say anything yet, just giving a low moan that undoubtedly goes lost among all the other moans and screams of the… chaos, dead, and dying in the trenches..

And like Chaloux, Murphy's out cold for a while, before he slowly opens his eyes and blinks a few time, before he groans a little bit. He's quite a mess, but at least he's still alive, for however long that might be. "Why, God? Why?" he mutters, looking up towards the sky with some of his current strength.

At Singh's body Antonia stops, kneeling down in the mud. She puts her hands on him, grabbing his jacket and rolling him over faceup in the mud. She can't do anything, not even say his name in the hopes that he could hear her. Even though she knows he can't. His chest isn't moving.

Garner looks left of him, toward Samantha, and for want of something else to do, slowly crawls toward her, blood rushing from his scalp and into his eyes. He finally reaches the moaning nurse, and moves to sit next to her on the trench wall. "he-hey? Al-alright, Cole?"

Samantha hears a voice… someone is actually still alive? All she saw was all hell coming down around them and then nothing. Her green eyes faintly flutter open, staring up towards Garner, just trying to relearn how to breathe.. "…how… is..?" She manages out through the pain.. but her whole body just hurt…

Antonia can't stay long with Singh. She knows that. She pulls herself away, after briefly touching his face, turning her head away from his still body as she gets back to what has to be done. She drags her medical kit to the next screaming man, rubbing her sleeve roughly across the tears on her face.

Chaloux manages to sit up, leaning up against the trench wall. He lifts the Chauchat up into his lap and peers around from under the helmet, the mask still on. He has nothing comforting to say, instead paranoidly beginning to look around for more Germans. A hand goes to stifle the bloodflow on his leg which seems to be worst off, then he tears out one of the field bandages from a bag and ties it hard around it. Then, he hauls himself to his feet and says; "We can't stay here much longer."

Still looking up to the sky, Murphy grimaces quite a bit. "Why…?" He mutters to himself. "Where did they go, and why did they leave us alive back here?" He gets to his feet rather slowly, before he looks over at Chaloux, rather quietly.

Garner leans over, and moves an arm to wipe the blood away from his eyes, getting a better look at Samantha. The lance through his scalp tears and smarts, making it hard to think, but he does his best to assess Samanthas body. A good amount of it looks bandaged up, thanks to the Good Doctor, and to Garner's relief. He simply wipes more blood away, and gives her a shaky smile. "You-you-you ar-arn'nt dead yet, Cole. Stay th-that way, please?"

Samantha gives Garner a somewhat weak nod, but.. it's a nod at least. She tries to gather enough of her mind to look him over, not that she could actually move enough at the moment to do much on him.."H-how… are you?" She whispers out faintly, forcing herself to stay conscious as long as she can, but it's just so damn…cold. And it hurts so damn much..

Antonia shouts to the remaining medics to get the wounded the hell out of here, able to keep her focus where it belongs by force of will. She glances over her shoulder towards No Man's Land for a very long time, then closes her eyes for a moment and gets back to it.

Garner looks up again, at the calls of men who have just seen a suprising lack of god, and of those that are resoulute in continuing despite such lack. He chuckles a bit to himself, coughing up a bit of blood in the process. "No, we ca-can't. In the Jerries re-rear now." He looks around. His head continues to clear up, given time. "If this is a bulge in the line, we-we can move north or south to me-meet up with other Allied." He gives another grin to Sam. "Do-doing well. hands are shot up, head hurts, and my legs ha-have trouble. Stay with us, please." He slowly, slowly, using the support of the trench, moves to stand. The lewis stays on the ground. "I need a rifle."

Chaloux clings to the Chauchat as if it's his only friend. He moves out to take stock of the damage done, moving carefully. "How are we with ammo?" he asks coarsely. If he concentrates on things like that, he won't have to think about the people dead. "Antonia," he says, using her first name for the first time. "You move back with the others. Don't wait here."

Samantha just can't stay awake any longer… the pain and the cold is just too much. So eventually, she blessedly slips off into unconsciousness again, but is still breathing, actually… just… out cold.

Garner looks around the trench, and stumbles forward, checking one of the many dead soldiers in the mass grave that was the Allied front line. He growls after each one, almost falling more than once, but finnaly manages a good survey. "We are fucked with supplies. Most of the allied dead were low, and we can't use the German stuff." He sighs, and moves back to his Lewis Gun. It would have to do, bad hands and legs be damned. He grabs the thing, and hoists it into a crude port arms. "Whose got rank?"

"Does anyone have a bloody rank around here?" Murphy asks, after a few moments, before he looks around. "Isn't there any Kraut weapons around here we can use?" He then grimaces a little more before he adds, quietly. "And I'm getting hungry…"

"We didn't kill many," Chaloux says bluntly. And indeed, there's almost no German corpses amongst the rest. He moves over to make sure Samantha is being moved by some stretcher bearers, then offers a supporting arm to Garner. "We move north, see if we find some friendlies. Better gather our remaining forces. Then we make it west as best as we can, there will be new trenches."

