Play@YSDC

October 2nd, 1918. Dusk.

The skies are grey and grim in France. The 1st and 2nd battalions of the 308th regiment are just starting to dig in.

Your squad sits hunched together, shoulder to shoulder in a shallow makeshift foxhole, shivering from either the damp chill, or the lack of faith in your hole's ability to stand up to a German assault. You are all exhausted and have been plagued by dizzy spells and terrible headaches all day. Around you, the rest of the men of the 1st and 2nd battalions, 308th infantry regiment, scurry about like frightened ants, squads of men trying to dig their foxholes in the rocky terrain. Lucky for you Sgt. Maddox forced you all to dig your hole the moment you got there.

The units occupy a shallow valley about three miles long and three hundred yards wide, through which a feeble stream flows. The area is relatively clear, the hillocks crowned with a few, sparse trees, while on all sides the thick tress of the Argonne form a dark, blurry, and impenetrable horizon.

As the last of the sunlight fades away, the color seems to ebb out of everything; the rough uneven ground becomes a flat, hazy mess of black mud and grey stone, and the dark woods beyond melt into the slate colored clouds above, seemingly to bury you with a cloud of gloom. Soldier transform into grey and white phantoms, flickering in and out of the encroaching shadows like figures in the a newsreel. A gentle, chilling rain falls as you huddle together, watching the mist of your breath and trying to work out the soreness of your aching and strained muscles.

A few yards away, a kerosene lantern sputters to life among the trees. In its warm, golden glow you see the long and somber face of Major Whittlesey, battalion commander, bespectacled eyes flashing with every nod and turn of the head to Captain McMurtry, his second. The two officers are talking to Lieutenant Wilhelm, your platoon leader, and gesturing to a map spread out on the ground. Looks like your platoon might not get to enjoy any R&R.

Just then, the din of shouts and scraping shovels is smashed by a deafening thunderclap. The ground beneath you shudders and the flash of the explosion brings color back into your world for just a flashbulb instant. Another shell slams home....and another, each leaving frozen images of skeletal trees and terrified soldiers in its wake. Another mortar shell hits a few yards away from your hole, showering you with dirt and pebbles, and a new sound emerges between the booming of the shells, the moans of the wounded.

"Artillery," murmurs Sgt. Maddox, your squads sergeant. "Wonderful! And here we are, we can't even dig in properly 'cause we've got no proper tools. This is fucking madness, it's like they didn't plan this at all!."

The other soldiers in the squad start adding to the Sarge's complaints; Earl Martin complains about the cold, "My socks are wet and freezing...again!" and Anthony Parks whines about the food, "I swear if I don't eat something other than canned meat soon I'm liable to off myself before any Huns."

OOC,This is the short introduction/prologue. Feel free to introduce your characters, react to anything in the thread. Currently you are relatively safe from the mortars. There are a number of other NPC soldiers filling out your platoon - short 1 line descriptions are given of them in the Dramatis Personae. I apologize for the late post, I was wrong about when my brother was leaving and then he missed his flight.

"Shut it, Parkth..." mumbed Birdy, numbly.

War was horrible and brutal. He felt blank inside, shut off, dead. It was the only way to cope. He gripped his rifle and gazed into nothing, ignoring the rain.

One foot in front of the other. One day and then the next. Survive. Go home. he spun in his head, like a mantra.

"I don't need you moaning on top of everything else" he explained. Park's filled him with Ire. Parks was how he used to be. He wished the guy would just shut up and deal with the grinding torment that was the war. How Birdy hated the war. The only time he felt alive was when he was fighting, but fighting could kill him. He tried to avoid thinking about that paradox too much, for one thing, it made sense.

"What's the plan, Sarge?" he asked bluntly. "Or do we justht wait here rolling celethtial dice until we get blown to bit'th?" he slurred. He was tired, beaten. His scar itched. He ignored it.

Private Nick Parker huddles in his foxhole. He had had the foresight to dig further inward after digging down, thus providing himself an alcove where he would be safe from shrapnel that fell in his hole. Of course, a direct hit would still kill him, and one day possibly would, but he had long since accepted that. If it isn't a mortar or artillery shell, it could be a bullet, or a flamethrower. He hopes it isn't a flamethrower. That's a terrible way to die. A bullet, nice and quick, that's the way to go. Or it could be disease, which would be awful in its own way. He ignores the soldiers griping. That's simply how they cope with an unbearable situation. If soldiers weren't allowed to complain, there'd be mutiny in short order.

"Seriously, Martin, next time I hear you complain it had better be in a dactylic hexameter, or I'll have you on boot cleaning duty till the Hun's run out of ammo.", the Doc managed to force a smile on his lips as he reprimanded the young soldier.

He stared out into the night, the rain of mud prompting him the wipe clean his hands. Well, as clean as he could anyway. Shrapnel wounds were always a mess and he'd probably be needed soon.

