Staging Grounds

[DM Neopopulas]

Dr. Mara Liaison, a civilian in a mass of professional soldiers. She knows most of them pretty well by now, having been stationed here or there with the company. At first they all resented her, she was a civilian, a newbie, she didnt know anything, she's almost stepped on two land mines, a grendage, the sights of one german sniper, tripped over two dead cows and once got sucked into the muck of a ditch that had previously been churned to quicksand by a bogged tank.

In other words, a newbie civilian.

Some of their annoyance was of course tempered by the fact she was indeed female, it had been a long time since many had been home. Even with most of the fighting ended, and the germans offically 'almostly kinda technically surendered' - as their Lt would say - there was still a lot of fighting to do, a lot of germans didnt know, or didnt believe that the war was all-but over. Once, an entire german battalion, cut off from command, had holed up in a town and refused to move, citing trechory and lies.

Eventually allied command had the town bombed to vapor and that was that, but as the war ground to an end, they wanted less and less collatoral damage, they couldnt keep using 'this is war' as an excuse, so it was down to companies of soliders to go into every building, celler and outhouse in every city, town, hamlet and village in germany and make damn sure they all knew their war was over... one way or another.

Mara was attached to a small company of british solders and had got to know them all well by now. Luckily, they had not run into any real problems, sticking to already occupied territory. While they did not know exactly what she was here to do, they didnt ask too many questions, just happy to be doing something that didnt involve getting killed.

Currently, the battalion they were attached to had control of a large rural town well within allied controlled territory, The town was little more than a large ring of destroyed houses and rubble with burned and demolished farmland around that. The futher in towards the center of the town you got, the less the destruction was apparent. Apparently the mannor house had several very expensive and very old germanic artifacts that she was to study, catologue and send back to england for processing, not too different from what she had been doing before joining the government program, but somehow, it promised to lead to bigger and better things.

[Dr. Mara Liaison]

April ???, 1945

Dearest Mara,

Today we find ourselves stuck in the pissing rain. Again. And it's bully beef for breakfast and bully beef for lunch and whatever you can scrape up from the inside of your mess tin for dinner because the Company kitchen is always late or shelled or taking the piss. The rain falls and the hours pass and I'm wondering when we're to get to it, and how. It's nothing but mud here, Dearest Mara, and we are both sick to death of it, we are.

Found a shoe with a foot in it today. Saw what looked to be two mantises having at it on a bluebell flower - just one little flower in a Sargasso of bloody mud. There was a rainbow, past some new wash hung out. Things would be fuckin' beautiful were it not for the fact that this whole country's shit up to the knickers and cock-all rainy.

I try to read sometimes and, on the lorry, I can actually manage. I got through the end of Dragonwyck on the ride from...wherever...to this town, lovely....wherever. Racy novel, that. Had to have mine in the bushes later that night; an advantage to having a tent alone. Ah, but you don't want to hear about the sappy stuff do you, Dearest Mara? Suffice it said that Seton knows well how to dress a word up, and knows how to undress it even better. Ah, for a life of Gothic-this and lace-ruffled-that, eh? But there's no romance to be had here - despite the surfeit of Goths - and as for refinement, I can't even get a decent brew up.

Anyway, here we are, Dearest Mara, and we send you our best. We hope to be moving soon or, better yet, finding that this is the place. Word came around that I'm to be sorting something or other, or translating, or just at least looking very official. That would be better than usual, which consists of playing Magic Mirror with rain puddles and trying not to be terrified all the time of the forests. But word has come around before - word spreads like lice in this camp, and is just as annoying and ineffectual for the most part. Once - one time, mind you - word came true. Someone said we weren't going bloody anywhere, and were going to bloody rot all in the rain all day, and so it came to pass.

I'm off to consult that chap, The Oracle of Wherever, and bribe him with my daily dose of bully beef to see if he won't tell me what the future holds.