Garner looks around once more. No officers or non-comms in sight. He's eyes rest briefly on the thing that was Singh, and just shakes his head. "You can eat when your captured. If you die, then we don't need to be concerned about it. All the higher-ups are dead or somewhere else. Anyone object to me taking charge, then?" He nods to Chaloux "Good plan's non-withstanding, of course." He grabs Chaloux's arm, and starts hobbling at speed to the North. THe enemy was everywhere, now. With a force, it would be quite a good opprtunity.

Chaloux snorts. "Yes, I do. You're too hurt to be in charge of anything but your own wounds," he replies with the same bluntness he's chosing to say anything right now. "You're not in charge of me, anyway," he adds, but that's all he has to say on the matter, moving on northwards. Apparently, Garner hasn't impressed him much.

Murphy pauses for a few moments, as he moves over to get hold of whatever can be salvaged from one of the fallen soldiers, a young lad named McCargill. Not only supplies for war, but also the lad's personal belongings. He then looks over at the others, as he lowers his voice a bit. "I promised it to him," he explains. "Came in on the train with me, and we promised each other that the one who died last were going to make sure the Jerry bastards didn't get to take away the rest of his stuff." He pauses for a few moments more, before he looks down to the body. "Goodbye, James," he offers, quietly, before moving with the others in the northern direction.

Allied Front Line Central
================================================================================
[The Grid]-----> > > > > THE LOST GENERATION < < <
----------------
Here you are at the end of the line, the very cusp of the Allied war effort. The efforts of the free world are focused here, on nudging this line, inch by tortuous inch, towards Berlin.
The front line trenches are the least habitable. Constructed under the fire of the enemy, with little opportunity to adjust or improve them, they are barely trenches at all but cavernous, flooded, collapse prone pits, mostly inhabited only by rats, or the dead.
Fritz is to the east, not all that far away. The wise man keeps his head down, for snipers ply their trade here, at the absolute front.

Garner shakes his head. "Alright, mate. Whatever you say. Just make sure you know what your doing." Bleedin' French. Still, the man had a point. He couldn't hit shit at the moment. He looks up to Murphy. "Good man, you are. We'll see you North. Hurry, though, before the next wave comes through." He looks around the south one last time. How many good men had died today? How many friends had he lost?

Ephraim stalks through the trench, a dead man over he shoulders. THere are quite a few of the, thanks to the gas attack and the bulk of the squad heading south to join the fighting. He looks up as a group of men approach, fearing that he's being caught cold by the germans.

Murphy nods a little, following north along with the others, shrugging a little. He makes sure that the :nods a little, following north along with the others, shrugging a little. He makes sure that the things he salvaged from his friend further south is secure in his pockets, before he looks around a little, grimacing.

THe canadian private sets the corpse down like a sack of potatoes. It leans against the side of the muddy trench in a sick mockery of sitting down. From the looks of things, the body appears to be a canadian lieutenant. Ephraim looks at the newcomers, and says, "Boy, you guys are a sight for sore eyes," Clearly relieved that friends are about, he asks, "So we beat the germans back?"

Chaloux is supporting Garner, though he's obviously not in top shape himself either. Murphy's words cause him to look the man over but he just nods his understanding and limps onwards, his Chauchat held so he will be able to shoot although awkwardly, should he need to. Turning around a bend in the trenches, the come upon Ephraim and he stops, looking around warily. "Any more?" he asks. Then he snorts. "No. They overtook the trenches. We've lost this part."

Garner comes in, using Chaloux as a support for one bad leg. He looks up at Ephraim, and just gives one laugh, moving away from the Frenchman, and leaning aganist a trench wall. "Beaten them back? I wish we had. I really do. Still, war's not over, and all, and, since we are all still drawing breath, you may get your chance, Private." He looks around, himself. "Though I wish we had more men. It'll be a mite hard getting back to our lines now."

Ephraim looks down at his dead officer. From the looks of it, he died from the gas attack. A slow nod, and Ephraim looks back towards the sandbags, "Ibe's over there somewhere. He got hit hard by the gas as well. I think his mask was faulty."

Murphy is unable to hold back a chuckle at the words about beating them back. He laughs, a bit bitterly for a little while, before he looks around a bit thoughtfully. "If there only were less open trench-land and more woods around here," he mutters, after a few moments.

Garner looks around himself again, standing, and hobbling around, finaly stopping at a point, and digging around in the dirt. He finally comes up with a recently half-buried Enfield, and grins, throwing the Machine gun aside, and, with bad hands, checks the weapon over. "I won't leave you again, girl, I promise!" He says to the rifle, as he brings it to a ready position. He's grinning for a second. Undoubtably the reality will hit him, but, for now, aderinline and sureallity have sway.

A sorry looking group is gathered at these parts of the trenches, amongst the few who's survived the wave of Germans rolling over them. Garner's badly injured, Chaloux looks like he could use some serious rest, and so does Murphy. Ephraim's just putting down the body of a Canadian officer. "Plan's easy though. We have to get back to our forces. But the Germans are now west of us. I suggest we hide out somewhere and then move north come nightfall. Unless…" He ponders. "Might be enough German uniforms…" He considers it, seriously.

