Geoffrey Stone On the Somme, 1918 1917: If Napoleon had come back to life at the beginning of 1917, he would have found nothing which surprised him or which, at any rate, he could not understand: much the same European Powers as in his day fighting much the same sort of war on a rather larger scale. He would have recognized tsars and emperors and even liberal politicians. But suppose he put off his return a few months and came back at the end of the year, then he would have been bewildered. At one end of Europe was Bolshevism, an entirely new system of thought and government. At the other end of Europe the United States, a power unconnected with Europe, was beginning to intervene on a scale which would eclipse all the traditional Great Powers put together. In 1917 European history, in the old sense, came to an end. World history began. 1918: The war had now, as it were, spun round on its axis. Russia was out; the United States were in. There were new tactics, new weapons. New principles swept across the world. Little of this was obvious to the peoples involved. The trenches offered the same dreary mixture of danger and discomfort. -The First World War, A.J.P. Taylor .......... March, 1918 A.D. In March, 1918, the Russians withdraw from the war with the signing of the treaty of Brest Litovsk. Trotsky's earlier bid to get Russia out of the war without concessions- "No Peace, No War"- and his hopes of a workers' revolution sweeping Europe, has failed. Strikes did erupt in Germany and Austria Hungary, but they were ended by giving the workers more wages and more food. The Germans are now free to fight a war on one front. The Allied Generals know that the Germans are preparing a counter-offensive. But despite the efforts of the Supreme War Council in Versailles to create a true multinational force, the Allied effort is still riven by factions, each general preoccupied with his own ambitions. France's Marshal Pétain wants more British troops covering the French front; Haig still dreams of forcing an offensive through Ypres and refuses to relinquish them. You see several more months of unchanging trench warfare. Slightly more comfortable than the men, as you continue to reside in the command tents, you still have the same feeling as most of the troops, that the war has settled into a routine, and having become routine, it could go on forever. General Cumberland at least cannot be accused of complacency. He begins initiating a series of pointless offensives. Day after day, he organizes trench raiding parties and sends them over the top as if he was still commanding cavalry regiments. The casualty rate is horrendous, and his own men are beginning to call him "Butcher Cumberland". Chosen to lead one such party, you're the only survivor; convenient, as no one else was able to witness your resurrection after you're cut down by German machine gun fire. Finally, Field Marshall Haig himself issues Cumberland a direct order to cease these raids and merely hold the line. Cumberland's units are suffering a higher casualty rate than anywhere else along the Flanders line, high enough to attract attention from the High Command. Despite his bloody and unsuccessful record, Cumberland is not relieved of duty. He is merely perceived as being a bit overzealous by the other generals. Probably not coincidentally, a new field hospital is set up a few miles behind the lines, not far from the ruined village of Passchendaele. Major-General Cumberland gives them plenty of work. <><><><><> [Geoffrey] Being immortal might make getting shot less fatal, but it didn't make it hurt any less. When Geoffrey got back to the lines, he was inwardly raging at Cumberland and his stupid raids. Such a waste of life; soldiers being killed not for any military purpose, but just to satisfy their General's ego. Cumberland ought to change sides - he'd be a greater asset to the Allies if he was serving under the Kaiser. Geoffrey had actually gone as far as plotting ways of putting Cumberland out of action, when the Field Marshall issued his order. Along with the whole of Cumberland's command, Geoffrey breathed a sigh of relief. <><><><><> [GM] March 21, 1918, should have been another day of routine grimy and unpleasant stand-offs. Instead, it is the day that the Germans launch their counter-attack on the Somme. When morning dawns, it is cold and damp, with a thick blanket of fog that hides everything beyond the trenches. You are beginning to make your rounds, trying to stay in touch with the men fate has elevated you above, when there is a sudden series of shots, unexpectedly close. And then there are screams, shouts, a barrage of gunfire, and before you realize what's happening, you've dived for cover at the sound of a chorus of whining shrieks. Incoming! And the muddy fields of Passchendaele pass before your eyes, and a shudder goes through you as you lie helplessly enthralled by the traumatic memories of your death. You feel the wire tearing into your skin again, and then the machine gun bullets shredding your body. You don't know how long you lie there, almost trampled by panicked soldiers, before someone grabs you and yells "Come on, Lieutenant! We're falling back! We're falling back!" Falling back....abandoning the trenches? Retreating? You can barely hear a thing, between the roar of artillery explosions and the ringing in your ear that seems to have intensified as the war flares once again into a bloody, fiery hell. But shapes are looming out of the mist, all along the line, shooting rifles and throwing grenades. It seems as if the whole German army is suddenly upon you, somehow bypassing the front line of machine gun posts with barely any warning being sent back to the forward trenches. <><><><><> [Geoffrey] Mud... bullets... explosions... blood. Ghosts in the mist. Retreat? Geoffrey shook himself. They were German soldiers, not ghosts, and their attack must have caught everyone by surprise. Had they found some new secret weapon, as they had with gas? Then he sees the panicking men. "Hold the line!" he yells, "You'll be cut to pieces outside the trench. Fix bayonets and throw them back." Taking a rifle, he fires at the advancing infantrymen, trying to pick off the closest ones; once it's clear that they're going to reach the trenches, he'll order a