"Look at this way, we could be back in HQ with the Generals drinking wine and eating pheasant instead of being out here, winning the war for all those lovely ladies back home. Not to forget those in need of liberation here. We don't want that, do we? Pheasant tastes worse than Birdy's backside this time of year.", he tried to sound more cheery than he was, he really hated mortars...

"Im sure you are an expert on the flavourth of variouth backsides, Doc..." replied Birdy. He briefly risked a half-head out of the Foxhole to see if he could see anything.

Despite his grim grip on life, Doc always raised a smile from him.

" 'Course we ain't gotta plan Birdy. We ain't gonna move yet, not until Brass figures out what the fuck is going on with our little dance with the Germans here. Ol' "Witless" Whittlesey really got us in the shit this time." Sgt. Maddox replies gruffly. You've never really known him to be all that inspiring and helpful of an NCO anyway, but he seems particularly short tempered and exhausted today. The fatigue you can relate to, you've all been tired lately.

A light pattering dings the soldiers' helmets as sleet begins to fall in the small valley, you aren't sure but the din of the barrage seems to be speeding up. Doc's eyes caught sight a wounded man about eighty feet away, but the man was already being treated by another medic. As Birdy pops his head out of the foxhole he almost gets bawled over as a thin man comes sliding into the foxhole. The soldier didn't carry any weapon, at least not in the traditional sense, but more then once he had referred to the weighty Catholic tome he carried as the strongest weapon and defense. The soldier was Chaplain O'Brian and he was making his rounds. "How ya doin' lads? Keepin' safe? I'm goin' roun' makin' the other lads' confessions, any of ya interested inna clear conscious and a clean soul?"

Freddy relaxes a bit, the rain would make the soil even soggier and the shelling would lose some of its impact. If it didn't hid a dug-out at least.
He smiles as he sees the padre appear in his usual manner.

"The only clean things we need around here, Father, are socks and lots of them. But I'm guessing you didn't bring any of those?"

Nick is glad again for the alcove he had dug. It not only protects him from shrapnel, it keeps the sleet off of him. "I'm not Catholic," he says. "I don't have to confess to my fellow man. God knows what I've done, and I'm ready to meet Him. I know I can go at any time."

The chaplain smiled and responded as he dug through his pack, "As long as you are at peace with yourselves you will be fine. You cannot carry your personal hell with you everywhere.... Ah! Here we are!" O'Brian pulled out a pair of socks and handed them over to Freddy, "I trust these will do for now?" He turned to Birdy and passed him a small soft package of cigarettes, "I don't smoke, but maybe you do or can trade it to someone for something more substantial. Miracles are in short supply out here after all."

The little work he could do in this particular foxhole finished, O'Brian climbed out and headed towards the next one.



[I will need luck rolls from everyone in the foxhole. Luck is done as a standard roll, however if you fail it you may burn some points on a 1:1 basis to pass if you wish. For example: Luck Roll (50) - I roll 56. I want to pass so I burn 6 points to lower my roll. However, my Luck score will now be 44 for future tests.]

"Hrm. God bless you, yer Grace" said Birdy.

He stuck one in his mouth and started to smoke.

"Guess I can see and touch this. But it ain't exactly a miracle" he conceded. Theological considerations aside, he gave a deep nod of thanks to the man of God.

OOC:   1d100=7 for Luck roll

Freddy saluted the Father as he accepted the socks with a big grin and wished him on his way.

Luck 40%- Fail,[dice]0[/dice]

Nick has a bad feeling.

OOC,Can Luck be spent to affect a Luck roll? I know you can't spend it on a Sanity roll. In either case, I'm not blowing 21 Luck on this.

Private O'Brian was no more than a few yards out of the foxhole when you heard the familiar whistle of an artillery round come down and land next to him. For a brief second the chaplain thought it was a dud, but as the thought crossed his mind the shell exploded and propelled him back into your foxhole. Or what was left of him - his body had become a mess of flesh and indistinguishable parts that landed with a sickening splat onto Private Anthony Parks. Hot blood and bits of viscera splattered onto Pvt. Martin, Pvt. Parker, and Corporal Larch.


[Sanity rolls: 0/1D3 for Birdy and most NPCs. 1/1d3+1 for Martin, Parker, Larch, and Parks]

OOC,Mr Handy is correct, Luck points may no be spent on Luck, Sanity, Damage, or rolls to determine Sanity loss. That was my mistake, but I expect neither of you would have spent such large amounts to pass this anyway. DrPeterson, it shows me an invalid roll for yours, but I'll take your word for it that you failed.

