Wire Party

Who: Singh, Stanley, Brooks, Chaloux, Foster
When: November 27, 2005
Summary: Some wire-cutting goes a bit wrong.

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.

Stanley is in the trench, his gas gear on. The Canadian's conversing with Brooks in a low voice as flares are popped off now and then in the distance. The man's goggled eyes are peering towards the Germans. "No artillery tonight." as Singh moves into a trench as well.

Singh moves into the trench and sits, a little apart from Brooks and Stanley. He's also suited up in his gas gear as well, the mask fixed carefully in place. He looks up at the sky when artillery is mentioned, but says nothing.

Brooks, on the other hand, is without gas gear. He does have his gear within reach, though. He has his rifle in hand currently, as he leans back against the trench wall again. "I'm glad."

Chaloux joins the rest in the trench, wrangling with his Chauchat somewhat, the heavy weapon being his most favored possession, despite its total unreliability. He too is all geared up for gas attacks.

Stanley is wearing his gas mask and gear, rifle aimed towards the front where No Man's Land is dark at the moment. Hearing movement, he turns his head a bit to look over his shoulder. Spotting Foster, he quickly spins to salute with the rifle released to rest on the mound. "Sir!"

Singh notes Chaloux, and his Chauchat. The gun likely earns a skeptical look, but it's shadowed by his gas mask. He does offer a nod of acknowledgement to the Frenchman.

Foster prowls in. Officer on deck! He has an aid with him, as well, clutching at a folder full of papers. And quickly returns Singh's salute. "At ease, men. How are you all holding up?" he asks, looking around at the muddy trench and its presumably equally muddy occupants.

Chaloux lets out a grunt and and doesn't salute, as he's learned that by now. He nods back at Singh, then turns attention to Foster, putting the machine gun over a shoulder for now. Instead of replying in words, he just lifts his shoulders in a casual shrug, and makes a gesture with a hand that probably means 'Things are just fine and dandy'.

Stanley speaks through his mask, now facing the officer. "No sign of movement from the enemy, sir. Just the usual flares." His posture is of a soldier trying to be straight and formal for the man of superior rank, yet at the same time trying not to have his head too exposed to German snipers.

Brooks looks up to Foster, moving to give a quick salute as well, though relaxes again at the response to the earier one now. He nods in agreement to Stanley's words, and says, "Doing well, sir."

Singh also offers the British officer a respectful salute. He gives no verbal response, but does nod at Brooks' 'doing well' bit.

Foster nods. "Probably hiding in their holes." he says a bit dismissively. "General Gough has been making sure that the enemy is feeling hard pressed at all times, there have been plenty of shells and gas sent as presents to make sure Fritz isn't feeling unwelcome in France."

Stanley offers more quietly, "Good to hear, sir." as he relaxes a bit, but remains standing before the captain. He waits, his attention given to the man, listening as best he can through the mask.

Chaloux turns his head, looking back and forth between the other soldiers, none of the close ones being another French one. Not talkative even on a good day, he lets out another grunting sound, sounding carefully positive. There's a hint of old fashioned skepticism and cynicism in his eyes though as he looks back to Foster.

Brooks gives a slight grin at Foster's comments, and nods in agreement with Stanley's words again. He keeps his rifle in hand in a ready, but more relaxed stance.

Singh smiles ever so slightly at Foster's words, though that's another expression that's likely lost through the mask. He simply stands, watches and waits, eyes occasionally drifting their focus toward the east.

Foster nods at them all, and gestures to his aide, who produces, from the folder, a black and white photograph, of not particularly good quality. He beckons the privates to gather around, while his aide holds a lantern, appropriately hooded so as not to draw the attentions of the enemy, to make the map readable. "This is a photograph of this area taken by the RAF yesterday. It looks like we are sitting opposite a weakness in the German positions, in that they have no bunkers or pillboxes, as you've no doubt noticed."

Stanley turns his head a bit, checking the front towards No Man's Land. He then steps forward after seeing it appears clear to examine the map and photograph the captain's presented.

Chaloux joins the group, leaning in to look at the photograph, squinting through the gasmask's goggles. Then he looks up at Foster again, a queston in his eyes.

Singh comes closer to the captain to take a better look at the photograph. His eyes narrow to try and take it in. After much squinting, he nods slightly.

Brooks takes a step closer to see the picture as well, changing how he's holding the rifle to make sure it's not pointing at anybody. He nods a little to the description, "So they'd be vulnerable to an assault, sir?"