retreat, and use his sword on any Germans in the way. [OOC: Actually, the attack on the 21st was more a surprise in the strategic sense (ie the BEF was caught without enough troops to hold the line) than a tactical one - it was preceded by five hours of heavy bombardment, including a thick blanket of poison gas. Unless Geoffrey has been out a *really* long time ] <><><><><> [GM] [Well, according to the book I read, it was a strategic surprise (the British suspected an attack was coming, but they failed to act on intelligence reports that would have given them a more accurate prediction), but it was also helped by a fortuitous (for the Germans) heavy fog, that allowed the German infantry to practically walk past the British machine gun posts. Since conditions probably varied somewhat along the length of the front, perhaps on Geoffrey's stretch, the German trench raiders jumped the gun a little.] The men try to hold the trench as ordered, but the German forces are overwhelming in number. You pick off one Hun, then another, but they keep coming, charging over the bodies of their fallen. Soon they are jumping down into the trenches, engaging the British troops in hand to hand combat. You and your men are forced to scramble out and fall back to the next trench...and the Germans keep coming. Throughout the long hours that follow, you take only one small wound, ironically enough; a bit of schrapnel from a grenade goes through one cheek, and the wound is gone even before you wipe off the blood. But you see dozens of the men under you blown apart or shot. As poison gas starts mixing with the fog, the battle becomes even nastier...fighting is always infinitely more unpleasant while wearing a gas mask. Running is even worse. At the end of the day, the Germans have gained a great deal of ground, and the British Fifth Army is in disarray. It is hours before you can reach General Cumberland's HQ. He is meeting with other senior staff officers, and barely acknowledges your presence, though the Quickening certainly has alerted him to your return. It sounds as if they're trying to decipher the latest conflicting reports from up and down the line, and make sense of Haig's overall commands, which are obselete within minutes of their being relayed. Not ever having had any real training in strategy or leadership, despite the months you've spent as a Lieutenant, you don't really understand anything that they're talking about. You're reduced to hovering around the fringes, with all the other useless, helpless junior officers. <><><><><> [Geoffrey] With a gas mask on, the battle becomes something unearthly. Everything becomes distorted, as if part of some satanic hall of mirrors; the fog takes on a green tinge from the gas, making the entire foggy scene look sick and unhealthy. Here and there, soldiers with lost or broken masks clawed at their throats, the noxious atmosphere choking them, drowning them. If anyone wanted a vision of Hell, the Front during a gas attack would be it. Geoffrey wondered how an immortal would cope with gas. Of course, he had an easy way of finding out, but he wasn't feeling quite curious enough to remove his mask! At least his section of the line was getting it comparitively easy - in other areas, mustard gas was used, and however horrible it was to watch a man drown in chlorine, it was mild compared to watching a man with mustard- ruined lungs die slowly, coughing up blood the whole time, his skin blistered and peeling off, the medics unable to help him and wary of going near him in case traces of the gas rubbed off on them. Back at Cumberland's HQ, he wonders what's planned. In one day, the Hun have gained back land that took several bloody months to take, and showed no sign of stopping. The smart move would probably be to pull back until a proper defensive line could be formed, but Geoffrey doubted that the generals would find such a retreat palatable. Was this a desperate gamble by a near-defeated enemy, or an attack by an enemy showing his true strength for the first time? Maybe the war would last until 1945, as the railway engine said. [OOC: One of the steam engines used by the British Army had the number ROD 1945; a bitter joke amongst the soldiers was that it stood for `Roll on Duration: 1945', since they had signed on `for the duration'] [OOC: I've got a couple of descriptions from the 1930s of the treatments for mustard-gas poisoning (one from a home first-aid book!); one depressing part is that a victim who'd breathed the gas was effectively dead - they might take three days to die, but there was nothing that could be done for them] <><><><><> [GM] During one brief interlude in the command conference, General Cumberland tells you he might send you to Paris in a day or two, so you should be ready to travel. Another mysterious errand pertaining to immortals, or something to do with the War? Who knows, he's as arrogant as any other officer, not deigning to tell his underlings anything they don't need to know. Feeling more responsibility to the men than most officers, you take advantage of your ample "free time" (i.e. time you're supposed to be attending to the General, but in fact are merely pacing around with nothing to do) to visit the hospital that's been set up nearby, to take care of the huge influx of casualties after the Germans began their offensive. Many of your unit, including the men who were formerly your fellow enlistees, are here. And so is another immortal, as the Quickening tells you when you approach. [to Marie-Ange] Marie-Ange is at this field hospital in Flanders, with other nun nurses. The Germans have just begun a massive offensive which is, for the moment, driving the Allied forces back, and even threatens to reach Paris. Marie-Ange has not heard of Major-General Cumberland's proximity, but she's heard his name as one of the commanding officers on this part of the Front. When she feels the Quickening, she knows it is not impossible that it might be him...but many other immortals are also active during any war. Of course, at a hospital, especially with the advent of modern warfare and its mass slaughter, there is always the possibility that some poor soldier has just "died", and is about to reawaken.... <><><><><> [Geoffrey] Geoffrey stopped, thunderstruck. For a moment, he wondered if Elainne had somehow found her way from that hospital in Paris to a field hospital. He looked inside the hospital, hoping to see Elainne or, failing that, to see who the other immortal was. <><><><><> The small nursing nun lifted her head from the letter she was writing for the boy whose eyes had been so badly damaged by the mustard gas. She managed to keep writing, but she needed to see who it was. <><><><><> [Geoffrey] "I'm sorry; I thought a friend of mine was in here." He blushed, realising how feeble that must sound, and ducked back out of the room. Even though he should have expected it, it was still a disappointment that the Quickening did not come from Elainne. *I'd better tell General Cumberland that the war's thrown up another immortal*, he thought, *That boy's in for a heck of a shock; at least he'll be able to see again.