Slogging Across The Filth [Mac, possibly another]

[Vivienne Rousseau]

Country: Vichy France, near the German border.
Area/Setting: A trench-ridden stretch of land, muddy and soggy. Most of the trenches have collapsed, and are being dug out again. The off-and-on rain/snow hasn't helped. These trenches are in the middle of a field, with a few trees here and there. It perfectly fits the title of "the middle of nowhere".

Current Time: 04:00
Weather Conditions: Rain-snow and miserable. The wet weather has brought temperatures down to a bone-chilling five degrees Celsius, and the mercury struggles to keep itself above the freezing point. At any moment, it will dip back down, throwing everything into a deep freeze. It is early February of 1945.

- = = -

Vivienne's back and legs couldn't take it anymore. She fell face-first into the thick, oozing mud, a shiver winding down her aching spine. Her shoulders were red and painful from the straps of the harness digging into her flesh, the woman hooked up to a cart like a horse. In it, there was a load of kindling, almost weighing as much as Vivienne. To the Nazis, her strength and size made her an excellent replacement for a workhorse.

"VERSCHIEBEN SIE ES, FRAU!" barked a soldier, kicking the Frenchwoman lightly in the side. Grunting, the giantess attempted to stand, but her legs went out on her. The man kicked her again, his face a mask of irritation.

"ICH BESAGTE BEWEGUNG ES!! Ich lasse nicht Trotz, Rousseau zu!"

The woman growled dangerously, her teeth gritted (or were they bared?) as she glared up at the Nazi. Shakily, her hands slid across the mud, sinking into it as shaking arms tried to push Vivienne up into a standing position. Breathing heavily, she tried to concentrate on standing -

And promptly yelped as her back gave a sickening crack. Her form fell to the ground, sinking into the mud as she panted, lights dancing before her eyes. She had to get up...they'd shoot her, the crippled were one of the first to die under the Nazis' iron fist, it had always been that way...

A sudden sharpness in her side told Vivienne the Nazi had kicked her again. In a fit of rage, she roared, sounding nearly breathless, and sank her teeh into the man's leg. The soldier yelped, stumbling back, and Vivienne chuckled darkly. A few soldiers who had been standing nearby came over, one tsking and rolling his eyes.

"Stören Sie nicht. Er liegt sie kann nicht sich bewegen auf der Hand. Wir können die Frau nicht töten, also annulieren Sie den Kabelstrang und lassen Sie ihren Rest. Halten Sie einfach Ihre Hände weg von ihrem Mund."

Vivienne smirked, and another chuckle came forth. Rough hands undid the straps of the harness, and with some prodding from their rifles and some pulling of her arms by them, she stood. They led her to a trench that had not yet filled up, and shoved her into it, knowing she was too tired to escape. Vivienne landed into the muck with a near-silent, "Oomph!" and growled in the back of her throat. The Nazis left her to slightly sink in it, working on setting up camp in the filth and the cold, cursing under their breaths in frustration as they tried for a fire.

Dawn was a few hours away, but time had passed slowly since they had left the makeshift Nazi encampment some unknown number of kilometres away. The long night for the group was not yet over, and all that waited beyond it was an even longer day. Vivienne hoped to high Heaven that her back and arms would be better by the morning, but with such wet cold, it was highly improbable.

She hated having arthritis, especially in cold weather. What she hated even more, though, was how the Nazis could so easily take advantage of it. When she was finally free, she'd snap all of their scrawny little necks, down to the Führer himself. For now, though, she had to rest.


====================


Translations:

MOVE IT, WOMAN!

I SAID MOVE IT!! I will not tolerate defiance, Rousseau!

Do not bother. It is obvious she cannot move. We cannot kill the woman, so undo the harness and let her rest. Just keep your hands away from her mouth.

[Mac Bargett]

Another recon mission. Mac’s arm still stung from the last one, but at least this time he had a squad to do the killing for him. But then again, they’re even greener then he is. Should a man who can’t kill another human being count on his subordinates to do the same? Mac would have to ask the padre that when he returned to the base, although Mac was doubtful on what the padre would know about it, he was Catholic after all, but he had to bring his mind back to the matter at hand, the recon mission.

What Mac’s squad was doing today was testing the German lines. With countless other squads all along the front, they were prodding the enemy territory, seeing where the Germans were the strongest and where they were the weakest. Once this was established, there would be another great Allied push through the lines at the Germans’ weakest point and take back the ground lost only a month before. Basic military strategic that had been in use ever since men fought against each other. During the mission briefing back at the base, Mac remembered letters his father had read to him from a French pen pal he had meet during the Great War. They were the English translations of the French translations of ancient Chinese scrolls about war, which described the same tactics the same thing, but with chariots, longbows, and swords instead of tanks, artillery, and machineguns. Even the Germans used the same tactics, and Mac was warned that the Germans were probably preparing their own similar offensive. His squad would have to be careful with engaging the enemy, or else an entire division might barrel down on them.