Foster shakes his head. "Well, no… Fritz has been making up for the lack of machine guns on the line here with lots of wire. Defence on the cheap as it were. You've probably noticed it, directly opposite us…" he points to a barely recognisable spot on the map, "…is a veritable forest of the stuff."
Stanley leans to try to make out the details further, noting in his mind the shape of the visible German trenches and where there might be signs in the photograph of wire. "Singh, you'll be the hero tonight."

Chaloux just keeps watching Foster with the expectancy of someone who knows he might die today. Stanley gets an odd look, and the French private adjusts his gasmask in a slow, deliberate gesture.

Singh nods when wire is mentioned, a knowing sort of nod. "You want the forest thinned?" he asks the Captain with the slightest of grins. His only response to Stanley is, "I am only glad I may finally be of some use."

Brooks looks at the picture again, and then in the direction of the enemy, as if thinking. He nods a bit and then looks back to Singh, grinning a bit again. This time, though, he says nothing, and looks back to Foster, and keeps listening.

Foster nods at Singh. "There is no assault planned, but the General likes to keep his options open - and he likes to see reports that every man is doing his bit to make German lives miserable. If its thinned, then Fritz will likely come out and try and lay some more, and we've got those two machine guns here ready if he does."

Stanley slowly nods his mask, going quiet for just a moment. His eyes glisten with the intensity of focus on the words and racing thoughts unspoken, though. The rifle's shifted a bit to rest on his shoulder. "Captain, sir. Private Singh to thin the wire as an engineer, with another to assist. Plus two men to cover with rifles, then?" He pauses to add, "With the utmost stealth, of course, sir."

Chaloux shifts his feet in the mud, listening closely to the plans. He leans in to look at the map and photographs again, perhaps planning out where he'll be of most use himself.

Singh nods to Foster. "I shall make their Black Forest an empty meadow, sir." He says those words with the air of a solemn promise. And sounds almost eager to be at it. "Perhaps I can also build up our own defenses, if we stay hidden from Hun eyes long enough."

Foster nods… "I doubt the Germans have much over there, at least until they are alerted, so not many sets of prying eyes to search the blackness. Their machine gun nest is to the south of here, anyway. And there is no need to push your luck on this part of the line, with the Vickers ready and waiting."

Stanley slowly nods, squinting through the mask's goggles to spot where the captain had indicated the German machine gun nest could be found. He waits now, listening to every detail the officer speaks.

Brooks continues to listen to all this, staying quiet still as he takes it all in, looking to Singh and then back to Foster, and just waiting still, no longer making guesses.

Singh nods in understanding to Foster. "It shall be done as you order, sir," he says, that cool eagerness still ringing in his voice.

Foster wrinkles his nose. "I'm pondering the merit of Private Singh going out on his own with the rest only engaging if Private Singh comes under fire."

Chaloux gives Singh a skeptic look, as if not entirely sure of the man's sanity. And then he gives Foster another one of those cynical looks. At least he keeps his mouth shut. And there might be the reason he's only private yet, those cynical looks.

Stanley's eyes go to Singh hearing the captain's comment. A bit of the sharpness seems to drain for a moment, the expression of the eyes even seeming a bit worried. "May I suggest at least one other go in support of Private Singh, sir." And more quietly, almost murmured, "Engineers are hard to come by."
Singh shows little reaction to this suggestion. "Whatever you think best, sir," he replies simply to Foster.

Foster nods at Stanley. "Well, you have some more experience than I, Private. Whatever you think best. A shame Sergeant Harrison is still in the hospital, I believe…"

Brooks nods slightly in agreement with Stanley. Then he says, "Sir, I'll volunteer to help keep him cover. Might not have had a shot at the enemy, yet, but I'm a good shot, sir."

Stanley's lips close as he regards the Captain, hearing the words. He gives a slow nod of his head and begins to carefully remove the mask, loosening his uniform a bit. No spoken explanation why, but he looks over to Singh and the already unmasked Brooks as well, giving a quiet additional nod.

Foster mmrs. "I think we need someone quiet rather than a crack shot, Brooks."
Foster adds, "Hopefully…"

Brooks nods a little to Foster and says, "Yes sir, I understand. I can be quiet too, sir, but it's not my specialty." He glances to Singh, and Stanley, before looking back to the officer.

