Well...That Wasn't Expected [Open]

[Niamh Dunlevy]

OOC - Couldn't find another place for the topic, so I stuck it here.

Country: Allied France
Area/Setting:
A dirt road - somewhat washed out by years of rain, war and neglect - snakes across a field of long grasses and other plant life, broken by pockets of trees both alive and dead. Branches have fallen, and so have the trees, broken by tank shells, storms, and the other goings-on of the time. Crickets chirp, and the shadows are long in the moonlight; one would be on edge in such a place. In one of the pockets of trees, there is a wooden cart with its axles and sides broken, wheels missing, peppered with bullet holes and turned on its side. A limp horse's body is attached to it by a harness, also on its side. It's blood-covered, and its not moving.

Current Time: Unknown...but it's dark out.
Weather Conditions: It's a few hours after a rainstorm, and the ground is damp and soggy. A cool breeze flows over the landscape, the grass rolling in waves like a sheet on the wind. Stars twinkle in the sky above, and amongst the tattered clouds few and far between, the hazy half moon hangs in the sky.


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Up was down, left was right, the world was blurred, the woman bloody. She was sprawled out on the ground, covered in bruises and scratches of all sizes and shapes, her nose smashed and right wrist twisted awkwardly. All of the fingers on that side's hand were snapped, and there was a long gash along her left side. Not too far away, her knife - the only defense she had against the unknown - lay uselessly.

Her eyes were mere slits. She could only vaguely recall what happened - there was gunfire, a horse shrieking, the snapping of wood, and her thrown onto the grass. There had been a harsh-sounding language - German - that had roared in her ears, and she had stabbed someone in the chaos. After that, she could recall nothing more.

In the back of her mind, she knew she was in bad shape. Every time she had hurt that bad, she knew she was in bad shape. The ground was cold and wet, and she shivered, wondering where she was. There had been a road she had been travelling on...was she still on it, though? Had she been dragged away in the chaos, or back to the den of some animal? No, that was stupid thinking. She mustn't panic, lest the blood flow faster from her injuries. She couldn't panic, though; panicking seemed like too much of a fuss. As did thinking. Or feeling. Or being conscious.

The horse...what about the horse? Had it died? Yes...they had filled it with lead. Was it hers? Not Drummer...not her horse. She hadn't taken him out. He was safe. She had taken Rakey-Jake; Drummer would have never panicked like Rakey-Jake did. Still, the other girls were fond of the poor carthorse. He would be missed - he was such a good horse. She had met him the first day she had come to the base that was...how far from there? A few kilometres? An entire country's worth of kilometres? Bleeding out was such a stupid thing. You couldn't figure anything out when everything that your body needed was draining out onto the ground like a pail of water with a hole in it.

Stephen had been annoyed to find her there. He probably thought women didn't belong in war. Well, they did; she had made that clear. With cheese graters and rolling pins, frying pans and to extremes such as teapots filled with scalding water, she had defended her kitchen. Whereas Sally Fell was the Churchill of the messes, she was one of that female Churchill's top generals. No one got between the Irish lass and her baked goods. They would be sent to the medic with bruises of all kinds if they did. This had been no different, just a little more extreme; the cart was carrying something, and it was ambushed by someone - a group of someones - that had guns. The Irish woman had fought back, like any woman of the Allied forces would.

Why couldn't she recall her own name? Boy, she must've hit her head hard...the medics would sure have a field day with her when she got back to the base. Yep, she just needed a little shut-eye, and then, she could report back. Nope, this blood loss wasn't too bad...she'd had worse before. Stupid pansies in the field - the pain was nothing! It was refreshing, almost...or was that the water from the ground on her face? She was lying on her stomach, after all.

Yes, up was down...or was it left? Right? Forward? Backwards? Or was she just sleepy? Blood loss...sleepy...sleepy, yes. It had been a rough night. When she woke up again, it would probably be late, and Fell would come in and beat her to pieces. Yes, that was a typical Fell...typical, typical Sally Fell....