Mac kept that in mind as his 6 man rifle squad and himself advanced up an icy slope. It had been a quiet hike, the men were too busy watching every direction for Germans to think of small talk. Mac himself kept his sight ahead, where the point man was. At the moment, the rifleman was dashing up the hill a few yards ahead of the squad. But once he reached the top, he quickly ducked down, spun around, and ran full speed down the hill towards the rest of the squad. He made it almost the whole way before tripping in the frozen mud and sliding the rest of the way.

Mac motioned for the men to stop as held out the other hand to help the private up and whispered, “What’s up, Kage?”

With Mac’s help, the soldier picked himself up, “Germans, sarge, a whole mess of them, and a trench line.”

“Alright, let’s go take a look, everyone else, stay behind him, but close.” The point man and Mac started to march up the hill again with the rest of the men behind, until they reached the top, then they went prone. As they slogged through the filth the private used his rifle butt as an oar to push him along, but Mac cared more about his weapon and tried his best to hold the thompson above his head, out of the icy mud.

300 yards away were the Germans, mostly grouped around a cart full of wood. One of them kicked something lying on the ground near the cart, but it was too far away for Mac to tell what it was, and he was more concerned with the trench line. The majority of them were between them and the Germans, and the closest was only 4 yards away and ran parallel between the two groups of soldiers. That trench looked promising Mac slowly backed onto the reverse side of the hill, back with the privates,”Alright men, I saw at least 3 squads of Germans, so we won’t beat them with numbers, we are going to have to rely on our M1s and tactics. I want 4 men to crawl over the hill and then run into a trench about 5 yards away. From there you will fire on the enemy to distract as I take the other 2 down to the next trench, then we will pin the Germans down as the rest come down, then we repeat until the Germans have run off, surrender, or dead. Alright? I know this is probably the first action most of you have seen, but don’t worry, Mac paused a moment as he thought about what to say, “just remember your training and know to kill them before they kill you. Now I want you four over the hill, go!” Mac pointed to the four nearest men and they got down to crawl through the mud, and then, they were out of sight on the other side of the hill. Mac took it as a good sign that there were no gun shots. After a minute, he followed them over the hill on his belly.
Once again on the top of the hill, Mac watched as his fire team stood in the trench and prepared to fire on the unsuspecting Germans below. Mac looked back at the remaining two men, the assault team, behind him, trying to keep their balance as they crouched on the slope, ready to hop up and follow Mac along the hill.
”Get ready to run Mac whispered to them, before standing back up and shouting to the men in the trench
”Fire!

The men in the trench opened up with their rifles, and provided covering fire to Mac and the rest as they dashed down the hill, aiming for the next nearest trench, only 50 yards away.

[Vivienne Rousseau]

Only a few minutes after she had been left in the trench to rest, gunfire broke out. Half-asleep, the giantess's head snapped upwards in wakefulness, her half-blind eyes wide. Flashes of light illuminated the early morning, and the Germans were cursing and swearing, firing back. Squelching footsteps reached her ears, and in all her pain and tiredness, Vivienne went on the offensive.

"SÉJOUR À PARTIR DE MOI!!"

The roar was vicious, that of a cornered lioness's. Pausing, the Germans whirled around to face Vivienne, only to be filled with lead moments later. Several of them fell to the ground, leaving only two left to blindly fire at their rapidly-advancing foe. Using the confusion as a mask, the Frenchwoman began to crawl away from the scene, her shoulders stinging.

She had only gotten fifteen feet away when there was a boyish shout from somewhere above her. A thick wall of mud collapsed on her head, neck and upper back, and there was a loud, "Oomph!" Further weight on her back told her someone had landed on her, and the sudden pain that came along with it made her even more desperate. With a snarl-roar, Vivienne flung herself upwards, planning to land on her attacker and crush him. Once that was done, she would stumble forward and whirl around, standing up on shaky legs. Once more imitating a lioness, she roared loudly, the sound feral and cruel as it split the morning air.


========================


OOC - Sorry if I god-modded anything. I also apologize for the...less-then-top-notch quality of this post. I blame an exhausted muse.

Translations:

STAY AWAY FROM ME!!

