Fantasy March To The Beat (WW1 Fantasy RP): In Character (Open!)

[AlbaGuBrath]

(Sorry this is so short, I'm trying to squeeze it into a very busy schedule...)


Amiens, France
March 20, 1918
Conor Culaan, British Army

Conor considered the offer for a moment, then shook the other's hand in agreement. His new supplies were slightly better than the standard issue, but not so much so that it would make a tremendous difference if somebody was injured. If they were bleeding, multiple lesser bandages would be of more help than a single higher quality one. They weren't exactly living in style around here, even a mostly clean shirt would do in a pinch. Stewart hadn't made any reply to the unspoken question in Conor's face, but the latter accepted it with relief. As he hadn't seen the makings of an enemy in the other's expression, he was content to consider him a friend.

At the American's question, Conor turned and gave him a toothy grin. "Why, not at all. Whatever gives you that idea?"

Nova Squid Raku

 

[Nova Squid]

- Over the French Countryside -
- 20 March 1918 -

The rounds from the second SPAD lit up the twilight like dazzling flares. Davis pulled away; the rookie had hit the German at the root of his wing and he was fixing to fall out of the sky. Wasn't fair to deny a new kid his first kill.

The two-seater reconnaissance plane whirled once, twice like a cone, before arcing downwards. Davis had the faintest sight of the man in the back seat go flailing into space before the plane dipped down and hit the ground, turning into a blazing, unrecognizable wreck, mired with flame lighting up the mud around it, and topped with a rising plume of smoke.

It was focusing on this light that let Davis see them. The first indication was the slight movements that ticked his senses. As he pulled in, diving closer to the wreck, the pilot's mouth dropped open.

Germans.

Rumbling tanks and marching soldiers. They were coming in the night. His roaring plane engine and the darkness of the cloud-mired twilight had masked them until now. There was to be no opening artillery bombardment; just a lightning attack that the Entente would never foresee until it was on top of them.

Davis pulled his SPAD around in a hurry. He had to get back to Liberte and warn the men. But he belatedly realized his fatal mistake; by pulling down to see the kill, he had placed his SPAD low enough to hide anyone coming in from the clouds until the last minute from his sight.

The last thing he saw was a flash of red wings before the 7.92mm bullet from the triplane burst his skull like a tomato.

Ribbit

- Frontal Trenches -
- 20 March 1918 -

Sergeant Coulson sighed as he pulled his groundsheet closer to himself in the crude cot along the wall of the trench. Damn this. He couldn't get any sleep even when the artillery wasn't dully popping in the distance. The elf squeezed his eyes shut and slid his helmet over them, trying to wrestle unconsciousness from the paranoia and misery of the trench situation.

So absorbed in his own trouble, Coulson never heard the low wheeze of the private on guard duty twenty yards away. His first sign of alarm was the sound of boots, but this wasn't uncommon in the trench. What started to jar him out of his fugue was the feeling of something's close presence. As the sergeant rolled upwards, his groundsheet wrapped around him, he only had the barest indication of a gray-wearing figure and a shadowed face under a steel helmet before the bayonet pierced his chest. His eyes bugged open as blood poured out, and he finally got a good look at his killer.

It was a stormtrooper. The MP-18 in his hands sported his own blood on the bayonet; as the stormtrooper stepped over his body to move on, Coulson had but a few seconds to realize the Germans were finally here before his vision went dark and he lost consciousness.

Raku AlbaGuBrath