[williamoaking]

OOC- Alright, I'm in. ( this is Franz.)
IC-
William was new to the war, but wasn't new to all warfare. He heard an AA gun go off, and a plane go down, and hit the ground ending up in flames. the wet ground didn't help much. No one had came out of the flame-engulfed plane. William always thought as warplanes as nothing but a humongous kite, just with a motor, and machineguns. William was ordered to go check out the scene. He careful aimed his Lee Enfield to the plane, and kicked at the cockpit. Bam! Bam! Bam! the sound went on atleast 5 times, until the glass broke, and flames blow out the newly made hole, shooting up the rest of cockpit."Hmm." William spoke out. "I wonder if there really is anything left...". William looked to be a German pilot. "Hey!" William shouted. He shot his Enfield at the german, hitting him in the leg. He looked around, until finally the flames revealed what looked to be a woman. He ran over to the woman and kneeled down."Oh shit, are ye' Ok my lass?" William checked around for anything he could use to help the woman. He wasn't very sure what to do, until he recognized a Medical bag. "Oh damn. Look, Lass, if you can tell me what to do, I could probley help you." William was hopeing the wounded woman could talk. He heard russling around. He gripped a radio he had been giving. "Colonel! Colonel, are ye' there? This is William Oaking.""Aye, I be here, Private. What is going on?""I got a wounded.""Well, Private, we've got our hands tied up over here.""I understand. Over,and out."William placed the radio down."Well, Lass, looks like we are on our own." William reached over to the medical pack, and pulled it over. He took out some bandages, and some morphine, for pain killing. "Alright, whats first?"

[Niamh Dunlevy]

The scent of burning, moist grass was in the air. Where it had come from, the Irishwoman didn't know, but she had been vaguely aware of a flickering light coming from somewhere behind her. Faint sounds came from somewhere as well, but she was too sleepy to care. Boy, that nightmare was going to be something to tell to the girls in the kitchen when morning came...it was surprisingly real, too....

She closed her eyes for the briefest moment, and the next thing she knew, there was a man's voice. It was fuzzy and distant, and the woman wondered if someone was talking to her in the real world. He kept talking, to; yes, she was okay...blood loss never hurt anyone...wait, what? Wasn't she sleepy? Yes...her bad dream was getting the better of her. How annoying.

There were two voices then, yelling at each other about tied hands and wounds. It was so odd, all these people talking about such silly things...nothing was wrong. She was just tired. Sure, she had been shot at and knocked off a cart, but it was just a dream. Besides, what person who had grown up around wagons hadn't taken their share of spills from places high up?

He was asking her what to do first. Well, she didn't know what to do. All she wanted to do was sleep - sleep, wake up, and go to work. The headache she had was intense; maybe she should go see a medic when she got back to base. Such a bad headache...some aspirin would be nice. Very, very nice. That, and a break from work - maybe Fell would let her go home? That would be so, so lovely...so lovely....

"Ngh..." the woman softly murmured. "Go 'way...."


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OOC - To my knowledge, all soldiers know basic first aid, so your character should remember this stuff right off the bat. I apologize if this is wrong.

[Cpl. Seth Seacoal]

"Goddammit, Wells! Get the hell over here!" Corporal Seth Seacoal yelled loudly, before ducking out behind the old oak tree that was serving as his cover. As one of the Volkssturm soldiers behind a tree began to reload, Seth squeezed the small steel bar that served as a trigger on his "Grease Gun" SMG. Seven molten hunks of lead spewed from the barrel, whizzing toward one of the unlucky Germans. Four of them veered off course, but three of them hit home and entered the Civilian Soldier's body. Seth's kill slumped to the ground pathetically as he ducked back behind the tree, inaccurate return fire spattering the ground. Private Derrick Wells had made his way over to Seacoal, and the two soldiers stood back-to-back behind the tree. He smiled wickedly at Seacoal as he brought out the empty M1 Garand cartridge clip that the Private always carried along with him and hit it off of the metal in the barrel, producing the distinctive metallic ping. The small sound imitated the ping signified the end of a clip, and German soldiers had gotten used to popping out to finish off their reloading enemy. That is exactly what they did here, a Volkssturm Private poking his head up from behind a toll station raised his gun for a hopefully lucky shot. But before his finger even touched the trigger, Wells ducked out and sent a bullet into his shoulder.