Singh watches the interplay between Stanley and Foster without comment. He then also begins to remove his gas gear, putting it carefully aside in a secure part of the trench. Stanley's nod is returned. His dark eyes give the man an appraising look.

Stanley's gas gear isn't stowed in the trench, merely stuffed into the pouch clipped to his uniform for carrying it with him. The man will have it available out in the field, if needing to don it quickly.

The French soldier knows what he's supposed to do; shoot the hell out of anything moving on the other side should they discover Singh. He doesn't volunteer to help the engineer cause he's not the least sneaky either.

Foster nods… "Well. Private Stanley volunteered, and seems to know what he's doing. I suggest we get on with it, gentlemen."

Stanley waits till there comes a point when Foster seems inclined to offer a moment for the Privates to comment among themselves. When it comes, he turns to Brooks and speaks quietly. "Brooks, you told me you're a sharpshooter. I know I'd feel safer with you covering from here." There's a swallow, and he nods to Foster's words.

Singh nods to Foster, giving the captain another subtle salute, before readying his weapon and beginning his exodus from the trench. No more comments from this one. He's gone silent for this task.

Chaloux moves to set his machine gun up, getting up on a ledge so he can look over the edge of the trench. The Chauchat is deployed and he squints into the darkness.

Brooks nods to Stanley and says softer, "Good luck." He gives a bit of a grin and says, "I'll do my best to keep you covered." He brings up his weapon and turns to get ready.

Stanley 's eyes catch Singh moving off, and he himself ducks down to keep low, moving behind the South Asian engineer.

Singh moves out of the trench but, when the flare goes off, he goes no further over the top. He bites off a whisper in some language that is definitely not English. It has the sound of a curse, whatever he's saying. "Hold a moment," he whispers back to Stanley.

Martell readies his rifle, then pulls himself up and out of the trench, takinging a knee with the sandbags directly behind him. The cover's a good deal sparser than in the trench, but should the engineers run into any trouble, they'll need more back up then a bunch of boys in the trench could provide.

Stanley crouches low once the flare goes off, a short nod to the Engineer ahead of him as he tries to keep from being spotted under the light of the German flare.

Foster is more or less at the back of course, and ducks down himself when the flare goes off. "I have more front to inspect. I will return later. Earlier if I hear firing." he whispers as if the Germans could hear, and then heads off.

Singh keeps low to the ground near Stanley, eyes watching the sky. As if praying for it to darken. "You did not have to come," he whispers to the Canadian. He doesn't sound as if he's trying to dissuade him from coming. In fact, there's a hint of surprised admiration in his voice.

Chaloux hasn't said a word yet and isn't changing a good habit. He just lifts his mask momentarily so he can spit, then hurriedly puts it back on. He checks ammunition on his Chauchat habitually.

Stanley's helmet nods. In a whisper, "Now", to Singh. No spoken response to the young man's words. The Canadian swings his Enfield around as he readies to move.

Singh nods. "Now," he agrees in a whisper. With that, he resumes his careful creep eastward.

Brooks glances back at Foster's retreat, looking surprised by that. He looks back to the front again then, though, rifle held ready and watching Stanley and Singh move forward, and for any other movement.

Chaloux lies down behind some sandbags on the edge of the trench, his weapon aimed in the direction of the germans while he waits to see if Singh and Stanley will be so lucky as to not be discovered at all.

Singh keeps belly-low to the ground as he goes, trying to be as quiet as he can. His rifle is kept within easy reach. He smiles grimly when he takes in the wire on the German lines. A forest, indeed. And it's time for cutting those trees.

Stanley crawls and crouches behind the nighttime dark hollow formed by some wire. He keeps pretty silent, his movement limited by need. As Singh starts clearing the obstacles, Private Stanley silently reaches over to help move cleared wire to assist.

Martell tosses a look to the soldier beside him, and says in a low, hopeful whisper, "Maybe we'll get lucky this time, eh? We're due an un-eventful raid every once in awhile." Then he goes back to scanning the darkness of no man's land, nervously awaiting flashes of gunfire to appear in the blackness.

Singh works at the wire with a sort of cool professionalism, his hands not moving exactly speedily, but with some acquired skill. He inclines his head to Stanley, as if thanking for the assistance, as he works. In complete silence.

Stanley does his best to remain silent, ducked in a crouch as he assists the engineer in clearing the wire. No movement, his eyes mostly focused on the Indian lad's hands involved in the task.