* <><><><><> >MariAnge< The soft voice was faintly accented. "Please, sir... could you wait?" She folded the letter and placed it under the soldier's pillow. "I'll be back to post that for you in a few moments." She moved rapidly with that silent gliding motion she had learned in another war. "Sir?" She was dressed in the habit of a Catholic nun, someone of a nursing order, most probably, her peasant face alive with warm brown eyes. <><><><><> [Geoffrey] Geoffrey stops, and looks back in. "What is it?" he asks gently. <><><><><> >MariAnge< She held her hand out to him, her empty right hand, and smiled. "I am Mari-Ange ... and we have not met before." Guillaume would have been furious with her, but there were some things that he was wrong about. She felt the need to greet her fellow travellers. No matter how many tales she heard of evil and attacks, she never quite believed them. <><><><><> [Geoffrey] Somewhat taken aback, he shook her hand. "Geoffrey Stone", he replied, "No, I'm sure I'd remember if we'd met before." He remains puzzled; what does the nurse want with him? <><><><><> >Mari-Ange< Her voice was soft. "I know that it's probably not wise ... but I still enjoy meeting others of our kind." She smiled with a touch of rue. "I think you must be busy now. I won't detain you any longer." <><><><><> [Geoffrey] Geoffrey starts. "You?!" he blurts out. Then he blushes. "I'm sorry", he says quietly, "I thought it was the injured soldier." He stops, unsure how to proceed. Cumberland wasn't very hot on the etiquette of meeting other immortals, short of swinging a sword at them, and his own attempts had so far been... mixed. Come to think of it, the friendliness or hostility of the immortals he'd met had also been mixed. "You don't look like a hunter", he says, "How did you end up here?" <><><><><> >Mari-Ange< "I'm not a hunter," she laughed at the thought of it. "I'm a Benedictine nun ... and I found my way because I'm needed." She extended her arm, offering to walk with him. "I think I'm due a break ... shall we have a cup of bad tea? If you're not busy, I mean ... " She was hesitant, clearly not wanting to intrude on him. <><><><><> [Geoffrey] "It can't be worse tea than I've drunk in the trenches." He takes her arm, then gives a slightly embarrassed smile. "If it's not too personal, how long have you been... one of us?" <><><><><> >Mari-Ange< "Probably not. I've seen what some of these boys have had in the trenches." Her smile had sorrow and understanding in equal measure. She was reminded of Laurent for a moment, in the sweet way that he'd taken her arm and looked out for her. "Oh, it's not too personal. I think ... it was 1789 ... the king had been killed..." She frowned a little. For some reason, that period always was hard to remember clearly. <><><><><> [Geoffrey] He smiles again. "I think I'm an immortal baby - I've been one for less than a year." For a moment, he looks puzzled. "The king killed - who, George? Oh, the French king, Louis the something." ..thus displaying the typical Englishman's grasp of non-English history . <><><><><> >Mari-Ange< "You seem much more comfortable than I was." She remembered how frightened she'd been, how strange things were. And she remembered Guillaume. "Do ... do you have a teacher?" She asked him, her voice tentative. "I don't want to pry, but if you don't, I'll be glad to help you find someone." She poured tea for them both from the mess and found a quiet corner to sit. <><><><><> [Geoffrey] Geoffrey shrugs. "I was killed twice in the space of a few hours; then I met my mentor not long afterwards, and he shot me. After that, I had to accept immortality or accept I was mad. "And it was less painful to believe in immortality", he adds, a twinkle in his eye. "I hope I never get *used* to it, though; without any sense of danger, life must be indescribably dull. Perhaps that's why the older immortals I've met have been more than a touch insane." He blushes. "Present company excepted, of course." After drinking some of the tea to cover his embarrassment, he continues. "Yes, I've already got a mentor. You'll no doubt sense him sooner or later - it's General Cumberland." <><><><><> >MariAnge< She listened to him talk, liking the feel of him, finding his approach to immortality refreshing. Something about him made her feel motherly. "Don't believe there is no danger, though. There is ... and you were right to be wary when you felt my presence." Her smile was gentle and the brown eyes were so doe-like that it would be hard to doubt her sincerity. But the gentle smile faded as he mentioned his mentor. "You would do well to remember that some of us have forgotten the value of life ... and treat mortals as cattle who are beneath notice." <><><><><> [Geoffrey] He couldn't help smiling wryly at that. "I know - I think my mentor's one of them. I hope I don't end up like him." He shrugs. "I've also met a few murderous immortals, luckily only when attacking me would have caused them problems. What about you?" <><><><><> >MariAnge< "I've met few of the murderous variety, but then I'm usually cloistered." She smiled. "I think the expression is 'shooting fish in a barrel.' I'm hardly sporting." She took another sip of the tea and grimaced. "I know about them, though ... have heard from friends who've faced them ... or evaded them. It's been my good fortune to more honorable people than not. Le bon Dieu protects fools and children ... at least