The final German turned and ran, exposing his back to the opportunistic fire of Seacoal. The Corporal sent a spray of bullets into his back, paralyzing him before a final bullet to the head from Private Wells finished the cowardly Volkssturm trooper off. "Well we fuckin' showed them!" Wells shouted, about to run for the bodies to see what he could scavenge. "Hold it Private! This was just a patrol. We don't want the main Kraut force t-" Corporal Seacoal was cut off by a loud blare behind the two men. Seth and Derrick whipped around, to catch the flash and boom of Anti-Aircraft batteries firing at a small German plane. Most of the shots hit, engulfing the enemy aircraft and sending it hurtling down to earth, smashing just out of the American's sight, obscured by a small rise in the French countryside.

Seth immediately broke into a sprint, Private Wells not far behind. They rounded the crest of the hill quickly, but apparently another man had gotten to the wreck before them. He shot into the cockpit and then disappeared behind the blur of flames and smoke. "It looks like we have some company..." Seacoal said, approaching the lone figure who was bent over something at the side of the road, a German pilot maybe? The two soldiers could now tell the figure was a British soldier, an upside down chevron stitched too his sleeve. The Americans could see that the thing he was bent over was a young woman, who lay in a pile of bloodstained grass. The British private was yelling something into a radio while rummaging through a medical bag. "Alright, what's first?" The soldier said in a clueless manner, morphine and bandages in his hands.

"Don't you know anything, Private!? She isn't going to tell you shit! She's freakin' wounded, for Christ's sake!" Seth yelled, anger clearly poking through his words. He shoved the soldier aside lightly, grabbing the medical bag, minus some bandages and morphine in the Brit's hands. Seth sunk to his knees and quickly whispered to the young woman: "Your gonna be fine...erm...just...fine..." He felt awkward in the position of healing instead of killing, but the British was defiantly not a medic and probably would have ended up doing worse for the wounded woman than good. She was young, around 20, with shorter brown hair. Seth noticed something strange in her fleeting eyes, for both of them where a different hue. The Corporal was not sure of them, they were strange, and he guessed a bit pretty. He forced the odd pair of eyes from his eyes as he looked through the bag.

"Well, none of this is of any use if I don't know what the hell is wrong..." The soldier muttered to himself, looking again at the wounded young lady. Her nose looked as if it where broken, and her wrist was twisted gruesomely and the fingers didn't look much better. Seth gripped both sides of her body in and effort to turn her over, but shied away as soon as he felt a sticky substance coating her left side. He pulled his hand up and could barely make out dark blood on his palm. He wiped it on the grass and pulled a pair of disposable plastic gloves from the bag. He stretched them over his hands and decided he better have a look at the bloodied side. He switched his position too the other side of her body and rolled the bottom of her tunic up, revealing a long slash along her abdomen. The Corporal grimaced and reached for the Med bag, taking out a small canister of wound sanitizer. He screwed off the cap and took a bit of the gel on the tips of his right index and middle finger, applying it awkwardly to the cut.

"This will hurt a bit, ma'am..."