Chaloux is staring intently eastwards, past the two who are cutting the wire away. He makes another grunting sound in agreement with Martell, squeezing his Chauchat a bit more tightly in gloved hands.

Brooks nods a little to Martell, and says, "Yeah. I kind of wanted them to pop up before, but not now. Wait until we don't have anybody out there."

Stanley seems not to be doing too well with the wire, the other fellow obviously with competant training he himself might lack. He draws both hands back to ready the rifle instead, turning his attention towards the German lines to spot as lookout.

Singh continues and work and work and work. His fingers clear away the wire with a certain deftness, despite the roughness of the work. He looks up at Stanley, hands not stopping, and tilts a brief nod to the east. As if asking the man if he sees anything.

Stanley crawls down into a shell hole and peeks over towards the east, trying to make out the silhouette of the German lines.

Chaloux looks up at the sky for a moment, as if expecting a flare to make things rougher. But their luck holds, for now. He shifts his grip, flexing his fingers for a moment, wettening his lips under the mask. A glance is given to first his left, then his right, making eyecontact as best as he can in the dark, looking deceptively confident.

Singh glances over his shoulder when Stanley moves off, nodding slightly and then returning his focus to the wire. It's slow going, but the forest is getting thinner.

Stanley points East, then raises one finger. A grim nod over to Singh as he ducks back down into the shell hole.

Singh looks over his shoulder at Stanley. He notes the finger and nods, but continues his slow cutting of the wire. Perhaps he has not been seen yet.

Tension grows, Chaloux barely believing their luck so far. And no flares in quite awhile - can things really go this smoothly?

Stanley keeps his rifle readied, his vision fixed on the German lines to the east. The man's all business now, the lanky form of the teenager kept low and settled against the earth.

Singh is likewise all business. Silent and efficient as he can be. He's down to his last tree now, and he works to felling it with renewed vigor.

Stanley keeps his eyes to the East, trained on what faint remnants of light can make visible there. No movement, no words.

Brooks stays silent now as he keeps close watch on the east, rifle up and ready but smiling a little as time goes by with no flares.

And there we go. Chaloux blinks rapidly to adjust eyes to the sudden light over the field. Then curses as gunfire begins.

Singh makes his final cut just as the flare lights up the sky. He then starts moving back with all deliberate speed, motioning hurridly for Stanley to go as well.

Stanley lets out a grunt and ducks down flat. "Sniper! Fritz from the trench." He turns to gather his gun and spring out of the shell hole with all the speed he can.

Brooks curses as well as the gunfire begins. He raises his rifle a bit more, scanning to try to spot the enemy snipers, starting to get up to move but holding as they start to run back.

From No Mans Land Central, a male voice shouts, "Bloody hell!".

Chaloux does as Brooks, preparing to sprint out there and start shooting back, but holding position. "Hurry, hurry," he now says in his coarse voice, broken English spoken. His first words of the day. Then, realizing that something's not right… he curses in French and moves out east.

No Mans Land Central
[The Grid]-----> > > > > THE LOST GENERATION < < <
A signpost stands, forlorn, amidst the cratered landscape. An old road went through here, but the road is far from serviceable and unlikely to be easier to travel upon then any other part of the landscape. What might have once been a noble military goal to achieve in capturing and holding the road into the city is now more a matter of principles, for while the road is still marked on the generals maps it has effectively ceased to exist. The road, along with the landscape around it, has been shelled almost beyond recognition and the grass plains and fields on each side now more closely resemble the furrowed face of a witch.

Craters, former ditches and drainpipes under the road is what the whole area now consists of, along with a whole lot of graves, covered with a soft blanket of red poppies.

Stanley turns and dashes west. "Singh went the wrong bloody way." as the Frenchman appears.

Stanley turns and pops off a shot at the German, cursing under his breath.

Chaloux isn't even waiting to get into a shellhole, letting lose the power of the Chauchat in rapid fire, more intent on disturbing the germans than actually hitting. Not that easy to hit when just shooting like a madman, anyway. The sound of the machine gun fills the air, mingling with shots from other weapons.

Hjalmar reloads his crappy German gun. And people said the Lee Enfield bigger clip doesn't matter? Pshaw.

Stanley speaks quickly, "Singh's down. Pull back. He fell in the German trench!" He tries to motion the others to follow, Westwards.

Chaloux falls into a shell hole and then lifts his weapon to shoot again, the heavy machine gun handled like he knows what he's doing. But… it wouldn't be a Chauchat if it didn't jam too. And it does, in this very inopportune moment. "Merde!"