Murphy blinks as he hears the words of Chaloux. "Putting on their uniforms, you mean?" He pauses for a few moments as he considers it. "That might work, actually…"

Labelle comes running a low jog toward the group of soldiers, his movements furtive and hurried. He's coming from the west, but he looks a newcomer to this part of the trenches. Perhaps he came from one of the neighboring trenches defended by the French. There are faintly scorched marks on his uniform, and he smells of something burnt. Something sickly. He is calling out, babbling really, but it's all in French.

Brand runs into the area, carrying a mg as well as he can. He looks like he's been scorched at various locations, but no obvious injuries. He's a french, so maybe he can understand what Labelle's saying.

Garner nods, himself. "We need there weapons, too. Can anyone here speak German with an accent? It'll be complex, but we could get through the lines. Or shot as spies. Bah. Can't live forever, I've seen." His eyes snap to the west, as his rifle tries to come up as much as it can, before he sees the uniform, and the langague. He looks over to Chaloux. "What's he saying?"

Ephraim listens to this madness. "Won't they just shoot us when we reach our own lines?" he asks as he kicks a rat away from his dead lieutenant. As the young boy comes running in, Thatcher looks over his shoulder. "Looks like we might have company. With him yellin like that, there's bound to be more."

Chaloux looks up as he hears French and squints to make out things in the scarce light of dawn. He checks his Chauchat over to make sure it's filled up with ammo. "We bring our own uniforms and we change back after we get through the huns," he grunts. But he doesn't sound like he's too believing of that plan, but it's the best he can think of right now, realizing they're probably surrounded. He switches to French, calling out softly to Labelle. "Over here!"

Little more than a boy, this lad can't be much over the age of sixteen. But here he is in the uniform of a French infantryman never the less. He has pale brown hair and furtive blue eyes that seem in a constant state of nervousness. As if he's seen too much in his young years. His uniform denotes him as a mere private.

"Well, the Krauts would probably be looting everything that isn't part of the flesh and bones of the ones we left behind, so carrying some of our weapons won't be something special, as long as we have a few of theirs as well," Murphy points out, a little bitterly. "And I think I can speak a little bit German. My parents…" His voice falters for a few moments at the thought of those he might never see again. "They made me learn some of it."

Labelle races toward Chaloux, panting with desperate relief at the sound of someone speaking French. He nearly runs into the man, skidding to a stop and doubling over. He's run very fast. That sickly charred scent is heavier around him now that he's closer. "Please, please," he says in halted English. "Must go. West. West. Germans. Germans everywhere. Orders, go west. Fast." To Chaloux, he does some likely only slightly more coherent babbling in French.

Brand listens with a frozen expression, "I got knocked out by a loose bullet on my helmet. But am otherwise alright."

Squinting his eyes as he listens to the rapid foreign words, Ephraim scratches his head as he draws a smoke from behind his ear. He lightly elbows Murphy, and asks, "Got a light?"

Garner looks to the babbling French soldier, sniffing once, before he stops breathing through his nose. Fire and a sickly smell mean something, and Garner has a pretty good guess as to what it is. He sighs, and starts up the communication Trench as fast as his limp can carry him. "Fuck the fags, mate. Smoke when you actually have time."

Labelle babbles to Chaloux, too fast to really have time to dwell on his words, "My unit was nearby. We…they came down on us like hellfire. Literally, sir. They had a flamethrower. My friends…they are gone. All gone. Tell your men they must head west. Please. While they still can."

Chaloux listens with rapt attention. Labelle's apparent youth is barely even registered, it's not a too uncommon sight. "Calm down," he tells the boy, speaking French again, nodding his understanding before he turns to adress the rest. "His unit was destroyed by flamethrowers. We are asked to head west as soon as possible. So, let's go." He only now realizes there's a corporal there and raises his eyebrows at Brand, but then he turns and gets onwards, giving Labelle's shoulder a pat to indicate he should just follow.

Thatcher frowns as the orders are spoken. He tucks the still unlit smoke behind his ear again and hefts his rifle up. "Well, let's get on with it," he says. NOw that the shelling's stopped, his nerve has returned.

Brand nods to Chaloux, letting the man who seems to be in charge lead first. Battlefield promotion is fast of course.

As they prepare to move west, Ephraim brings his rifle up and crouches down. With germans about, he's very careful about revealing his position.

Garner slowly moves into more of a crouch, until, finally, he's moving forward in a waddle. Slow, and alert, fighting will now take a back seat to his own survival.

Labelle looks furtively around when cigarettes are passed. Like a begging puppy. He sticks close to Chaloux, tagging after the man now that he's found someone of seeming authority. "It is good to meet a Frenchman here," he says, still speaking French. "I was afraid it would be all English."

Murphy starts making his way in the direction of West, moving rather slowly and keeping near the wall of the trench. Sneaking is something he's quite good at, much to the dismay of his family. He stops a bit to the front of the others, glancing back at the rest and then looking to the front again, before continuing the sneaking.

Chaloux walks in a crouch too, the gasmask now removed so he can see better up ahead. He nods to Labelle. "Lots of English, but a few French. Not a whole lot of us here." He continues on. "Keep your eyes and ears peeled…" AS if he has to tell people, the latter added in English.