[williamoaking]

Watching the soldier patch the woman up, William walked down the road, stepping on what appeared to be a bug. "Eh. Not the worse I've been in." William kept walking until he saw what looked to be two motorcycles. Was it one? Yes, it must've been. William finally saw the German insignia."Shit!" William ran and rolled over to the American Corpral. "We have company!" William heard the motorcycle's come closer. He ran over and grabbed his Lee Enfield, and aimed around for the MGer on it. Beside them, soldiers trotted. "Take cover!" William whispered viciously.The motorcycle came over, its light flashing on the wooden-bullet filled cart. The soldier loaded off the bike, leaving the MGer in the side-car. William made handsignals, telling the American to wait for William to take out the MGer, and then he could take out the driver. He could only hope the American saw him.

[Niamh Dunlevy]

The assumption that everything was a dream melted away as soon as her side burned. She let out a choked yelp, caught off guard by the sudden pain, even with the distant warning that had just managed to register in her ears. Her dual-toned eyes flew open for a moment, and she wheezed, coughing as an even sharper pain shot through her wounded side. A few lumps on her side - swollen and slightly pointed - were present, indicating that something might have been broken during the chaos she vaguely recalled.

"...Ow..." she mumbled, now slightly more awake then before, but finding herself slipping back into the dreamy state from before. She again realized something was wrong, and that there was someone gently holding her; a startled pang went through the back of her mind. The fingers and wrist on her good hand twitched, the latter meant to find and grasp her knife, but it was no use. She was too incoherent to make her body obey her properly, and the feeling seemed to fade away in her mind. If whoever was there was a threat, then she could do nothing.

A distant rumbling caught her attention, followed by a swear and a harsh, few breaths - although, it sounded more like someone talking than breathing. Once again, her fingers twitched, startled by the voice; now that she (somewhat) knew she couldn't protect herself, she began to panic. The need to run, hide and recover - an age-old instinct that every human possessed - was blaring somewhere in her mind's back, even if she didn't really realize it was. Her heat beat just a little faster, and she began gasping hoarsely - she didn't want to die!

BANG![/b]

She twitched again, but at the sudden sound this time. Now her heart was pumping furiously, and for the briefest moment, she felt terrified, and her breathing got worse - in fact, it felt like her own throat was caving in on her. Tears pricked at eyes fluttering, the silhouette of someone still hovering over her, and someone or something beside that silhouette. The sleepiness she had descended into wasn't as comforting as it had been...seconds ago? Minutes ago? Hours ago, even? She couldn't remember - curse her mind becoming so useless at the worse times! For all she knew, whoever was around her could be setting her on fire, because it sure felt like it!



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OOC - I apologize if Niamh's reactions are unrealistic. I tried to make her reactions to the painful stimuli as true to real life as possible; she's a 2 for eyes and motor on the Glasgow Coma Scale, and 2 closing in on 3 for the verbal. If I'm off with anything, I'd appreciate if someone pointed it out; I'll make whatever edits are necessary if so. Oh, and posting order - according to what I've seen - is me, William, then Seth.

[williamoaking]

OOC- I know it's been a while, so I'm sorry, but here's my post.
IC- William knew this was his only chance. He wait for another chance. The driver wasn't looking, and certainly wasn't looking anywhere near the other three. William moved in. He grabbed the MGer's head and mouth. The MGer did what he could to fight back, but William managed to get the bayonet in the soldier's neck. He ripped it out, and placed it in his foot shealth. He nodded for the American to make his move. William moved slightly back into the bushes, making a rattling sound. The German heard it, and William knew this because he walked by, ignoring the German, thinking he was only sleeping. William was well hidden, and was unseen. He thought in his mind, "Sorry, buddy. I'm gonna have to take this one. William leaped ontop of the German soldier. They rolled on the ground into a knife fight. He could only hope that the American would see, and could either help him, or help the young lass. Personally, he would rather have the young woman healed with first. William was getting the advantage, but he couldn't get easy anytime soon. They rolled onto the grass. Niether of them could see now, and the only reason they could see back on the road was due to the motorcycle. "How could something small as a plane crash end up like this?!" William wondered in his head. But, now that they couldn't see, the fight was on...