Brooks runs out, moving towards one of the shell holes, but instead nodding and popping off a shot at the enemy to try to give Stanley cover as they retreat.

Hjalmar rewards Brooks with an ill aimed shot. Ill aimed because of all this lead he's attracting.

Chaloux insistantly waves at the rest to get the hell back; he's in a shell hole, he has deployed his machine gun and is getting it unjammed any second.

Stanley speaks, "Boys, back to our lines! We can't take on the whole German line by ourselves. Remember the orders!" It's all spoken quickly, in between grunts and dodges as he attempts to make his way west.

From German Front Line Central, a male voice shouts, "Erhalten sie hierhin!".

Brooks jumps towards some cover, and this time takes a moment to try to get a bead on the one shooting most actively, before firing another round.

Stanley adds a final, "The Hun's wire's cut." and ducks down in a dive behind the Western trenches.

Chaloux unjams his machine gun and lets another round rip towards the German lines. Then ducks down as mud and dirt sprays around him from the enemy. He grabs his machine gun and begins making his way back as quickly as he can, letting off another round first.

Hjalmar has a delicate constitution, due to being phosgened fairly recently. And so when hit in the chest, rather than clinging desperately to life, he sinks to the mud, dropping out of sight.

Brooks grins as he sees Hjalmar go down, and quickly gets up, moving towards their line again, but doing his best to stay in cover until there.

Chaloux begins to make his way back, keeping as low a profile as possible. It's going to take him some time to get back, but at least he's not under fire right now.

Chaloux is wondering what made him run out here in the first place. He's old. He should leave it to the younguns. He pants as he begins running back, speeding up, stumbling a bit on some obstacles in the darkness. And that machine gun, god damn is it heavy. He resists the urge to throw it in the mud, instead squeezing it harder to himself, focusing on the friendly line of trench in front of him.

Stanley is out of the trench, holding his rifle waving to Chaloux to take cover below. The man speaks quickly, "Are you hit?"

Brooks grins as Chaloux gets back to their line. He looks to Chaloux and calls, "Hurry, get in cover!"

Chaloux jumps into near safety, panting heavily. "No," he pants at Stanley, then throws his machine gun over his shoulder and begins making his way towards the trench itself. "Sacre bleu. Anyone have a cigarette?"

Stanley follows Chaloux down, after the Frenchman's in the trench.

Brooks slumps down into the trench as the others get into cover. His grin fades, though, after a moment of panted breath. "What happened to Singh? Think he's still alive over there?" He glances over the lip of the trench again, then back to the others.

Stanley sighs. "Heavens. He ran in the wrong direction. I couldn't stop him in time before the German took him down." Stanley shakes his head. "Inside the German trench. Not even in No Man's Land."
Stanley seems to consider something, and quickly pulls out his gas mask and gear. "Just to be safe" as he pulls it over his head.

Chaloux kicks a rat hard, sending it flying with a loud squeaking. He puts his machine gun down, resting it against his foot, patting his pockets down to find himself a cigarette. He removes the mask for awhile, pushing it up over his head so he can smoke. His hands shake slightly, adrenaline slowly leaving him.

Brooks winces as Stanley says that, glancing up again towards No Man's Land. "I got the one who was shooting at us, anyway. If he's the one who got Singh, he won't be getting anybody else."

Stanley hrmms. "I heard your gun jam." first to Chaloux, through the mask. Then, to Brooks, "I tried to snap a shot while drawing back, but it missed. He was in cover."

Chaloux crouches down a little, squinting at the others. "I heard a hun shout," he mutters. "Something about 'halt'. Perhaps Singh is not dead." His English comes a bit hesitantly, broken.

Stanley speaks low, "See someone." and squints, "White flag?"

From No Mans Land Central, a male voice shouts, "You left one of your friends behind. Careless of you! Maybe we could come to some arrangement?".

Brooks raises his gun again as he notices someone else, but then hesitates as he sees the flag, looking confused. He glances back to Stanley, and then to Chaloux. "Should we get an officer?"

Chaloux straightens up again and peers into No Man's Land, expression unreadable. Then he nods to Brooks, before he turns to march off and find the closest officer.

Stanley nods to Brooks and his suggestion. "I saw the captain west of here, by the howitzers." to the machine gunner.

Stanley then calls out towards No Man's Land.
Stanley shouts, "HOLD! ACTUNG!".