[Mac Bargett]

Mac swung his Thompson in step with his legs as he ran down the slope, followed by his assault team. His complete concentration was on that trench 40 yards ahead of him, the rest of the world was a blur and he was only slightly aware of what was happening to the Germans while he silently prayed that God allow the fire and maneuver to work. It did, and from the trench Mac and the other men jumped into, they saw that most of the Germans were wiped out in the surprise attack. As the two privates with him begin to open up to draw the 2 remaining Germans’ inaccurate fire away from the rest of the squad to allow them to advance, Mac was unable to. His heart was filled with pain for the wasted life butchered over the trenches. He could only stand and watch in awe as the 2 fire teams blasted hot lead towards the flames that erupted from the trench each time the Germans fired their weapons, desperate to drive off the American invaders. But the enemy couldn’t hide from the duel fronts, and Mac could taste the vomit entered his mouth as the bullets pierced the Germans and the random firing from the trench suddenly quit.

Mac only left the trance as one of the privates patted him on the shoulder and asked if he was alright before jumping out of the trench, along with the other one. Mac swallowed and followed as he called out, “Hey! Be careful, we don’t know if they are still alive.”
The private turned to say something at Mac, but then couldn’t see the trench in front of him and fell in, giving a short yep before smashing into the mud, along with something else.

As Mac dashed over to help him up, a giant beast leapt out of the trench and roared. Through the mud and years of Nazi oppression, Mac could tell that it had one been a woman. As the other men pointed their rifles at it, Mac slung his Thompson and held his palms up in a sign of peace, as he slowly walked over ”Woah! Woah. Come on guys, put down your guns.” They do so, and Mac addresses the thing as he stood directly above the trench, ”Calm down now. No need for that. Do speak English? Sprechen Sie Deutsch? Francais?”

-Translation
“Sprechen Sie Deutsch?“
Do you speak German?

[Vivienne Rousseau]

Vivienne panted heavily as the soldiers stepped back, terrified of her. They shook like a delicate tree in the wind, guns aimed at the Frenchwoman, lowering them as someone with a vaguely German accent spoke. As she tensed, glaring up at the figures that stood by the trench, the owner of the accented voice spoke again.

This time, however, Vivienne's ears caught the American accent that blended in with the German. He asked her if she could speak German, English or French, and the Frenchwoman snorted.

"All zree, Allemand to an extent, mon ami. My name est Vivienne Rousseau; zhank you for your 'elp.

A loud groan caught Vivienne's attention, and she slowly turned her head, wincing slightly as she did so. Sprawled out on the ground, half-sunk into the mud, the Private she had crushed looked dizzily up at the sky. Frowning, Vivienne limped over, swaying as she did so - there was still a bit of adrenaline left in her system, so her arthritis wasn't completely acting up yet.

"My apologiezzzz, mon ami," the Frenchwoman said to the soldier, bending down on one knee and pulling him out of the mud. Her arm joints felt like they were grating against her shoulders as she pulled the soldier from the mud, nearly stumbling backwards as she slowly stood up again. The straps from the harness had dug deep, and sticky blood still oozed from her wounds, despite the platelets in her blood beginning to work.

Her unfortunate victim managed to stumble to the side of the trench when he was up, leaning on it for support as he held his aching head. Within seconds, though, the soft mud collapsed, and he fell onto the ground again with a louder groan then before. Vivienne winced again, this time in sympathy and from a small twinge in her back.

"...Zorry..."


======================

Translations:

-German
-Is
-My friend

[Mac Bargett]

Mac and the rest of the men just stood there with their mouths agape as the comical scene played itself out below them. Eventually the sound of giggles escaping from some of his men snapped Mac out of the trance and he turned to the squad, “Alright ladies, this isn’t the USO Follies, we have to remember we’re still in a combat zone. I want you, you, and you,” he pointed at three men at random, not even with a glance to see who they were, “to secure the area, make sure we are alone and there aren’t anymore German soldiers or French woman. Your accent, you are French?” Mac directed the question to the woman as the chosen men moved out to check the other trenches.

Mac noticed the deep strap wounds over the giantess’s rough shoulders as he stared at her, and without looking down he unhooked his canteen and tossed by the feet of the disorientated private in the trench, who finally picked himself up. “You’re worn out and those cuts look pretty bad. King, give her a drink from my canteen and then patch her up with your medikit. And you should really use your own canteen to clean yourself off, with all that mud you look more like a potato then a soldier.” Pvt. King picked up the metal canteen, took it out of it’s muddy sleeve, and unscrewed the cap before passing it over. Mac waited a moment for the French Giant to drink, and then began his questioning, “Madame, why did the Germans bring you out here? Were they going to shoot you? Are you part of the Resistance?” As Mac talked, the private in the trench took his medikit off of his belt and opened it. The first item he took out was the packet of sulfa, and he edged slowly towards the giantess, not wanting to be at the blunt end of her fury again.