[Cpl. Seth Seacoal]

The young woman twitched erratically, frightening Seth badly. What if she was having a seizure? What if Seth had done something dangerously wrong? What is she was dying? Corporal Seacoal rummaged through the Medical bag again, looking for something to field dress the wound. As he glanced at the frightening gash once again, he caught sight of several small lumpy welts on her abdomen. Shrapnel? That was the first thing that ran through his mind, but he though better of it. Some of the cargo must splintered in the attack, spraying the young woman. What bastards the Nazis are. Attacking innocent supply carts driven by young women.

The woman suddenly sputtered, her eyes bursting open for a second. Just as Seth had grasped the chance to ask her what had happened, she slumped back down into the grass. The rumble of tires on the worn out dirt road momentarily broke him from his healing practices. Reinforcements! The idea of taking the burden of caring for a badly wounded young woman from his shoulders made the Pennsylvanian slightly lightheaded. But the curse of the British private trampled every hope in his mind. "We got company!" The man whispered to Seth, before disappearing into the shadows. "Wells! Get over there next to the Brit! I'll - " Seth's words where cut off by the reappearance of the British soldier's hand. He quickly waved for Seth to stay and then to do something, but the Corporal ignored the signals as English crap and watched as the Brit leapt to his feet, a shining bayonet in his hand.

A German motorcycle had stopped absentmindedly in the middle of the road, the driver walking into a small patch of brush to relieve his bladder. The gunner, a young German with glaring blue eyes, remained in the sidecar, his finger glued to the MG42. Unseen by the Nazis, the British private crept up behind the sidecar, eerily silent on the worn dirt road. The blade of his bayonet slipped efficiently under the Machine-Gunner’s neck, sliding in a quick motion, ending the young German’s life swiftly. Just as quickly as the Englishman had come, he disappeared into a bush, which attracted the urinating German, whose trigger hand darted to his holster. But before the Nazi could pull his pistol, the Brit hopped out of the plant and wrestled him to the ground. The two enemies became a flailing ball of limbs and knives, each trying to get the upper hand. “Private! Go help the Brit get the Kraut off of his ass!” Seth said, rising to his feet to help.

In the scuffle, the German had managed to work his pistol out of its holster, but could not get a bead on the Briton. He thought he had finally had his chance, but instead just fired awkwardly. But then, he saw the American Corporal hop out of cover and scream something. He elbowed the Brit, allowing him enough time to squeeze off a few aimed shots and the American. As soon as the third rang out, Seth knew he was hit. He felt a heavy impact in his lower left arm, just a few inches above his wrist. For a few agonizing seconds he felt nothing again, just the fear of pain dominating his mind. Suddenly, a massive jolt of pain shot through his arm as if from a hypodermic needle. “AAAGHR!” Seacoal collapsed to the ground, clutching the wound with his right hand. A new shock of pain traveled through his body as his fingers touched a bloody splinter of bone protruding from the skin under his uniform. Seth hastily rolled up his sleeve and could just make out the gruesome sight of the wound. It poured out blood, spattering both his trousers and issue tunic. The bullet had shattered the bone, and fragments stuck out through the skin. He looked away for a moment, swallowing the bitter taste of panic that lined his mouth. Seth bit his bottom lip hard, his slight overbite piercing the skin and flooding his mouth with even more blood. He reached for the med kit with his good hand, fumbling through all the items that had spilled out in the dirt from his wound. His hand a handful of morphine syrettes, and he picked two up blindly. He lifted one to his mouth and broke the seal with his teeth, and then removing it and sticking the needle in his arm. The pain proceeded for a few more seconds while the painkiller shot through his blood system, and then it dulled almost completely. He took it out and opened the other one lying on his lap the same way, before inching over to the wounded woman and injecting her with the painkiller. He took more care with her dose, even inserting it with a slight angle. He then reclined on the ground, hoping that the Brit and Private Wells would finish off the God damned German that shot him.