Allied Second Line North
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[The Grid]-----> > > > > THE LOST GENERATION < < <
----------------
The remnants of a forest lie around those here, but nothing is left of it but the odd blasted, leafless tree. The muddy ground here has been churned day after day by huge numbers of shells. Trenches score the dead earth like the the lacerations left by a scourge, the parapets reinforced with sandbags for additional protection from the violent death that awaits any foolish enough to leave the relative safety of the fortifications.

One of the trenches here serves as a forward mess, with cauldrons of bland army soup with bread and jam stored here for hungry front line soldiers. Well excavated, these trenches have since had engineers go through and adjust them slightly for defensive purposes, eliminating easy sniper spots. Aside from the rats, life would be almost bearable here.

Thatcher whispers to the others, "Looks like a friendly is up there in the communication trench."

"Germans!" Thatcher whispers, as he sights up.

Murphy ducks to the side at the words of Germans, and the shots being fired, and then drops down to near the ground, waiting for the clear shot against the enemy, when the time comes.

Chaloux hears shooting up ahead and he curses, and peers westwards in the gloomy light. He swings the Chauchat up and deploys it. "We have to break through," he says simply and prepares to do some damage.

Manfred knows where the submachinegun can work best, so charges down the trench into near-melee.

Labelle fumbles his rifle into his hands at the word 'Germans' and the sound of the shooting. He looks both fearful and eager. He turns his weapon in the direction the others are firing and just starts in.

As a german busts into this section of trench, Thatcher starts shooting at the poor kraut with the jammed weapon.

Garner finally manages to get to the fighting, his leg almost destroying itself in the process. It looks like he'll have to be a bit of cover, as he raised his rifle to point at the German.
Brand comes in and looks around. He seems to be quite injured after somehow going too fast with a MG in hand

Chaloux is shooting but as the germans come closer, the machine gun isn't at its best. "Keep low!" he shouts out, knowing those submachine guns are truly lethal.

Murphy fires at the charging Manfred, then ducks back, looking around to see where he is, before starting to move a bit to the side from where he currently is, towards the nearby mess trench. Maybe he can cause some damage to the Krauts from there?

Ephraim peeks up from behind an ammo crate and snaps a shot off at Manfred. It hits, and the soldier rebolts his weapon and takes aim again.

Elise is tucked away…somewhere, having arrived…sometime, doing as much emergency first aide as she can. Her formerly white and blue uniform is now crimson and purple, several strands of hair falling loose around her face.

Garner grunts, as his shoot goes wild. "Fuck! Forget fighting throw! Blow past!" He says, as he abandons his crouch for a run, moving as fast as he can, past allies and Germans.

Labelle gets his sights on one of the Germans and starts firing at him, staring straight ahead. The boy looks ready to bolt at any moment but, instead of running, he starts shooting instead. It's his way of panicking. Garner's words jar him into movement. It's with some reluctance that he lowers his weapon.

Murphy ducks into the mess trench, moving to get in position to try getting a good shot off at the enemies. And missing Garner's words in the process, so far.

"He is right! Let's just mow through them!" Chaloux calls out to the rest and grabs his weapon to get moving. Then he spots the motorcycle and his eyes alight.

As his pals make a break for it, the canadian private shoots to cover their retreat.

Brand frowns as he carries his giant gun and can't really move easily. "Need some assistance."

Murphy does the same as Ephraim, deciding that someone needs to help doing that.
Elise isn't running anywhere. She'll stay with the wounded, but then again, no one is shooting to kill her (yet). Stubborn woman. Besides, she isn't likely to get far in her skirts. Nope.

"Just drop the damn thing!" Chaloux shouts out in French to Brand.

Thatcher is hit twice and falls against the trench wall. Sliding down to his butt, he tries to aim his rifle and fire again.

Artillery Battery
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[The Grid]-----> > > > > THE LOST GENERATION < < <
----------------
Once a verdant field, fertile and rich, this chunk of beautiful French countryside has been commandeered by the forces of war. The grass has been trampled underfoot into the mud, for here is a battery of impressive 8 inch British field guns, and a host of lesser ordinance. The guns are dug into sandbagged emplacements for German fire is frequent here, as the many fresh shell holes attest. A continual desultory fire is maintained on enemy positions, rising to a deafening, devastating barrage in times of higher operational tempo.

The reek of cordite from the guns, sweat from those who serve them, and bleach from the crews decontaminating the earth of the mustard so frequently used here assails the nostrils. Trenches continue east, and the wise stay in them, not straying to the exposed ground on either side.

Garner keeps running, avoiding the Germans pooring in from elsewhere. He notices Chaloux arrive, and yells, "C'mon, mate! It's right ahead of us!"

Chaloux comes running as best as he can, hobbling a bit. He spots the Harley again and points at it. "We can take that one. But only two of us." He is a bit torn on the whole thing.

Labelle keeps as much to the dim dawn shadows as he can while he races ahead, his moment of bravado with his rifle past. He's back in 'flight' mode now. He stares between Chaloux and Garner, panting, waiting to be told what to do.

Garner shakes his head. "He's made it past most of the Huns, and is almost to open land. "Both of you, go! Ride forward to friendly lines, and get help!"