NPC Rolls,Maddox: Pass [url=http://orokos.com/roll/322529]Luck Roll (50)[/url]: [u]1d100[/u] [b]44[/b] Martin: Fail [url=http://orokos.com/roll/322530]Luck Roll (45)[/url]: [u]1d100[/u] [b]49[/b] McNalley: Pass [url=http://orokos.com/roll/322532]Luck Roll (65)[/url]: [u]1d100[/u] [b]1[/b] Parks: Massive Failure [url=http://orokos.com/roll/322533]Luck Roll (45)[/url]: [u]1d100[/u] [b]100[/b] Grimm: Pass [url=http://orokos.com/roll/322534]Luck Roll (50)[/url]: [u]1d100[/u] [b]41[/b] Ryan: Pass [url=http://orokos.com/roll/322535]Luck Roll (60)[/url]: [u]1d100[/u] [b]8[/b]

BIrdy clapped his hands to his ears. The sound...it was the worst thing...enough to shred ones nerves...

"Oh hell no..." he said, eyes scanning the carnage.

"Screw this, Sarge! We are here to fight a war, not get blown to bits..."

OOC:   1d100=34 Birdy keeps sane...

Nick had been expecting this, so he only shudders a little. Guess his number was up, he thinks. I wonder how much longer before it's my turn.

Sanity:
[dice]0[/dice]


Larch looked on impassively as the corpse sailed through the air and landed between them, the blood spraying on his face before he could even dodge.
For a second, he felt his mind recoil, almost losing his grip, but his surgeon's instincts snapped to and he leapt towards the body, dragging it from its unfortunate destination and vainly checking if there was anything left to do.

The socks he'd been clutching in his left hand, soon turned dark red with the Chaplain's blood.

Private Parks was unphased and merely shoved the body off him landing on the unfortunate Pvt. Martin who screamed out, "Aw Jesus Christ! Get him the fuck off me!" Cpl. Grimm stared blankly at the body, but didn't move to react. Luckily, Cpl. Larch moved into action and dragged the body to one side of the foxhole, but there was nothing to be done for the man. "Just push him outta the hole," Maddox ordered, "we didn't dig this to be sharing it with dead bodies too."

As the squad struggles to dispose of the corpse, the artillery barrage intensifies. Burning trees now cast a hellish light over the dismal landscape as men scramble for whatever meager cover they can find. Lt. Wilhelm crawls back over to the group.

"All right, listen!" he shouted over the bombardment. "A patrol confirmed the enemy is behind us, and in force. We're cut off." Everyone's faces darkened. "Sometime during the advance this morning we lost track of company B and D. The major's sending us out with the 3rd and 4th platoons to search for them."

"Are you crazy?" Sgt. Maddox bellowed, "We're surrounded, cut off, it's dark, and you expect us to go poking about out there?" He gestured to the valley.

"You wanna stay here?" Lt. Wilhelm snaps, and as if on cue a shell explodes too close, raining a hail of mud down on the squad. No one speaks for a moment "Come on, move out!" Maddox yells. "Anything beats this! Gather your kit and meet up with 3rd and 4th platoons at the edge of the valley. Move out!"


[I'll need a 1d100 roll from each of you, not rolled against anything, don't worry. Also if there is anything special you wanted to do before we moved on, do it now.]

OOC,This will be the last post for this section. Any comments or suggestions are welcome. I apologize for some of the writing, I'm trying to figure out how best to format the posts for ease of reading and understanding.

NPC Rolls,Maddox: Pass: [url=http://orokos.com/roll/322713]SAN Roll (55)[/url]: [u]1d100[/u] [b]17[/b] Martin: Failure: [url=http://orokos.com/roll/322714]SAN Roll (85)[/url]: [u]1d100[/u] [b]93[/b] Loss: [url=http://orokos.com/roll/322715]SAN loss[/url]: [u]1d3+1[/u] [b]4[/b] McNalley: Pass: [url=http://orokos.com/roll/322716]SAN Roll (60)[/url]: [u]1d100[/u] [b]52[/b] Parks: Pass: [url=http://orokos.com/roll/322717]SAN Roll (50)[/url]: [u]1d100[/u] [b]28[/b] Grimm: Failure: [url=http://orokos.com/roll/322718]SAN Roll (50)[/url]: [u]1d100[/u] [b]55[/b] Loss: [url=http://orokos.com/roll/322719]SAN loss[/url]: [u]1d3[/u] [b]2[/b] Ryan: Pass: [url=http://orokos.com/roll/322720]SAN Roll (50)[/url]: [u]1d100[/u] [b]7[/b]

Nick quickly gathers up his gear and moves out towards the others, wondering how someone managed to screw up so badly as to leave their position trapped behind the lines. Then he remembers that that's how the war is being fought, thankfully on both sides. At least the Germans have equally incompetent leadership.

OOC,[url=http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/4862037/]Got a 48.[/url]

Birdy briefly contemplated putting gun to temple and firing.

"We're dead men then" he said, brutally. "Still, I'd rather take the slim chance of survival by moving on than just waiting here to get blown to pieces" he deliberated. He patted his pocket, remembering his old life. "Shit, if I could go back in time..." he pondered.

OOC:   1d100=6

"Look at it this way, lads, at least now we're moving targets!", Larch tried to launch everyone into grabbing their gear and moving out, as he did the same.
He gave the corpse one long glance and waved a salute as the company moved out.



[dice]0[/dice]