that's what a friend says, but he's never told me which one he considers me." The warmth was back in her eyes, eyes that looked as a smile was the expression her face found most easily. <><><><><> [Geoffrey] "I'm not sure if I'd be sporting should someone come after me. Cumberland's been trying to convince me that there's a code to duels between immortals, but if it comes to a choice between dying and cheating, well... fair play belongs on the sports field. Besides, I've already met one immortal whose definition of not fighting on holy ground didn't exclude blowing it up, yet I don't see Cumberland or other immortals suddenly rushing off on a crusade to protect the `rules'. "I know I couldn't survive a duel. Even a relatively new hunter will have practiced with a sword for a few decades; before Cumberland took me under his wing, the closest I'd come to a sword was as a kid, being dragged to a museum on a wet Sunday afternoon. I just about knew that you held the blunt end and tried to hit someone with the pointy end." Again, there's a twinkle in his eyes. "Hopefully, I'm enough of a fool that God will protect me." <><><><><> >MariAnge< She smiled back at him, absolutely delighted with his sense of humor. That was something she found all too lacking in most of their kind. "I ... I've never learned to fight either. Most of my time is spent in a convent, and I've managed to evade anyone when I come out." She tilted her head to one side and spoke in a motherly tone, an odd sound from one who looked 18 at most. "Learn to protect yourself, Gregory. It's important ... train hard. I would be sorry to hear of your death." She drank more of the bitter tea mess, her expression indicating her opinion. "Sugar might help... but the soldiers and the wounded need the nourishment and sweetness more." The nun paused again, looked like she wanted to say something, didn't... and then blurted out, "Who was the man who blew up Holy ground? I'd like to make sure that others know. Cumberland may not have done anything, but there are others who will." <><><><><> [Geoffrey] >I would be sorry to hear of your death." "I'd be even sorrier" he remarks, with a smile. "I *think* the bomb was set by a woman called Payal. To be honest, though, the only evidence I have is that she left shortly before the bomb went off, and several immortals have since told me she's a murdering madwoman." <><><><><> >Mari-Ange< "Payal?" She repeated the name, her brown eyes growing thoughtful. "I don't know the name. How did you run into her and what did she supposedly bomb?" Her smile came back, embracing Gregory in its gentle warmth. "Several immortals? Who is here beside Cumberland?" It would be good to see friends again, and as always, she wondered if Laurent was safe. <><><><><> [Geoffrey] "I was sent back to Blighty, to deliver a message to a monastery that's some sort of neutral ground for immortals. Payal was staying there. On the day I was to leave... someone blew up the monastery. "As for other immortals, I can't help running into them. Cumberland's chasing after some Hun immortal; there was a young woman named Annafyn leaving the monastery as I arrived; another immortal, an Alastair Stewart, came to investigate the bombing; then back in London I met a woman named Tatiana." He frowns. "There's one other, a Dr. Elainne Dunaway. I saw her... first death in London, in an air raid. She went off with Payal." <><><><><> >MariAnge< "Which monastery?" She whispered, not hearing anything else he said. Her hand went to her beads and she began telling them, even before he answered her. <><><><><> [Geoffrey] "Gloucester - do you know it?" <><><><><> >Mari-Ange< "No." She whispered the word and it was clear that she was not denying knowledge of Gloucester. "Who was there? Who was hurt? Please..." She reached across to him, brown eyes filling with tears, and placed her hand on his arm. "I ... I have friends there." <><><><><> [Geoffrey] "Several of the monks were hurt, including Brother Paul. I don't know how many died, if any. I don't think any immortals were hurt; I think I was the last to leave of the ones that were there. "Have you been there?" <><><><><> >Mari-Ange< "Yes." She was quiet for a moment, praying for the mortals who had been harmed, perhaps died, caught in the path of some immortal's plans. "It was... once my home." She took a deep breath. "When I first went to England, I spoke no English and I worked as a servant until I could read and write ... and then I went to Gloucester." She stirred her tea, looking into its murky depths as if she might see something important. "Was the building hurt?" <><><><><> [Geoffrey] "It was badly damaged, partly by the fire the explosion started. It looks like Payal - or whoever caused it - wanted to make sure the library was destroyed in the blast. According to Cumberland, there were lots of records of immortals kept there." He stops. "Cumberland thought it was just spite, but I wonder. The bomb could have been to cover her tracks, if she'd stolen some of the records." <><><><><> >Mari-Ange< She tilted her head to look at him. "Why do you think that she would want to steal the records? And yes, there was an amazing library ... but much of it would be protected from fire." She was somewhat distracted, trying to think of how to get a message back, how to find out what was lost... and if her own diaries would help restore the loss. "When was this? Recently?" Her fingers were moving smoothly over wooden beads, softly glowing wood that showed the touch of time and frequent use. <><><><><> [Geoffrey] "I've no idea; it just seemed curious that the bomb was planted close to the library, and used a low explosive which would increase the amount of fire damage. As it was, I think the fire did more damage than the explosion. "It happened about six months ago; I've heard nothing in that time, so I assume the police have decided to blame it on some random group of revolutionaries." <><><><><> "I ... I cannot fathom a mind that would want to destroy knowledge." She shook her head slowly, clearly shaken by his news. The nun took a last drink of tea and put her cup down. "I have been gone from my duties too long." She stood up and took her empty cup over to the dishes. "I hope we'll see each other soon." <><><><><> [Geoffrey] Geoffrey