Chaloux grins wildly at Garner. "I'll take him back," he promises and reaches out a hand to grab for the young French soldier. "Come on, we're tailing it back to Arras," he tells Labelle, reverting to French again. "Garner? Get the hell out."

Garner has to make a beeline through the trenches, however, and, with his leg and hands, it makes that countryside perhaps the a forlorn hope."

At a desperate run, without being in any trenches, Murphy comes running, with one arm hanging down from his side. Looking around quickly to see where it's safe to run, and where it's not.

Garner gets shot at the chest, but stumbles forward, to the trees. To Safety. To his family, one day. If He can just get there!

Chaloux finally gets to the bike, and waits for Labelle to get on board before he gets the engine running. He looks over his back once and then he gets the hell out.

Labelle has little time to give much more than passing aid to Garner. He's rabbiting onto the bike as fast as he can.

Garner stumbles out of the trenches, running, ever running, into what was once the front. He keeps running, despite his leg, his chest, and his head. Life will just be constant running, until he can run no more.

French Countryside
================================================================================
[The Grid]-----> > > > > THE LOST GENERATION < < <
----------------
The front lines once went through here, right up against the edge of the town, and though the war has since moved on, the wreckage and rot is still here for all to see. Old trenches, half collapsed, shell holes, unexploded debris - and the remains of the tens of thousands of men who died on this relatively small patch of ground.

Traffic is constant, with horses straining at gun carriages and lines of men marching with rifles on their backs and heavy packs containing sandbags and shells to the east. With the roads devastated and the ground pitted with the scars of battle, movement isn't easy.

The rumble of guns is very loud here, and to the east can be seen a pall of smoke. Drifting back on the wind is the faint stench of explosives, of blood, and of death.

Chaloux gets away from the Germans and stops long enough to turn to Labelle. "Get off, run towards Arras," he tells the boy. "I'm going back to pick some friends up. Go!" He is revving the engine to give the clear message he's not going to wait.

Garner grabs on to the man's arm, and would pull him along, if he wasn't the one with gunshots everywhere. In such a case, Murphy drags Garner along, and Garner is grateful for it.

Chaloux comes driving back, now without a passenger. Seeing the two men, he skids to a halt. "Get on board!" he shouts to Garner.

Garner stops his running for second, grabbing onto a tree in near Labelle. He notices the man on the motorbike go back, and just shakes his head. "Showboating Frenchman…" A grin is seen, however. Showboating or not, he's a good man. THough a Brit won't admit that to a Frenchman.

1918 Harley-Davidson
Artillery Battery
================================================================================
[The Grid]-----> > > > > THE LOST GENERATION < < <
----------------
Once a verdant field, fertile and rich, this chunk of beautiful French countryside has been commandeered by the forces of war. The grass has been trampled underfoot into the mud, for here is a battery of impressive 8 inch British field guns, and a host of lesser ordinance. The guns are dug into sandbagged emplacements for German fire is frequent here, as the many fresh shell holes attest. A continual desultory fire is maintained on enemy positions, rising to a deafening, devastating barrage in times of higher operational tempo.

The reek of cordite from the guns, sweat from those who serve them, and bleach from the crews decontaminating the earth of the mustard so frequently used here assails the nostrils. Trenches continue east, and the wise stay in them, not straying to the exposed ground on either side.

Chaloux might not be a rescuing angel, but he does return to pick up a friend. And a French one, too. "Get on!" he shouts to Brand, ducking and swearing as bullets are hailing around him. And as soon as Brand is on the back of the bike he revs engines and drives off.

Labelle looks up at Garner only long enough to glare at the Brit and mutter something in French. It couldn't possibly have been complimentary, but it was too softly spoken to have been understood even if one did speak the language.

French Countryside
================================================================================
[The Grid]-----> > > > > THE LOST GENERATION < < <
----------------
The front lines once went through here, right up against the edge of the town, and though the war has since moved on, the wreckage and rot is still here for all to see. Old trenches, half collapsed, shell holes, unexploded debris - and the remains of the tens of thousands of men who died on this relatively small patch of ground.

Traffic is constant, with horses straining at gun carriages and lines of men marching with rifles on their backs and heavy packs containing sandbags and shells to the east. With the roads devastated and the ground pitted with the scars of battle, movement isn't easy.

The rumble of guns can be heard from the east.

(From 1918 Harley-Davidson) The bike has been going back and forth a bit, trying to find wounded friends. Now the noise of the engine returns and Chaloux and Brand show up.

Garner looks up, as the Harley comes back. He nods to himself, and turns to the group. "They might have set up a command post at the town. We need to get back there, and see if we can't get resupplied and regroup." He coughs once, then again, and it becomes a string, as he hangs on to a tree and simply coughs up blood. One can see why he has no apperication for heroics at the moment.

Murphy moves to try helping with Garner's wounded hand, using a scarf he snatched from some corpse in passing. He doesn't succeed quite well, though,

Labelle picks himself up off the ground and moves to help the wounded men, getting out the little first aid kit he carries. He can't do much for Garner's wounds, but Murphy's look more aidable. He gestures some gauze toward the Scot, asking permission to assist, it seems.