[Niamh Dunlevy]

It was one of those few times Cillian Dunlevy had been terrified to the point of paralysis. He felt as if he was to be sick, his heart pounding wildly at the images in his head. His cousin's body, riddled with bullet holes and completely still, red blood pooling beneath her - it was too disturbing a picture to ignore. Niamh Dunlevy was always a bit headstrong, yes...but why did she have to go and do that? Couldn't she have swallowed her pride and waited until morning?

Whitney Lyne - a good of friend of Niamh's, apparently - had told Cillian everything. Niamh, apparently, had been fed up with being treated poorly, seemingly disrespected ever since her barracks had fallen down in a rainstorm. In an attempt to prove a woman could do anything, she had loaded up a cart with supplies for the 3rd Infantry Division, and attempted to cross through eighty kilometres of semi-hostile territory at night. Not to mention, she was alone, and had not been carrying a firearm with her. Only an idiot would say that she wasn't a prime target for any stray Germans still in the area.

It had just been a matter of time until someone got to her. And, to Cillian's frustration, it wasn't just a few soldiers in the area, but three or four well-armed, stubborn squads. To top it all off, there had even been a German fighter plane gunned down in the area, and that plane's allies would most certainly go hunting for survivors. What if they were too late? What if Niamh had already fallen victim to the Germans? Even with the fire from the down plane creating a visible glow in the distance, it was hard to say how close Niamh was to the plane, and the jeep was still a good distance....

"Canny dis bleedin' t'in' go any faster?!" snapped Cillian over the rumble of the Jeep's wheels. "De Jerry's not waitin' wi' biscuits an' tay, yer nu!"

"Shi's gonneur as fast as shi can, Sergeant!" yelled the driver, a young Private with a noticeable Yorkshire accent. "Ah'm usin as much speed as ah can wiyaa' usin up t' rest o' t' petrol! Wea'ar already tooa la on it 'cos we 'ed ta nip on aroun' eur while back!"

"OI DON'T CARE ABOYT YISSER BLEEDIN' PETROL, JIST BELT DE GAS!!" bellowed the Sergeant, scaring the Private into nearly wetting himself. The Jeep immediately accelerated forward, and Cillian had to catch himself on the sides of the vehicle, lest he be thrown onto the ground below. Around him, his fellow soldiers yelped, catching themselves as well as Hiram Dunlevy glared at his elder brother.

"Calm down, yer blasted eejit!" yelled Hiram. "We nade de petrol if we want ter git back! If Nivvy's 'urt, we're gonna nade al' we 'av ter git back ter base! SLOW DOWN, PRIVATE PAISLEY!"

The Private immediately obliged, and Cillian gritted his teeth with a glare. Hiram was only a Corporal, and yet, the little snert at the front was thick as a plank to oblige?! Did Hiram not realize how bad things really were?!

"PRIVATE, BELT DE ACCELERATOR AGAIN AN' KEEP IT LOIKE DAT! DAT'S AN ORDER!" Cillian thundered, his voice more purposefully intimidating than before. Private Paisley - not wanting to get on anyone's bad side - did as he was told. Hiram was about to yell back an expletive-laden reply, but one of the other soldiers - a Yank by the name of Jacob Thatcher - screamed a warning.

"GERMANS, EAST SIDE! SIX OF - "

Thatcher was immediately cut off as gunfire started, the Yank going limp as three rounds plowed through his shoulder. Eyes wide with shock and pain, Cillian swore thickly as he hit the Jeep's floor, quickly pulling out a syrette and some bandages. He then handed those bandages off to Hiram, who began dressing the injuries as quickly and efficiently as he could. Despite never knowing anything past basic first-aid, there was something about Hiram that made many wonder why he wasn't a medic. There was just something about how he handled wounds so efficiently that gave him a physician's air. Then again, he had always been the empathic one, easily analysing and find out what was wrong, and his critical thinking skills were his strongest point.