shakes his head. "I can't either. But people have destroyed libraries before." He followed her with his empty cup. "Yes, I'd better get back to the General. I'll see if I can visit later, shall I?" <><><><><> >MariAnge< "I would enjoy your company ... but don't be surprised if the General is not pleased to hear of my presence. He doesn't much like the idea of women at the front, or near the front, or near his soldiers..." She smiled, and it was evident she was tired. "Take care of yourself, Lieutenant." <><><><><> [Geoffrey] He smiles. "No, I don't think the General will be happy. Take care of yourself too." <><><><><> <> The General doesn't ask about where you were when you get back to camp. He does tell you you're commander of the watch tonight. Some of the other officers have been noticing how you've avoided a lot of the grunt chores usually assigned to junior officers. You certainly wouldn't want to get a reputation for being a "General's Pet". (Your common background has already made the other officers somewhat stand-offish.) So you walk up and down the rear lines, which are fairly peaceful now. Any artillery you hear is miles away, closer to the Front. You check on the sentries, still not totally accustomed to enlisted men snapping to attention and calling you "Sir". And in the dark of night, you see a tall, dark shadow ascending the hill that slopes down into the woods outside of town. As the shadow gets closer, you feel the Quickening. The shadow pauses, but then resumes its advance....despite the stealthy, late-night approach, the other immortal doesn't seem too perturbed at being detected. [to Reynald] Reynald has been fighting in the French army, of course.....what's left of it. The War has been pretty hard on France, and Reynald is suffering some of the cognitive dissonance common to elder immortals, adjusting to a global landscape that is increasingly alien. Now the English are not only France's allies, but coming to her rescue. The Huns are led by a silly little Kaiser, while their generals seem intent on running Germany's economy into the ground....but they might well overrun Europe before they're finished. Only a few weeks ago, he met Laurent again, for the first time since he brought him to London, after the Revolution. Laurent, the former aristocrat, was fighting for France too, or so Reynald thought. Laurent seemed non-plussed at meeting the older immortal, and he was rather evasive. He spoke little about what he'd been doing for the past century and a half, though he mentioned spending some time in America-- someplace Reynald still has never visited. Reynald celebrated his eleven-hundredth birthday recently, and he has never set foot outside of Europe. The closest he came was sailing in the Mediterranean, fighting the Turks at sea...but he never actually landed in North Africa, nor did he travel to the Holy Land during the Crusades. Instead, he defended Christendom at home, though he did take part in the Reconquista in Spain. It's not that the ancient Carolingian has deliberately avoided leaving Europe...circumstances have just been such that it's never happened. He now believes himself to be one of the oldest surviving European immortals-- possibly the oldest. He hasn't seen any of the few who were older than him since before the War. So here was the young aristocrat he saved from the guillotine back in the days of France's Terror, having traveled the world and then returned to France. Laurent had interesting information-- he knew the exact whereabouts of Otto Maximillian. Reynald never knew Otto's true origin....he claimed to be a Hun, a *real* Hun, but Reynald doesn't think he was really quite that old. He first met the German immortal during the latter part of the Norman era. Otto was a Teutonic knight. They dueled, more than once over the centuries, but none of their duels were ever finished...the two ancient knights always separated with both heads still attached. Otto was an honorable foe. Laurent said Otto was now a General in the German army. Wouldn't Reynald like the chance to take his peer's head, and remove one of the enemy's high command in the same stroke? Yes, this was a duel Reynald had been waiting for. He was unsure of how Laurent knew so much about Otto, and of his motives, but he followed the Frenchman into German-held territory. Fortunately, Laurent and Reynald both spoke perfect German by now, and could easily pretend to be French peasants or German soldiers, whatever it took to continue on their way. Laurent did indeed lead Reynald to the camp of Otto Maximillian....whose name was now General Ludwig Von Kesselnau. Otto received the two immortals with cheerful hospitality...and agreed to a duel with Reynald, in the woods beyond the German encampment. The two knights met, in a clearing in a forest, with Laurent standing by, watching. Reynald and Otto fought...and Otto won. But before Otto could take Reynald's head, Laurent tossed a grenade. When Reynald recovered, Laurent was gone.....and Otto's body was lying five yards away. His head was lying eight yards away. Reynald buried his ancient nemesis, and began stalking Laurent. That was two weeks ago. The trail has led Reynald to an English command post on the Somme, following the massive offensive of the Germans. Laurent is quite the inpersonator, now....he must have learned a great deal indeed from the Scarlet Pimpernel. Reynald thinks he's now assumed the role of an English soldier....and he thinks he has an idea who the aristocrat is after now. The General in charge of this Brigade is Sir Arthur Cumberland...another immortal of Reynald's acquaintance. Cumberland is younger-- he dates back to the English Civil War. He was one of Cromwell's lieutenants, and he is not a nice person. But he's honorable, and more importantly, he's fighting the Germans. Reynald might not shed any tears over Cumberland's death-- frankly, he found Otto much more likeable-- but he can't allow Laurent to murder the elder immortal. [to Marie-Ange] The young English immortal leaves, and Marie-Ange goes back to attending to her patients. She has never been able to solve the riddle of why a peasant girl like herself is able to live forever, and survive any injury, while thousands of boys like these can be maimed and killed, with no hope of