From No Mans Land Central, a male voice shouts, "Not got all day, Tommy. Where is your officer?".

Stanley murmurs low to Brooks, "Sight him. But don't fire unless he violates his white flag, eh?"

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.

Foster is inspecting one of the guns, and making sure the crew is awake, should they be needed, and generally being a pain in the ass to the long suffering private. As is his job.

Chaloux finishes his cigarette about the time he gets to these part of the trenches, tossing it aside as he sees Foster. Here, not too close to the front, he throws out a typical French salute at the British officer. "Sir, some huns are waving white flag. They took Singh as prisoner," he explains immediately, not wishing to waste time.

Foster sighs at that. "Bloody Indian." he mutters. "Should have them send him back to Bangalore… alright, Private. Lets go.". Leaving the gunners, he moves into the comm trench and begins trudging east. Its a long way…

Chaloux keeps his opinions to himself, holding back comments about the British. They're here to help free his country, after all…

(Back at the front line.)

Stanley turns to look up from his position in the trench. A quick rise to salute the Captain, gas defence gear worn. "One German, bearing a white flag, sir. He wishes to speak to an officer about a deal." More quietly, "They might have Singh. He ran the wrong way during the fight. All German wire's cut, though, sir." The latter parts are spoken more softly, as if not filled with pride at the account.

Chaloux is mooching in after Foster, his features hidden behind the mask. He takes a look eastwards.

Foster is defiantly unmasked. Wouldn't do to panic the men after all, or so he thinks. "I see. Well, lets go see what he wants then.". He peers eastwards.


Brooks keeps the German negotiator in his sights even as Stanley greets the officer, but does say, "Hopefully he has him, sir. He mentioned we left someone behind." He quiets again as the officer begins to shout.

Stanley turns to face the German through the parapet of sand bags with the captain's shout. His rifle gets readied.

Stanley murmurs, "Or, it's a good excuse for him to come out and inspect how badly their wire's been cut, and what shape our's is in." and slowly nods keeping his eye trained on the sights.
From No Mans Land Central, a male voice shouts, "You left one of your colonial lackeys behind! Not very sporting.".

Foster nods, and goes back to shouting.

Chaloux lights up another cigarette, pushing his mask up again, leaning back against the wall of the trench. He squints at the others, then smirks at the shouting from the German and the Brit.

From No Mans Land Central, a male voice shouts, "Well, he's still in one piece, I'm sure you'll be glad to know! So happens you took one of my men last week. Maybe we can come to some arrangement? You can have your lackey back, and I'll have my machine gunner?".

Stanley grits his teeth when he hears the prisoner described as a machine gunner. He offers no comment, remaining silent, but that position seems to rub him the wrong way.

Foster mrrs, and shrugs. "Well, we only wanted him for information, and we have it now. Either that or the RAF does anyway."


"Yes, Sir," Chaloux agrees readily. The unemotional Frenchman might not be as cold as he looks.

Stanley quietly nods his head, not speaking a response. He silently keeps watch on the German in No Man's Land.

From No Mans Land Central, a male voice shouts, "I hope you aren't going to consider a raid? Seems to be rather a lot of you over there. That would be… unwise. I'm sure Private Singh would agree, though he's a little too tied up at the moment to talk.".

Chaloux turns a look at Foster, then smokes some more. "Sun up?" he asks, to confirm. He gazes at the sky, as if watching for signs of dawn.

From No Mans Land Central, a male voice shouts, "At sunup, then!".

Stanley murmurs, "Fritz is moving back to his trench." offhandly.

Brooks relaxes as Erwin wanders off, lowering his gun as he glances back to the others. "At least he's still alive. Hopefully not hurt too bad."

Stanley murmurs low. "Careful, Brooks. They know our officer's here. They might lob a gas canister over hoping to get a lucky hit on brass."

Foster arches a brow, and notes, "I'll be in my dugout. Need some sleep if we are going to negotiating tomorrow.". And promptly heads off! At a disciplined pace of course.

Stanley looks over and nods back to Foster, going to attention for just a moment.

Brooks considers Stanley's words a moment with a startled expression at the idea, and then nods. He gives Foster a quick salute before following his friend's suggestion and pulling on a gas mask like the others.

Scott makes his way up from the southern part of the trench, looking around for a few moments. As he watches the officer walk off, he then looks at the other guys present, for a few moments.

Chaloux decides to take Foster's idea to himself and goes to get a nap, curling up in the trench.

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