"'IRAM! stay 'ere wi' Yoke an' Able an' wait for wounded! Everyone else, wi' me!" barked Cillian. Within minutes, the orders were fulfilled, and guns began firing at the Germans. Dashing across the semi-wooded field to where the plane had fallen, Cillian prayed he would find his cousin there, and that he hadn't come too late.

++++++++++++++++++

As the young woman felt the pain lessen, he breathing eased slightly, although it was still heavy. In the distance, she could hear a familiar voice, and the firing of rifles. People were shouting, and someone was beside her, breathing heavily as well. Slowly, her eyes opened until they were cracks again, the light burning plane's fire caught for a second in her amber eye.

"Cillian..." she whispered, the name briefly coming to mind. Was that Cillian beside her now, sounding as if he was struggling to breathe properly? Or was it someone else? Was he the one yelling faintly in the distance, perhaps?

[williamoaking]

Hearing the gunshot go off, William reacted fast. He dove his knife right into the German soldier's rib cage. With the asistance of the American Private, they managed to rip down the German private. "Let's see how it feels." William spoke. He took out the pistol that was just used to shoot a comrade, and shot the German in the head. He then walked over to the American."How are you and her? Let me see your wound." William when down to where the wounded arm was. He saw the fragments. Hmm. "Can't do much about the bone fragments, but I can get that bullet out. William took out his canteen, and went up to the still-blazed plane. He heated up the water, and poured it on a rag. He placed it on the wound, causeing a bit pain, which at the same time means it was disfecting."Alright, this may hurt." He put some more morphine on the wound, and cleaned his hands with the hot rag. He took some squeezers, and dug a bit for the bullet, avoiding the bone. He found the bullet."Ah, Got it." William spoke. He brought out the bullet slowly, and then placed it down. "There we go." I don't know if you want this, but-" William didn't finish, hoping the American would get what he ment.

OOC Note- Sorry I waited so long, and also, Im sorry, I might have put Franz, Instead of William a few times.

[Cpl. Seth Seacoal]

Seth had to twist his head around to catch a glimpse of the Hand to Hand fight, the Brit stabbing into the Fritz's ribcage and Wells assaulting him with the bayonet strapped to his M1 Garand. "Good job boys..." Seth whispered meekly, and he doubted anyone would hear it. The woman was still forcing air into her lungs at a slightly startling rate, but it was nowhere near where it had been before. Corporal Seacoal let his head loll to the ground, struggling to catch his breath. The wound was doused with morphine, but it didn't stop it from bleeding more. The Brit came and said something to the Corporal, but he could hardly make it out through his ringing ears.

Seth watched the Brit trot over to the burning plane, doing something with an unseen object in his hand. As the Englishman returned, Seth could see that it was a small, grey rag. The man dropped to his knees and pressed it to Seth's wound. "God dammit..." The rag was hot, and it was clear that the Brit wanted to desanitize his wound. The American bit his lip again, looking away and taking in the burning sensation. As soon as the pain was lifted, he turned back to the British soldier and saw him administer more morphine, which took away the pain but made Seacoal a bit lightheaded. The Brit whispered a warning to Seth before digging into his arm, picking out a small, misshapen peice of metal. "There we go." I don't know if you want this, but-" The Englishman said, and Seth quickly replied. "Please." He took the bullet from the Brit and rolled it around in his good hand, ignoring the pain in his arm.

The rumble of another vehicle startled the young Corporal into looking at the road, seeing jeep rolling down the dirt path. "Dammit, more Jerries." He cursed, but was corrected when he heard a British voice arguing with a Irish one. "Correction: Damn, more Brits." He said with a pained smirk. But all of that precious joy was knocked out of him when he heard shots ring out near them. One of the Brits [Or was it and American?] slumped over, another diving in to patch him up. The machinegun on the back of the jeep blared to life, pounding the field with bullets. Startled German cries went up as chunks of flesh were rended from bone by the jeep's bullets. Unnoticed, the wounded woman whispered something, but Seth buried it. "OVER HERE! OVER HERE YA STUPID BRITS! WE GOT TWO FRIENDLY WOUNDED! PLEASE! HELP!"