recovery. Geoffrey shows promise, as a kind-hearted immortal. Marie-Ange has known a few of those, but too many who are like General Cumberland...or worse. Only the grace of God has kept the blades of the latter away from her neck. The grace of God is not always an adequate substitute for caution, however. When she sensed the Quickening earlier today, she was surrounded by doctors, nurses, and soldiers. When she senses it late at night, she is all alone in her little tent next to the field hospital, trying to keep up with her correspondence by the light of a single candle. <><><><><> >Mari-Ange< Had the time come? She felt the Quickening and leaned forward, blowing out the candle. If it was her time, she'd not make any easier than she already had. <><><><><> <> You can feel the Quickening very plainly, but you can't hear the other immortal until his body brushes against the entrance to your tent flap. He moves very quietly. You could scream for help-- the nurses in the adjoining tent would come running, and so would some soldiers, probably. A male voice says quietly "Who's there?" in English. It prickles at your memory, as if you should recognize the voice, but can't. That's been happening more and more often lately, and a couple of older immortals have told you it becomes more common as you get older, and voices remind you of the many you've heard in the past. <><><><><> >Mari-Ange< She thought for half a moment of screaming. If he were a headhunter, it would run him away for the time being ... but, did she know him? Perhaps... Perhaps not... She replied to his question, "C'est moi. C'est Mari-Ange. Et vous?" <><><><><> <> "Marie-Ange...." the voice repeats, almost a whisper, still hauntingly familiar. Then, "My angel...." Someone pulls the tent flap open, and a silhouette appears there. "Marie-Ange....I never thought I would find you here...." He speaks in French, and sounds young (which means little-- most immortals die young, it seems), and it's impossible to tell what his build is, as he's wearing a trench coat, but he's not too tall. "Tell me....did you become a nun after all?" <><><><><> >Mari-Ange< She knew that voice. She knew it... "Laurent? M'sieur Laurent?" Could it be, after all this time, after all the prayers and wondering? "Yes, yes, I am a nun," She half-laughed with relief and delight that she would see her friend again. "It is you, is it not?" <><><><><> <> "Oui, c'est moi." He steps into your tent, slowly. You still can't make anything out but a shadow. "What are you doing here, Marie-Ange?" he asks softly. "This war is so terrible, so many dead and dying....it is not a fit place for the likes of you, my sweet angel." <><><><><> >Mari-Ange< "Oh, M. Laurent! I have prayed that you would be safe ... and I see that le Bon Dieu has answered my prayers." In her surprise and delight, she forgot herself and began to speak French again, the French of her childhood. She bent over the table to relight her candle. "Where else should I be but here? I am needed here and perhaps in some small way, I can give comfort to the wounded. It is so sad to watch boys dies alone away from their loved ones." Nothing, not even the war, could keep her happiness from spilling over. "But enough of that, mon ami. Tell me of yourself. Come, sit down...are you hungry, thirsty? Oh, M. Laurent, I am so glad to see you again." <><><><><> <> The one-time French aristocrat, whom you last saw from the entrance of a London abbey, looks exactly the same as you remember, and yet different. In all the years you've lived, with all the immortals you've met, you've never experienced a before and after meeting with someone, with an interval of a hundred and twenty-four years. Laurent's face is like the face of a young man with 124 years of experience absorbed into them. The shadows seem particularly deep in the candlelight. "And I you," he whispers. "Though it is....not what I expected." He moves slowly to the other chair, and sits down. "So, you still believe in God. That is not surprising, I suppose." "A...little something to eat would be very nice, mon cher. And perhaps something to drink. I have been traveling a long time." <><><><><> >Mari-Ange< Her heart wrenched as she looked at him. His life had not been so easy as hers and she wanted to embrace him, take away some of the sadness she felt in his face. But she couldn't do that. She pushed open her travelling chest. "I have a bottle of brandy that a soldier gave me. I ... I haven't wanted to give it away since it was his dying gift to me. This seems like the right time to open it." She handed him the bottle. "And I'll just run up to the mess hall for cheese and bread... " She could hear herself bubbling over. It had been so long and she -- well, it wasn't what she had expected either. "I'll be right back." <><><><><> <> Marie-Ange gets some bread and cheese, and returns shortly to find Laurent half-asleep at the table. <><><><><> >Mari-Ange< "Oh, my poor M. Laurent. You are too tired to eat, aren't you?" The sight of him there, halfasleep, lit only by her single candle, took the nun back to their time together in long ago France, when she had first found herself to be immortal. He had taken care of her then -- so brave was M. Laurent! ... she would care for him now. "Come, you will take my cot. I have a letter to finish and then I will be going back to the ward. Please, you need to rest." <><><><><> Laurent sits almost nodding out. He is fighting the weariness that sets in hoping to sit and talk to Marie-Ange a little while longer. However the fight is more than a little futile since she has wounded to tend to and he will probably fall fast asleep the first opportunity he has. Laurent does not trust the camp however there is a little bit of an ease to his paranoia with Marie-Ange there. She has a calming effect on people and would be quite distraught were he to come to harm. Knowing that they are not likely to do something to make Marie-Ange lose herself he feels a little safer. However he tries his hardest to fall into a light sleep. Hoping that he is not too tired. Smiling at Marie-Ange, "You are so wonderful to help all these dying men. Would it not be wonderful if Purity such as that could be preserved forever?", his voice is a little bit dreamy, "I am so sorry that it has