Garner looks up to Murphy as he works on his hand, and gives a small smile, as he reaches around him, and pulls out guaze with another mangled hand, attempting to rap around his own chest, and failing, miserably. "I'll live, mate. Get yourself fixed up."

The bike isn't in that good condition so Chaloux gets off it once they're in relative safety and moves over to check on the others, after assisting Brand to a lying down position somewhere. He ties some bandage around his hand, and he could use some rest but if he sits down he isn't sure he'll get up again. "You're a tough son of a bitch," he dryly tells Garner, squinting at him.

Murphy sighs at Garner's words, "I'm fine," he offers, a bit defensively.

Garner shakes his head. He's sitting down now, just resting, breathing, and relishing in life. "Tough? Yeah. THat and I don't want to die just yet. God, or whoever

Garner shakes his head. He's sitting down now, just resting, breathing, and relishing in life. "Tough? Yeah. THat and I don't want to die just yet. God, or whoever's running this war, still needs me." He looks to Murphy. "Okay. Sit down, then. Wait for a Nurse to tell you otherwise."

Gough is here, on his horse, his staff about him, a short time after the battle. The battle still going on in the distance, with the thunder of guns and the sounds of gunfire as the last defences are being mopped up. Looking through fieldglasses at the action.

Labelle helps Murphy as he can. There isn't much the boy can do for Garner with his meager first aid skills. He returns to sitting on the ground until Gough and his fellows ride up. Then he stands on shaky legs, staring.

Garner has taken a few more seconds to breath, before he looks to his left, and sees the Damned General himself on horseback. He slowly comes to his feet, grabbing a few tree branches to aid him, and weakly limps closer to the man on horseback. When does someone get this type of opprtunity?

Chaloux snickers at Garner, shakes his head and then goes to hold up a tree for a bit. Seeing the high-ups over there, he stares himself; it's not everyday you see someone like Gough. Not that he's happy to see him. Lighting up a cigarette, he comments to nobody in particular; "Guess we'll do a lot of digging now."

"Thanks," Murphy offers quietly to Labelle, before he reaches into his pocket, and gets hold of a piece of bread, although hard, and not the best. He managed to snatch that one with him while he was hiding in the Mess Trench. Breaking off a part, he hands it over to the French kid, before he narrows his eyes as he sees the General on Horseback. Studying the man as if he's actively considering the possibility of gunning him down. He remains standing and just watches the Cough, though.

Labelle snatches up the bread. He tries not to wolf it in front of the general, but he can't help but nibble. He's hungry.

Stanley steps up from the rear, "General!" he exclaims, halting his rush to salute the officer.

Gough puts down the fieldglasses and notes the privates gathering around him. He knows his men at least, as he recognises their unit, and returns the salute. "Captain Fosters men? I hear your commander is missing. A terrible state of affairs, though the situation is confused, all the communications are out." he tells them, intending to display his human touch. "But don't worry men, we'll stop the Boche from getting any closer to Arras."

Murphy is injured, weary, pissed off and in a bad need of getting himself so drunk that he won't be able to stand on his feet for a number of days, so no salute to the General from him. Instead he just listens, expression like it's carved from stone, now. And almost with that calculating look in his eyes.

Stanley lowers the salute after the British general returns it. He's perhaps one of the few here not a Private. "Yes sir. Under Captain Foster's command." and steels his jaw. "Missing sir?" and looks with a turn of his head east. "Have our artillery batteries been moved back in time, or did they overrun them too? They won't have any wire laid between us and their current position at this time."

Chaloux makes an effort and straightens up, saluting Gough in the typical French manner. He says nothing though, just listens and holds his tongue.

Garner continues to move forward, getting close to his comrades and the Big Man himself. He has to pause every so often to cough, and hack up blood, but he continues to move forward, with the resolve that has kept him alive for so long. "And there's a matter of the dead, sir…" He says, before he breaks down into more cough. He will be on this line, and is resigned to it. But there are other matters that should be attended to, as well.

Labelle takes his bread out of his mouth and puts it in his pocket. He straightens up and salutes the English general.

Brand takes a very long time to get off the motorcycle, covered in injuries as he is. His right arm almost hangs uselessly by his side.

Gough looks down at the green grass, which won't be green for much longer, as the war is about to flow over it. "Dig in here, men. The Germans don't look like they'll be happy with what they have, and I'm sure you'll see them off, but only with the right preparation. I'll be sure to see to it that you get assigned new commander, brave men like yourself deserve to be well led.".%rOho. %rGough turns to point at Vimy Ridge, visible to the north, where heavy guns are still blazing. "The Canadians have been attacked fiercely but the ridge is still in our hands, with all the artillery we have positioned there. The situation appears to be grave indeed though, men, I can't deny it. We all have to be strong, and believe in the righteousness of our cause, and the Germans will crack before we do. Their casualties have been huge, I am sure."

IT's about this time that a lone figure appears, making their way back from the former front lines. Bloody, but clearly in a dress under all the various shades of red, and with her little cap nearly completely off her head, it's one of the nurses. A particular french, blonde nurse, in fact.