[Niamh Dunlevy]

Any German within range was gunned down as quickly as possible. Cillian's heart was beating madly, his veins filled with adrenaline. His Lee Enfield ripped apart four German skulls as he ran through the field, and near the trees, he spotted two more. A shot for each of them ripped through their bodies - one through the heart, the other through the neck. Six kills in just a few minutes, and Cillian was ready for more, drawing his bayonet from the sheath at his hip.

"OVER HERE! OVER HERE YA STUPID BRITS! WE GOT TWO FRIENDLY WOUNDED! PLEASE! HELP!"

With a sharp turn to the northwest, Cillian sprinted through the underbush, leaping over roots and rocks towards the voice. In the flickering light of the nearby crashed plane, he saw two figures on the ground. One was that of a soldier, and the other -

"NIVVY!!"

In a heartbeat, he was by their sides, his wide eyes giving the pair a quick once-over. The soldier was an American Corporal, and his wrist was bleeding profusely, bone fragments sticking out. His eyes looked glazed in the firelight, and Cillian immediately went to action, wrapping the man's wrist as quickly and safely as he could. Placing the man's hand on his chest to help prevent shock, the Pavee shaking slightly, Cillian turned to look at his cousin, who was desperately gasping for air.

"Niamh..." he said softly, a hand reaching forward to gently brush the woman's bloody fringe out of her face. Cillian crawled over, moving a little to get some light, and cringed at the site of Niamh's wounds. She was bleeding like a stuck pig, her hand and fingers were swollen and visibly broken, a gash ran down her side, and it looked like there were broken ribs, too. Even worse, Niamh seemed to be going into shock, her hyperventilating a sign of her deteriorating condition.

"BOYS! OI CUD USE SUM 'ELP OVER 'ERE!!" bellowed the Pavee. Almost immediately, footsteps could be heard rushing over, and the Irishman's fellow soldiers came rushing to their comrades' aid. One of them had several pieces of medical equipment on him, and immediately began to help Cillian treat Niamh's wounds.

"Cillian..." the young woman whispered again. Like a father to his child, Cillian gently grasped her shoulder, trying to keep her from slipping into a deadly sleep. Her eyes weakly flickered over to his quivering form, and he gave his cousin a weak smile.

"Everything's al' roi, Nivvy," he said quietly. "We tuk care av de Jerry. Everything's gran' nigh, gran'?"

[williamoaking]

The sounds of MG fire caught William's attention. He rolled for cover, gripping his Lee Enfield. He heard the yells, "BOY'S! OI CUD USE SUM 'ELP OVER 'ERE!" William rolled over to the Irish men, and where the Woman was. "Ah, some reinforcements. Thank's for coming." William spoke. He saw the Irish leader talking to the young, wounded lady, So he figured they were related. He stood up, and keep a look out. He saw a light in the distance. "Hm... I wonder what that coul' be." William saw atleast three tents, and a bunch of figures glareing from the fire. He guessed either more Jerrys, or the Irish men's camp. William walked over to the American Corpral, thinking they were gaining a short break. William sat down and looked at the wounds. "How are ye'?" William spoke. "Are ye' wounds alright me friend? It looks like we got some reinforcements." William said, nodding to the the Irish men that circled the young woman. William kept wondering about the light in the distance, so he spoke to the American Corpral about it. "Aye, mate, see that light over there?" William pointed to the fire, revealing the men and tents that surronded it. "Know what it may be?" William asked.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

...Drum roll please...

Dunlevy - Lovely, as always, 9CP

Oaking - kinda short man 5CP

Seacoal - lenght is good, but only three posts, 6CP

-JT