been so long for us my dear. None of these men could possibly understand how long.", sighing he falls silent just looking at her to see if she will go. After a moment he looks at the cheese then over at the cot. He takes a bite then gets up to lie down. "You go tend to the wound Ma petite ange.", he climbs onto the cot, "I will be fine.", he lies back and feels the dream world come over him. <><><><><> >Mari-Ange< "Sleep, M. Laurent ... I will leave you now." She smiled at him as he fought sleep like a little boy. She blew out the candle and slipped through the flap of the tent. Standing outside in the darkness, she could still feel the quickening, that heightened sensitivity, but knowing that it was caused by her old friend made her murmur a prayer of thanksgiving. She drew the flap back, once more, to look at him asleep in her bed. Surely le Bon Dieu had granted her a great gift by keeping her friend safe and allowing her to see him once more. With a smile brightening her face, she lowered the flap and went to work. The shadow advances, taking shape as a tall, spare man, dark-featured in the night and likely by the light of day as well. He continues until halted or till within the officer's close proximity, hands relaxed at his sides...knowing to whom he wishes now to speak. A pause, and a deep bass rumble in nearly conversational tones: "I hate this war," he says. "I hate the gas, and the ditches and the wire....Take me to General Cumberland." That, and no more. <><><><><> [Geoffrey] "Identify yourself" he snaps out curtly. The newcomer may be an immortal, but that doesn't mean Geoffrey will blithely ignore his sentry duty. Inwardly, he's surprised to encounter another immortal so soon. Either they're much more common than he thought - perhaps a side effect of the war - or else they're gathering here for something. <><><><><> "My name is Reynald duMonde," the man answers, hands in sight and standing in a relaxed manner. "You seem nervous, mon ami...I mean no harm to your or Cumberland. I have information Sir Arthur must hear, however, and it cannot wait. Send to to the General if you wish...he will know my name." His tone is low, almost a rumble, but perfectly reasonable in spite of his grim demeanor. <><><><><> "No; a nervous sentry fires first." Geoffrey escorts Reynald until he can spot a runner to send to Cumberland, then he waits for a response. <><><><><> <> The soldier Geoffrey dispatches to the General's tent returns at a run. "The Major-General says bring 'im on in, Sir," he pants, rendering a stiff salute. At the center of brigade field headquarters, Major-General Cumberland is waiting, outside his tent, fully-dressed, with his saber. A couple of other officers are hovering nearby, no doubt wondering what VIP has their commanding officer decked out this late at night. <><><><><> [Geoffrey] "Very well." He escorts Reynald to Cumberland's tent, and salutes. "Reynald duMonde to see you, Sir." <><><><><> "Arthur...." The dark man speaks softly, like suppressed thunder trying to stay behind the mountain....His shabby gray greatcoat is unbuttoned, hanging to his boot tops and he appears to be unarmed. "This is not a challenge. I have come to warn you....and ask your advice." This last is spoken is the same low, controlled tone, as the general's given name. And then he waits, for it is not unlikely that the challenge could be issued from the other side. <><><><><> <> "Reynald," Cumberland murmurs, half-growl. After a long, tense moment, he says "It's been a while. Well, would you like some brandy?" He pulls his tent flap open, gesturing for the other two men to enter. "I see you've met my pupil, Lieutenant Stone," he adds dryly. <><><><><> "Aye, Arthur," he says easily... "A brandy would be welcome. And it would be impossible to ignore your...student....non?" He follows Cumberland into the tent, leaving the young officer to follow as he may. The privileges of rank and age, are implied, rather than spoken. <><><><><> <> Major-General Cumberland leads the other two immortals into his tent, where he opens a bottle of brandy, and pours a glass for himself and Reynald. To Geoffrey, he says "No drinks for you, boy, you've still got sentry duty, but stay here for the moment." He turns to the other immortal. "All right then, Reynald, what advice might you be wanting from me?" There is a slight but unmistakeable ironic lilt in his voice on the last question. <><><><><> "I have a rogue on my hands and I have tracked him here, Arthur," Reynald says quietly, accepting the brandy with an appreciative nod. He takes a long sip from the glass, letting the alcohol roll over his tongue, and thanking the bon Dieu with a small smile for whatever change of heart has swayed Arthur's roundhead principles to include fine fortified wines. "Ah...we mellow with time..." he glances at his old colleague, taking in the rough camp tent with its few so-civilized graces, the tribute to rank and wealth that the English so cherish. "Some of us, but not all..." He has not followed Cumberland's career so closely, that he can say what the fellow has been up to in present years, but had always considered him a man of honor. "During the Terror," he begins, still not sparing the young lieutenant with much more than a glance, "I charged myself with the task of getting two young immortals out of France; one was the rogue I speak of, and the other was a saint." "Laurent...the man I am hunting, was an aristo, dark tempered and sullen. There were times when his attitude made me wonder why I bothered. But Marie-Ange....her faith convinced me...I got them as far as England." Another sip, another moment's pause contemplating the dark liquid in the goblet that Cumberland provided. "I returned to Paris shortly thereafter....on...business of my own. I lost track of the boy, but I had heard once that Marie-Ange joined a nunnery there. A few weeks ago, I ran into Laurent...or, shall I say...he ran into me." He pauses, studying Cumberland's face in the light of the lanterns, straining to see if the name Laurent, has changed the light in the Major General's eyes. <><><><><> <> "I haven't heard of this Laurent fellow," General Cumberland says. "I met that woman, Marie- Ange....she was a nun, serving as a nurse in the Boer war. Silly woman, hadn't any idea