“This might sting a little.” The private explained before dumping the powder into the wounds and jumping back.

[Vivienne Rousseau]

"Oui, I am Français, soldat," Vivienne replied, blinking rapidly afterwards. Now that the adrenaline was wearing out, she was feeling a bit dizzy...

The sound of something hard and small hitting the mud caught her attention, and she slowly turned her head, wincing again. A canteen had soared down into the mud from above, and the soldier was ordering for the "Private" to give Vivienne a drink after he was done. Vivienne briefly thought about refusing, but then realized that, even with all that wetness surrounding her, she was still quite thirsty. With a quick, "Merci," she took the canteen after Private King was done, and downed two-thirds of what was left. After that, she quickly fell down into a sitting position, purely out of relief.

"Aaaaah...once again, merci," the Frenchwoman said. "I deed not realize I vas zhat zhirsty."

Within seconds, the questions began to fly at her. As soon as the soldier was done asking them, Vivienne replied in order of question asked, "I am a pack mule to zhem. Very few can lift as much weight as I can, zho zhey 'ave been using me to carry ze 'eavy zhings. Non, zhey vere not going shoot me, zheir commanders vould neuter zhem in front of zhere comrades if zhey killed someone as 'valuable' as me. Oui, I vas part of ze Resistance vor a few months, before zhey recaptured me and brought me back to Germany."

The giantess then turned her head, having heard the last footstep from the "Private" behind her. She turned her head to ask what he was doing, but then, a searing pain shot through her shoulders. Vivienne yelped, then snarled at the Private, smacking him across the head with a backhand.

"VATCH 'OW YOU PUT ZHAT ON SOMEONE!!" the giantess roared. The poor "Private" scrambled backwards to the other end of the trench, eyes wide with terror. Vivienne snorted, and looked back up at the soldier, trying to focus on his dimly-lit outline in the fading darkness. If only her eyes were better then they were...

"Tell me, are you American?" Vivienne asked. "Your accents are not British. Vhat division are you vith?"


=================

Translations:

-Français= French
-Soldat = Soldier
-Merci = Thank you
-Oui = Yes
-Non = No

[Mac Bargett]

"I am a pack mule to zhem. Very few can lift as much weight as I can, zho zhey 'ave been using me to carry ze 'eavy zhings. Non, zhey vere not going shoot me, zheir commanders vould neuter zhem in front of zhere comrades if zhey killed someone as 'valuable' as me. Oui, I vas part of ze Resistance vor a few months, before zhey recaptured me and brought me back to Germany."

Pack Mule? Mac thought about what that meant as the woman continued to answer his questions. The Nazis were using prisoners, woman prisoners even, like animals? It reminded Mac of the prisoners on the rock piles back home, but at least they were treated like people. Like when he would sneak into the theater when the chain gang was watching a movie, even doing the Depression those men had on fresh uniforms and clean faces. Mac doubted the woman was ever given such luxuries by the Nazis, and although he did not want to hear of any atrocities she went through, higher ups might.

"VATCH 'OW YOU PUT ZHAT ON SOMEONE!!" the woman snarled as she swung at unfortunate Pvt. King.
“Calm down now,” Mac spoke in a quiet, smooth tone, “Don’t worry, he is just trying to clean your wounds, they look pretty deep and we won’t want them to get infected.”

It seemed that the woman accepted it, and calmed down, "Tell me, are you American?" Vivienne asked. "Your accents are not British. Vhat division are you vith?"

“Yeah, Americans. 3rd Infantry Division,” Mac pointed to the blue and white striped patch on his shoulder. “Echo Company. My commander would probably love to talk with you, especially if you were in the Resistance. But first we’ll need to get you out of that trench and your wounds looked at up here. Do you think you can manage it or do you need some help?”

[Vivienne Rousseau]

A light seemed to go off in the injured giantess's brain. With a soft, "Euuuuuhhhh..." she nodded, as if understanding. A small smile broke out on her face.

"Ah, oui, I remember zhem. I vorked vith a few of you Americans before...your division's name vas dropped often, mon ami. It izzz good to see vriends after such a vhile."

The American then told her that his commander might like to meet her. Vivienne nodded---she could not exactly remember who the commander was, it had been so long. She also couldn't remember if she hadn't met him, or if she had...her time with the Nazis had made many memories vague. It had happened before, when she had been in their captivity the first time. Of course, her punishments and assignments hadn't been as harsh then---the strenuous activity she was subjected to now was a bit of payback for her killing German soldiers with the Maquis.

