Aleksei looks at the man interrogating them. The others didn't seem to be bothered that he wasn't military. "English Intelligence?", he says, almost rhetorically.
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"If I might ask sir," Jacques says carefully. "If 'oo aren't British intelligence, who exactly do you work for?"
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"Conan Doyle? Never heard of ya," Dan quips, sitting on a chair he's turned around backwards. "And what kind of name is that, anyway? With a name like that they let you around men with guns? Beseems one named 'Conan' might be more comfortable around a knitting circle drinking tea with pinky extended.
Yeah, yeah, I'm shutting up now."
Aleksei smirks at Morgan's response as he shakes the man's hand. "A pleasure to be sure. What are your thoughts on what we have described?"
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Doyle gives a half-smile. "Have any of you ever heard of MI-13? It's an organization dedicated to studying... unconventional intelligence sources. We investigate such happenings as the one that you men experienced."
"Your case is not that unusual, though it is certainly uncommon. If you lads are up to it, I could use a few field agents in this area."
"I'm interested in anything to do with intelligence work, conventional or otherwise. Would we stay in our current unit?"
Aleksei nods. "Agreed. I have heard of many of England's intelligence services, but not of this MI-13. I would be most interested to see what it is about."
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"You four," he says, indicating Perrin, "Would comprise a unit unto yourselves, answering directly to me. Your missions would be to investigate, document, and possibly engage odd circumstances. I won't lie to you; it will be dangerous work. No more so than staring down a castle full of Huns," he chuckles, "but so it is. You will face some... unusual foes."
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"Meh. Whateves. I'm in," Dan quips as he's started to carve his initials into the chair. "The Huns don't really excite me now. As they say, if you've taken over one castle full of bloodthirsty Huns, you've seen them all.
If all we have to do is blow up some more Rom'n skellies, I figure that's prob'ly easier. Will we at least be paid more?"
"Fighting ze living dead is easier?" Jacques asks Morgan incredulously. "I never signed up for any of zis." He wrinkles his nose. "I'm still not certain I'm not having a psychotic break. We're barely trained privates and we fought an army of skeletons and a castle full of Germans? Ridiculous. Ceux que Jupiter veut perdre, il commence par leur oter la raison."
He frowns again, spends some time hemming and hawing, takes a lap around the tent, and kneels, checking his reflection in his boot for a moment as if he'll be able to see the evidence of psychosis in his eyes. "I cannot doubt ze evidence of my senses," he says, finally, standing. "So if I'm crazy, you're all crazy wiz me. I can't promise I'll fight whatever ridiculous foe awaits, but I'll keep ze rest of you alive to do it."
Jacques then quietly adds "As long as I am in zis ridiculous fantasy, I would not object to ze pay-raise eizer."
Coloquially, it's meant like "the crazy die young".
Aleksei nods at the eccentric man. "This is agreeable. I know enough about German soldiers and how to kill them. I'm amenable to something new. " He lights up a cigar and takes a long drag.
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"Count me in, mate! Where and when do we begin?"
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"Now seems as good a time as any. Your first assignment takes you to Boulogne, here in France. You'll journey there by caravan and contact a Major Ral. He will be able to fill you in and gives you further instructions. Once you have completed your investigation, send a complete report back here.
"You have freedom in how you choose to handle this situation. If in doubt, use your best judgment."
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"Just ask about for him. He should be pretty easy to locate. And be wary! You're going to be on the front lines of combat! Those damned Huns are tricky."
You are given a short time to get things in order and perhaps grab a bite to eat, then you are to report to the caravan. The caravan trip is largely uneventful, but as you get close to the front lines, the danger becomes more prevalent.
You arrive in the middle of organized chaos. The trenches are filthy and noisy, filled with the sounds of men shouting, gunfire, and the occasional bomb blast. Wooden boards line the bottom of the trenches in a vain effort to keep the mud and water at bay. The stench of unwashed men, waste, and gunpowder fills your nostrils. Any of the men can easily point you to Major Ral.
The major greets you curtly. "You're the lads from Intelligence? I'm afraid that you've arrived at an inopportune moment. The Bosche are trying to push our lines. We're out to hold them back."
"Did we not just leave party?"" Aleksei says, misusing the colloquial phrase and unshouldering his weapon. "Always time for night cap though. "
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"What can we do to help?"