how to play the Game. I had no idea she'd been alive since the French Revolution. She's probably lost her head by now. So what about this Laurent?" <><><><><> Reynald paced. He stalked back and forth in the narrow confines of the command tent...two steps...three and turn...and again. For a few moments he seemed lost in his own world...face dark, and almost sinister in the flickering lamplight. "I think he may be headed here to kill you, Arthur," he said, finally, "and before you scoff, and assure me of your prowess and ability to survive...I shall tell you my tale....and then, you may decide to take action or not...." He drained the brandy and set the glass on the small campaign table, amid the charts and maps and dispatches. "A few weeks ago, I ran into Laurent again. He'd managed to survive somehow...despite his irritating airs and his petulence. He'd travelled widely, and seemed eager to catch up on old times....though much of his old sullen personality was still in evidence." "I passed an evening with him, more out of boredom than anything else. I did not sense that he meant to challenge, and indeed he didn't. Instead he told me of Otto Maximillian...you may remember him...a bit of a rogue, but an honorable fellow for all of that. He and I had several confrontations over the years...more of a friendly rivalry, actually....although as time passed, it became clear that sooner or later, it would cease to be a game." "Laurent knew that Otto was working for the jerries. He was calling himself General Ludwig Von Kesselnau and was camped in the occupied territories to the west. It seemed to me that this was probably the time that we would finish it, between us...one way or the other." A ghost of a grin danced across the dark face, and he continued. "Otto agreed. As always, there was no way of telling how it would end...there on the field. Over the years, Otto and I had been pretty evenly matched. This time..." He paused, his shrug very gallic in its insouciance. "He had me. I should have died the final death there and then." "But Laurent...tossed a grenade. And when I awoke, Otto was headless." "You see...." <><><><><> [Geoffrey] Geoffrey had entered and stood silently, unwilling to interrupt what was essentially a private meeting between two older immortals. He mentally filed away the information he learned, hoping it would prove useful. The name Marie-Ange had made him start slightly. But he was even more startled by the tale of Otto's death and the grenades - and not just because he'd considered evening up a duel in a similar fashion! He remembered the end of Cumberland's attempted duel with Otto - and how unpleasant being blown up was. <><><><><> <> General Cumberland looks shocked. "Otto....dead? Killed by some French whelp with a grenade?" He shakes his head. "That is abominable!" "So you think he's a rogue and he wants me next, eh? But if he's so unscrupulous, why didn't he take *your* head as well when he had the chance, Reynald?" <><><><><> "That is, as they say, the question, Arthur," Reynald answers wearily. "And I have nothing but conjecture with which to answer it. It could very well be that the shock of two quickenings was beyond his capacity to endure....or perhaps, there is some shred of sentiment in the bastard. Je ne sais pas cela... A third possiblity is that the quickening of a defeated immortal would be something he deemed not worth taking." He shrugs. "I very much fear me, that he has decided to gain his strength through quickenings taken by these measures, rather than face a rival himself. I do not like trickery. And I would prefer to see no more victims among the honorable." "Otto was an enemy in this place and time. But if he had taken my head, I would have considered it a victory of the stronger. As much as a dead man considers anything..." He continues to pace, lost in thought... "Marie Ange dead, you say....pity that...she was one of Le Bon Dieu's good creatures." <><><><><> <> General Cumberland shrugs. "Immortals are meant for fighting, not praying. Being with God is surely a better place for her." "And I thank you for the warning about this rogue assassin. As you can see, however, I'm rarely alone-- even if he could sneak into camp and lob a grenade into my tent, there's no way he'd be able to take my head and expect to escape." The elder immortal glances at the other Englishman. "However, Geoffrey here had best be on his guard. If this Laurent can't get at me, he might think you're a more suitable target. If you sense another immortal, Stone, and you're someplace where you could be ambushed, be alert!" <><><><><> He watches the general with narrow scrutiny, wondering if his nonchalance is feigned, or if he is truly unafraid of ambush. To Reynald, it is anathema, the idea that one immortal would attack another using trickery. He would have said it was contrary to the rules of the 'game', if he had ever thought of his existence as such...but he never has. To Lieutenant Stone, he nods; "I am in full agreement with Arthur, here, Lieutenant. And while I still believe that Laurent is after bigger game than you, there is no telling what he may do if opportunity presents itself. You would do well to take precautions." And to the general.... "Well enough, Cumberland. I have delivered the warning. And that is all that I can do for you. Laurent is crafty, and I believe he is also a coward. But you will do as you judge best, sir, as will we all." He shrugs. "Can you afford me some corner to take a night's sleep, Arthur? I have rations of my own, and shall not strain your resources on that score. But I will confess I am weary and would rest before I continue my hunt, unless you object?" <><><><><> <> "Yes, yes, Lietenant Stone will see to getting you a cot," Cumberland says. "And where do you plan to go from here, Reynald? Are you involved in the War right now, or are you just chasing this other Frenchman around?" <><><><><> [Geoffrey] Geoffrey nods, salutes, and leaves the tent to arrange a cot for the General's guest. Once outside, he allows himself a slight smile at the reaction - or lack thereof - of General Cumberland to the 'cheating'. Once outside, he locates a sergeant or corporal and delegates the job of finding the guest a bed, so that he can return to General Cumberland's tent.