Stanley gives a firm nod to the general, his eyes snapping to notice Corporal Brand, though. "Yes sir.", speaking as he steps closer to the man who's just dismounted from the motorcyle. "Have you been looked after by a medic?" whispered to Brand.

Chaloux moves to aid Brand to a position somewhere as comfortable as possible, still listening to the general. He sets his jaw tightly when hearing those words from Gough, but he can't be surprised by it. And he's alive, he can't complain much.

"Didn't bloody well seem like they took many," Murphy mutters, mostly to himself, but probably loud enough to be heard by most others as well, as he simply watches the General carefully. Leaning heavily on his rifle, for the moment.

Garner sighs to himself, and striaghtens up. THe dead will wait, it seems. He props himself up and gives a saluate with a managled hand. Looks like it's the time for the shovels.

Stanley grabs his first aid kit, "Nurse? Can you help him?" to Elise. Corporal Stanley himself beings getting bandages ready with a firm look to Brand's wounds.

Stanley lifts Brand's shirt, wrapping bandages around the fellow corporal's gut after trying his best to cleanse it with peroxide.

Gough has a whole army to command! He can't stay here with this platoon. He gives them all a final nod, and then nudges his horse with his knees so it turns around, and begins to plod off to the west, talking to his staff as he goes about the problems of the battle. He seems quite confident, though.
Stanley then starts wiping the mud and blood off from Brand's right hand, adding bandaging there in a wrap while the general departs.

It's been longer than it should have been for Elise to join the group if she'd fled the front when the rest of the soldier's had. Hearing her name, Elise blinks slowly, offering a rather uneloquent (it's a word now, deal with it) and dazed, "Eh?" at Stanley's request. She looks rather…well, the nurse definately isn't herself, suffice to say. And then she nods slightly, though it takes much longer than it should for the request to register as she steps unsteadily towards Stanley, ignoring Brand. Oops.

Stanley looks to Brand, "Your right arm, corporal." with a grim expression. "Please, nurse. I need your help with his arm."

As the General rides off, Murphy slowly lifts his rifle, aiming it at the man. But being both wounded and tired, he falls over before he can manage to do anything stupid. And that with some noise.

Labelle sinks back and down onto the ground again when the general departs. Resuming gnawing on his bread.

Brand finally lets down the hotchkiss that caused him all the injuries, "I'd set up the defenses here…" he seems to want to continue regardless of his drooping arms.

Chaloux notices Elise finally and just stops and stares at her for quite a long time. He just can't think of anything to say. He could yell, or he could just let it go. He's too tired to yell at her, so he just turns away and goes to find a shovel to start digging.

Garner drops his saluate once the General passes, and hobbles over to where the shovels are, again, stopping every so often to cough up some more blood. It looks like he'll keep up until he collapses, dies, or both.

Stanley shakes his head after waiting for the nurse, using his first aid kit to try to bandage the fellow's chest after dousing it with peroxide to cleanse. "Brand. I can't do anything for your arm. We'll need to get you to a doctor in Arras."

Stanley lowers to try to check out the flesh of Brand's left leg, the hole there left by a shell or fragments. "Steady now."

Brand nods to Stanley, "Don't worry. We can't let the germans overrun this place. If I have to fight with my left hand at the MG, so be it." he says fervently

Stanley frowns in Elise's direction. "I'm not in the medical corps, but it looks like I'm the only one doing anything to save this man's arm." Back to Brand, "Corporal. Certain truth is you might lose your arm. I'm going to try to keep it on, nurse or no nurse, doctor or no doctor. I'll stop the bleeding if I can."
help ground

Elise frowns softly as she's waved away from Stanley, and she stops before slowly turning away. She may not be herself, but recognises the sound of a cough that shouldn't sound the way it does. Her frown deepens, and she scans the area before beginning to move towards Garner.

Brand nods as he hears Stanley, "Do what you can. Thanks. But I'd serve here on the lines injuries or no." Brand's apparently in his stubborn mood, and the pain hasn't quite overcome his adrenaline at this time

And if anyone would be looking, it seems that when Murphy hit the ground, the exhaiston and wounds and all that making sure that he's slipped out of being awake for the moment. And for the sake of everything, let him get some well-deserved rest, and then he'll dig holes for the rest of his days, if it's needed.

Stanley tries to fix a sling for Brand, eyes narrowed as he sees Elise moving towards Garner after his words. "I think I can stop the bleeding." murmured quietly to the corporal as he works on his arm. "But you can't stay here. I need to get you into Arras to the hospital." The sling does seem to hold the mangled arm steady. It takes some work for Stanley to stop all the bleeding from the limb, though.

Garner has grabbed a shovel, and is moving back toward the small amount of digging that has begun, ready to add his own meager, almost non-existant contribution. He looks up toward the Nurse walking toward him, and gives a grin. "Ahh! Good to see someone from the Medical Corps got through here. We've got alot of wounde-" He stops, for another bout of coughing up blood. This one sends him to a knee, before he stands up, and continuing forward.