[OOC: Mara closes her journal and heads for the field kitchen at HQ Company HQ. On the way she loses a galosh in the mud and falls over, scraping her hand a little. She turns the air blue with curses, then retrieves her rubber boot and continues on to get breakfast and find out what's going on. She discovers a rare toadstool on the way there, sitting next to a dresser someone dumped, and her mood see-saws violently]

[DM Neopopulas]

But the end of the day Mara has more to worry about. More than icy rain, more than not knowing where you are in some god forsaken foreign country, more than not knowing the month, or date, or why, god why did dinner taste vaguely of feet - not that mara would know exactly what feet taste like, of course - But now she has to worry about all that, and getting wet while she rolls down a road - if it can be called that - of rocks and loose soil in the back of an open truck.

The truck had been 'borrowed' from a farmer not far from the main encampment, by 'borrowed' of course it was taken while he was asleep, but he wouldn?t argue, they never did. The truck was old, it seemed to lean to one side and made a terrible ratting noise whenever it turned to the right.

Mara was stuck in the back of this truck with several others, all men, all smelly - or at least they were, before they got so drenched, now they just smelt of musty, and like wet leather, and steel - all except for Baxter who, whenever wet, reeked of wet dog, and by god no one knew why. Of the either men in the back with her she knew six, the 'regulars' of the squad, the entire squad was made up of 'leftovers'.

'Leftovers' sounds so innocent, but its a little darker than that, and everyone knew it. A 'leftover' was made when ninety-five percent, or more, of the original squad was killed. This had to be done all at once, or they would be reinforced, or merged with other squads but when all but a few of a squad are wiped out, they become 'leftovers' and these leftovers were grouped together to form squads such as this one.

Of the Eight, Mara knew six, and had been on several of these missions with them, officially they were used to 'clear out German holdouts and preserve objects of cultural significance' Unofficially the Germans were just in the way, or purposely guarding, what they were after.

The six never spoke much about their pasts, about family or home, it probably just made them depressed. The Leader of the squad, Alton Green, spoke least of all, but was a good leader, a little distant, but a good leader.

Beldon Rook was the 'kid' of the squad, a little jittery, constantly muttering little prays during combat and clutching a small medallion he calls his 'good luck charm' No one was allowed near it, like he feared they'd steal it from him, only nineteen years of age his first foray into combat found his entire squad blown into tiny pieces by a mortar shell, leaving him in the middle, untouched - if messy - Since then, everyone has claimed him to be the luckiest man alive. And its true, no matter how bad it gets, Beldon seems to manage to come out on top, more or less unscathed.

Chad was a little weird, him and Dugan both manned the heavy machinegun, and would stay up late nights carving little names into all the bullets, just in case there was a German out there with that name, so they said. Mara knew it was mostly for show, to hide fear and insecurities. They would joke and laugh and do it all to hide what they feared.

Lastly, there was Edgar, an older man, one you would more likely see in a library than a battlefield, he had the same feel about him, of a professor or teacher, but he never spoke of it. Aside from the captain, he was the calmest of the bunch, tended to look after Beldon and always seemed to be able to get the most expensive of the contraband. He was also the one that handled all the explosives.

The other two Mara wasn?t familiar with, and eight men was a larger than average number for one of these little trips, they didn?t speak, and only exchanged meaningful glances between them at any questions.

Mara doesn?t have overly long to muddle through the inconsistencies, before an hour or two had passed she found them rumbling slowly through one of the larger towns she had seen yet, of the hundred of so single, or two story buildings, easily ninety had been destroyed, some gaped with empty, black windows like accusing eyes in the silvered moonlight of their nightly drive. Some lay clawing at the sky in their last throes before death, most, however, were simply rubble.

The largest of the remaining buildings appears to have been some kind of meeting hall, large and rectangular it sits at the end of the road the travel, the paving stones sticking up dangerously in places from the odd explosion or shifting earth. The long road they travel on, through the center of the dead town ends in a large, circular courtyard with the short flight of five or so stairs leading to the long building.

As their truck meandered closer, more details of the building come into sharp, silver relief, the many tall windows along the front of the building having been boarded up, a professional job too. A large wound marring the center of the stone steps, grenade or mortar no doubt. The large double doors sit imposingly before the drive as it coasts to a stop, idling like a elephant with Bronchitis.