"I believe I can still stand..." Vivienne replied to the soldier's question about her getting on her feet. Glancing backwards to make sure "Private King" didn't do any...funny stuff, the giant woman grunted, putting her hands in the mud in front of her. Sinking slightly, she grunted as she brought her legs up, coming to support herself on all fours. Taking a few deep breaths, her vision a bit spinny, Vivienne stood up.

She on her feet for only a few seconds, then she gasped loudly, the Frenchwoman's eyes nearly bulging out of her head. A huge palm slapped itself over her heart, and she wheezed for a few seconds, slowly bending over. Some of the nearby soldiers jumped back, yelping in surprise, blinking wildly at the fierce slave worker before them.

"...Ma'am?" one asked cautiously, walking forward. However, he jumped back again as Vivienne fell, landing on her knees with a loud squelch. Doubling over, the woman panted, as if struggling to breathe. A fiery pain had erupted in her chest, and she just knew that the load of rocks she had been dragging, along with the surprise brought on by her saviours, had pushed her weakened heart past its limits.

A few soldiers began to walk up, asking her if she was fine. Out of instinct, Vivienne whipped her head around and snarled at them, causing them to leap back. She would regret this act seconds later, as another sharp lance of pain shot through her chest, causing her to wince.

[Mac Bargett]

Mac and the rest of the men watch as the woman slowly creaked up onto her wobbly legs, only to fall down on her knees and start panting as one of the soldiers tried to help her and tried to ask what was wrong, but she couldn‘t respond.. Something was seriously wrong, anyone could see that, but without so much as a medic in the squad it became so much more important to bring her back to base as soon as possible.

“Alright, boys, help her up. And don’t go and try to cop a feel, now.” The two men that stood above the trench laughed , knowing that that was the farthest thing from their minds. They took a step towards the trench, only to be frightened back by the French giantess’s snarls. She winced in pain again, and Mac stepped forward, to try and calm her down once again. That’s when all hell broke loose.

A series of loud bangs echoed through the sky, and every man in that muddy trench lined hellhole dropped face first into the dirt. After a few seconds, they slowly stood back up. Mac wiped the mud off his face and onto his sleeve as he looked around, everything was still as peaceful as it was before, “Artillery, no where near us, but that does means that the offensive has started.”

“Who’s, ours or theirs?” asked one of the mud faced privates, but before Mac could reply, the recon fire team ran back over with the answer.

“Tanks!” they all yelled as they slid into the mud, almost falling into the already occupied trench. It them a moment to catch their breath and cool down before one of them could explain, “Panzers… a helluva lot of them, and a ton of infantry… coming up the side of that hill over there, we got probably ten minutes before they’re shoving their barrels up our butts.”

“Alright now we really need to go, everyone help me with her.” Mac waved for the men to rather around the trench. “Excuse me, madame. We can help you back at our aide station.” Mac got down to reach into the trench and grabbed a shoulder of the squirming woman as his comrades grabbed the other limbs. As the squad used all of their might to heave the woman out of the trench, they were only vaguely aware of the new artillery barrage arriving above them and this time, none of them flinched.

The men only dropped back down when the whistle of the first shell falling through the air and the smack as it hit the mud only a few yards away. They dropped the Frenchwoman back into the mud of the trench, hard, and awaited for the explosion and shrapnel, but neither came, instead smoke billowed from this small crater. As more shells dropped around the squad from Echo Company, more smoke covered the land, making it impossible for any of the men to see more then a foot ahead of them.

For a instant horrid thoughts of the stories his father told him about mustard gas filled Mac’s head. But in that same instant he realized what the smoke really was,

”They’re laying smoke! Come on we got to leave now! With the Frenchwoman!” he shouted from his prone position. Mac dug into the white smoky soup around the trench, trying to find the Frenchwoman. It took him a few desperate seconds, but he did find an arm. With help from the other soldiers, he pulled the arm and the body connected to it up, and out of the trench. They took no time to stop and adjust their hold, they just ran flat out towards the hillcrest, and to safety. As they dashed up the hill they could hear the sounds of tanks and infantry rush up behind them, but their escape was masked by the smoke, thick enough that they still could not see past their elbows. But eventually they reached the end of the hill and dropped the body on the opposite slope. As his men took a second to catch their breath, Mac explained their luggage. Although covered with mud, the body wasn’t that badly bruised,
for a private in the American army.

”King… you couldn’t had said anything. Alright, every army loses sometimes. We better get out of here before those tanks catch up with us. Move out!”

[Daniel Brennan]

Mod Post:

CP:
Mac: 7CP

Viv: 6CP


~Dan