As Garner goes down to a knee, Elise reaches his side. She reaches out to try and help the man back to his feet, reaching to take the shovel from his hands. "Non," she murmurs, but says nothing else. She carefully slips one arm around his waist, holding the shovel in her other hand, before she tries to lead him to the side, away from the started foxholes. OUt of th eway of flying dirt.

Stanley is trying to steady Brand's arm, the mangled limb torn up pretty badly. He's got his first aid kit out, and there's bandages wrapped on Brand's thigh, hands, both arms, and even his chest and abdomen. No nurse or doctor is assisting Stanley at the moment, who seems to cast frowns in Elise's direction while he tends the badly wounded arm.

Antonia is walking back from the front, carrying a load of badly-needed supplies towards the church…

Stanley calls out to Antonia, "Doctor! Corporal Brand needs medical attention. His arm!" then looks back to try to set the elbow in the makeshift sling he's already fashioned.

Garner weakly grabs for the shovel with an almost unworking hand, and just as weakly tries to get away. "I'm not dead yet, damn it. I can rest soon, I promise. We need to get that trench dug up, and get positons placed, machine guns set up. Maybe in a few hou-" Another bout of coughing up blood. He is in no condition to move forward, what, with someone pulling him away.

Antonia looks up hearing the calls. She's a mess from the earlier skirmish, streaked with dirt and the blood of men who may never be identified. Her fingernails are nearly black with dried blood. She gathers the blankets and medical kit tightly in her arms, hurrying at the sound of Stanley's voice. "I'm here, sir," she says, pulling the hem of her skirt out of the way as she rushes to the two men. "Corporal Brand…"

"Non, you vill not rest later," Elise mutters quietly at Garner. She really doesn't have overly much strength left herself, but she isn't about to admit such to the soldier. "Zer are ozer men to dig zee trenches. You…you must rest."

And slowly, slowly, the trench grows. It won't be until nightfall or so that it will serve as something else than a foxhole, but it's better than nothing. Chaloux is working rather furiously and looks over at Brand, nodding at the Corporal.

Stanley blinks as Brand moves to dig in the trench, away from where Stanley had the first aid kit out. "Yeah. Him." more under his breath to Antonia, stepping back as if hoping her iron maiden willpower will handle it.

Brand is carefully working lefthanded with the shovel at the foxhole, "If we don't work and die here, what's the difference if I lose my arm or not?"

Garner finally stops the megear amount of strugling, finally walking with Elise instead of aganist her. "I suppose you're right. Can't do to well digging exhausted. Maybe I could see a surgeon as well, you know. This chest wound seems to be getting a bit worse." Another coughing fit. He's really getting the hang of those.

"If you make yourself useless after this then it's a larger loss than this one," Antonia says to Brand. Her voice does not invite argument. She pulls supplies from her kit, stepping down close to the widening trench. "Let me see to your arm, damn you."

Elise gives Garner a slight nod, and getting him to a spot she's satisfied with, a short way from the slowly forming trench, she helps him sit. "Let me see," she murmurs, tossing the shovel to the side.

Stanley steps near the other side of Antonia. "I patched him up as best I could, doctor. Alot of hits, all over. I agree that he needs to go back to the church hospital in Arras." The man steps back to not be in her way.

Garner sits down (one might say collapses) at the spot he's helped to. He chuckles a bit to the nurse, when she asks to see the wound. "What would you like to see, Nurse? Chest, hands, scalp, my leg, I think? I'll be the gentleman and allow you to choose what you'd like to see first.

Chaloux glances over at Elise for awhile, but he's rather… distracted. And he is so obviously keeping a distance, to the point of having to turn his back and dig somewhere else.

Elise seems fairly intent on doing what she can to keep herself distracted, though being as she hasn't so much as looked at Chaloux, it's doubtful she's trying to ignore him. Elise shudders gently at Garner's words, and she shakes her head before looking up and over her shoiulder. Locating Antonia, she calls, "Doctor! Ven you ave time!" Not that she expects that to be any time soon.

Brand shakes his head to Antonia, "I'd work a little more and then go back with you, Doctor. But I can't stay there for too long."

"You'll stay there until I'm finished with you," Antonia says to Brand, not afraid of looking him in the eye when she says that. She turns her head at Garner and Elise's call for her though. No sense wasting time with a man that won't cooperate when there were those that would. She steps out of the trench; she could hammer Brand in a bit. Dragging her kit over to where Garner lies, she shrugs off her uniform jacket. Her left hand is still bandaged in a mud-ridden gauze, and she gets her fingers under the edge, tearing it off. Her hand is nowhere near healed but she needs her fingers. "Private Garner," she says as she kneels by them. "Let me see you. We'll need to get you back to the church as well."

Stanley nods to Antonia, "Thank you." quietly after Brand's sent back with wounded. "The general's said we're holding the line here. That means our artillery batteries and the medical station on the line, and all our trenches are held by the Germans now."

Garner laughs, which ends, of course, in a hacking cough, one that spatters blood in front of of him. "God, everyone's telling me to take it easy these days. I know I'm wounded, but I'm not /dead/. I'll survive a bit longer, any way. Don't really want to go under the kinfe, but, you know, as long as there's no needles, I think." Oh, he's rambling, alright. So he probably won't object being helped to the church.

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