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"Take up positions there, there, and there," Ral points to positions along the trench, about 3 yards apart. "When you see the enemy, fire at him. Don't waver. Your life and the lives of your mates depend on it!"
You do as instructed, taking up positions along the trench. The Germans surge forward in a desperate attempt to take the position, but the British respond with a furious roar of gunfire. Bodies fall, but the troops keep coming.
"We'll have to beat them back the old-fashioned way, lads!" the major shouts to be heard over the din. "Have at them!"
At his command, the British surge over the top of their own trench and begin fighting hand-to-hand. Soon, no man's land is filled with the sound of metal on metal and flesh on flesh.
Nearby, Jacques spots a British infantryman engaged with a German soldier. He does not see the other German drawing a bead on him.
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"Uh, guys, I'm just gonna stay here in the trench and shoot at them with guns. Is that okay? I know you wanna engage into melee without armor or shields, but I'm gonna stick to my gunpowder-driven weapon. It that okay? I hope that's okay."
Morgan follows up his big talk with shots at the enemy Germans, trying to clear the crowd for the fighting British.
Deciding that he's not officially part of Ral's division, Bobby also chooses to stay in the trenches, shooting his pistol :
= 18
And shoots one dirty German in the chest, killing him instantly.
Aleksei has no problem charging ahead and coming to blows with the Germans. He almost seems to enjoy it...
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"Of course," Jacques quietly sighs. "God forbid we don't land in ze middle of... not a battle." He adjusts his glasses, one handed, as he strides and lifts his rifle to the Gerry just past the engaged Brit...
...Missing wildly, but hopefully avoiding any friendlies and drawing the attention of the Gerry infantry.
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Jacques' wild shot does indeed attract the attention of the enemy soldier. Turning to him, the German fires a return shot which catches Jacques in the shoulder.
Meanwhile, Robert and Aleksei press the attack. Robert's shot fells his foe, while Aleksei gives his foe a minor wound to the stomach. The German seems distracted by the less-than-damaging attack, however.
Morgan misses a German by mere inches with his shot.
In No-Man's-Land, the battle rages on!
Bolstered by his success, Bobby shoots again :
= 9
And once again, another German bites the dust (probably).
Aleksei hears Jacques cry out as he is hit again. "Yeblat!", he lets loose with a curse. He makes a final strike at the German he is fighting with before retreating back to draw Jacques out of the line of fire.
Aleksei continues to struggle with the German in front of him, the battle around him seeming to disappear as they fight mano-a-mano
Jacques throws himself up against the side of the trench as the bullet wizzes into the dirt next to his head, and he makes a quiet french curse, his glasses askew.
Kicking himself back onto his feet, he screams, aims and fires at the Gerry struggling with Aleksei.
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The German is caught off guard by Jaques' shot and takes it in the shoulder. Bobby and Daniel both drop another of the Germans as they return fire. Aleksei continues his one-on-one battle.
The battle rages for several hours, with each side sustaining losses and making little headway. The sun is hot overhead and sweat rolls from the brows of both Germans and British troops alike.
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"Bring it on!" Dan shouts out as fires round after round into the swirling melee. Figures fall before him and he keeps up a steady fire. Many times he ducks down and searches the bodies at his feet, returning with their unused ammunition bags to feed into his ever-hungry M1903.
He scores some solid hits, doing his part in the battle at large, until one squad of dirty, dirty Huns threatens to overrun his position and he takes incoming fire.
Stoically he shrugs of the grazing shots and battles on, his soul of THUNDER, his heart of STEEL.
Aleksei cuts down the German in front of him and immediately drops prone with his rifle, sending round after round into the oncoming Hun Hoard...
Those close enough to be able to hear over the chaos of battle can the sound of him humming and old Russian folk song...
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Jacques cracks his neck and adjusts his glasses as he steps toward the stunned and scrambling German menacingly. "Raus aus Frankreich oder ich werde dich hier begraben," he says in stilted German as he raises his rifle and digs in for the longhaul.
Jacques is battered and bruised, but not truly wounded. But he feels like his luck might run out before too long.
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"Come on, you apes! You wanna live forever?
It's better to fight for something than live for nothing!" Daniel cries as he continues to pour hot lead into the enemy lines!
Though both his arms and one leg are covered with a dozen minor wounds from near misses and dirt accelerated toward him from enemy artillery, yet he fights determined that this line shall hold!