Without waiting for orders, the two unfamiliar men leap from the back of the truck and start scouting either side of the building, after a moments pause and a dirty look their way, the Captain silently motions the rest out.

Piling as quietly from the truck as possible - which kills its engine soon after the first two leave - the group collects on either side of the large double doors and await the return of the others. The captain, having ordered a defensive perimeter feels is necessary to walk pointedly around the half-circle and look menacing to any German potentially planning something unsportsmanly in the dark.

With only the full moon for light, the darkness beyond the building behind them is both menacing and complete, luckily they are not forced to wait long before the pair return to speak in low tones with the captain, after a moments consideration he motions Edgar aside and discusses their options.

A moment or two pass before they come to a decision, the captain motions the squad far to the sides while Edgar heads to the door and works with his ever-present explosives, long moments pass before he is ready, taking the coil of wire and heading as far from the doors as possible and performs - as he always does - his very disturbing habit, he crouches down as low as possible, covers his head and mutters the prayer of the damned.

Maybe it works, because no one is killed in the explosion that happens moments later, for a moment the night is lit with a plume of red and white flames, broken by the rolling thunder of the explosion and the following crash as the heavy doors burst inwards and slide across stone.

Shadows dance madly in the night as the illumination from the explosion dies and smoke takes its place, the squad dive through the resulting opening with practiced coordination.

[Dr. Mara Liaison]

Dearest Mara,

The ride today was utterly miserable. Days like this make one believe it rains in the grave. Chaps seem to be feeling it too. More on this later. As soon as the truck ceased kicking and bucking enough for me to write this, the lads have decided to blow something up. I best take cover, open my mouth to keep the ears clear, and

[OOC: Mara, while scribbling this incomplete entry, moved to hide behind whoever looked the calmest. She got there in time to be in cover for the explosion - and made sure she was as covered from any German windows as possible, out of fear of snipers - but not in time to finish her sentence.

[She then remains out of the way as they go about clearing the house. She'll continue her journal entry as they do so]

[DM Neopopulas]

Of the now eight-man team three of the men carry rifles, three Sub machinegunes and a two man heavy machinegun team, currently also wielding sub machineguns, their heavy gun of little use in this situation, bringing the sub machineguns up to five.

Once the all-clear is given mara is safe inside, Chad and Dugan stay by the now empty doorway to cover the rear while the others scout out the inteiror of the building.

The building itself seems mostly holly, perhaps once a church from what used to be towered stained glass windows, now all that remains are dark holes and the odd, stubbon piece of dark glass hanging on for dear life, the dusting of rain, dirt and leaves over benches and stone floor with show that it was not done recently.

With the remains of the windows crunching under their boots, mara's compainions advance to the end of the hall, there way lit only bu the silver of the moon and the glinting glass under their feet. At the other end of the long building, tucked away in the back corner is another door, smaller and wooden. One of the unfamiliar men advance on it first, followed by the others in order as always.

[Dr. Mara Liaison]

[OOC: ...continued from before]

...Well, that was something else. One never can get used to explosions, I suppose. They're not around long enough to get used to. Oh, my bloody ears; you're right lucky you can't hear them ring. But, of course, you can.

I best stay close to the Captain. I keep out of sight too; no dumb git on a Sunday I. I stay close to him and stay low. That about sums up my exposure to H Company and its HQ squad these past few. Stay close to the Captain, for he's a reliable sort. Settle for Alton when he's not about. Then Belton. The quiet ones; they seem the survivors. So keep quiet oneself, and keep low. Too quiet for the bombs, for the mines, for the dirt and the darkness to hear one. Even Chad and Dugan keep quiet, aye. We're all survivors here. Until, I guess, we're not.

Anyway, I'm off to huddle by the Captain and follow his lead. Best to be told where to go and how to go there, though I know what's to be done if I'm going there myself. By his side and wherever I go, I'll stay where the bullets can hit me, away from as much open space as possible, and when I'll safe I'll write more.

Ta,

Mara.