22. Death in the Jungle: Part 8

[Turn Eight Begins]

The Black Shields to Lieutenant Frye's left moved to face off against the Tirailleurs Sénégalais under the command of caporal Chien.  Before they could do more than turn, the tirailleurs had fired into them, causing at least one casualty.  In disarray the Black Shields retreated to the relative safety of the shrine area, obviously shaken.  They shook their shields and fists in anger at their taller Black cousins. 

Seeing their success, Lieutenant Frye ordered the 'B' legionnaire squad on his right to shoot at the White Shields hiding in the underbrush ahead of them.  The senior trooper, Cane, gave the command, and smoke poured out of the rifle barrels as the volley crashed into the Pygmies.  Through the hanging vines Frye thought he saw two Natives drop.  Like their Black Shield brothers, this squad retreated in disorder, shaken and unable to function as a unit any further.

Fully expecting l'indigènes to reform and attack, Frye was amazed when...nothing happened.  Almost laughing at the ease with which the vicious Natives were finally being beaten, he ordered his Infanterie des Marines to shoot at the Black Shields.  He would decimate them in front of their own foul totem, before he destroyed the totem itself!  Their fire caused a cannibal to fall, despite their having been partially hidden in the thick jungle.  Yet the Pygmies' confusion was so great that they could do nothing in reply.

Cane of 'B' squad fired again at his target, felling two.  They hooted and hollered in fear and anger, but could do nothing other than hide or die.

With a dismissive gesture and a jaunty wave of his arm, Lt Frye sent the tirailleurs advancing to flank the Black Shields and the shrine area.

He smiled quietly to himself.  The battle was all but won, le Capitaine would be avenged, and he himself would no longer be the butt of every joke!

It was at that moment that Chien and his tirailleurs stepped into a figurative snake pit.

Somehow, directly ahead of them, a unit of highly disciplined Pygmies appeared, materializing out of the jungle like phantoms:  silent, almost unmoving.  Chien squinted through the sweat dripping from his brow.  These indigènes were not hooting like wild beasts, like the other Shields squads; no, it almost seemed like they had been waiting for le Français to arrive.

Chien called his men to a halt, while he cautiously watched this new arrival.  Slowly the Pygmies approached the tirailleurs.  They carried White Shields and their leader carried a Brown Shield like all the other Natives, but there the similarity ended.  The carriage of this leader, his bearing, struck Chien as one who was accustomed to command:  this was a Brown Shield to be reckoned with!

Finally Cpl Chien decided the Natives had come close enough.  Addressing his men with a calm voice, he ordered them to fire.

When the smoke cleared he thought he saw two fewer White Shields than before.  It was difficult to be certain since the Natives had retreated some distance away.  Perhaps he was wrong about this one, Chien thought; perhaps they were no different after all.  Then again, they did not appear very disorganized at all; the retreat was carried out almost purposefully, although it had to be admitted they did appear somewhat shaken.

Behind him he could hear 'A' legionnaire squad marching to match his position.

Sergent Cur was single-minded; not knowing of this new White Shield threat, he arranged his men to best dispatch the Black Shields near the shrine.  Forming into a supported firing line, 'A' squad fired to a great showing:  three Pygmies dropped!  Still disordered and confused, the Black Shields could do nothing in reply.

Chien's attention was dragged back to the new White Shields.  Their Brown Shield leader had reordered his men and they were advancing on Chien's tirailleurs once again.  No war cries, no wild shouting, just a deadly certainty in their actions.  Reaching the limit of Chien's comfort level, he had his men ready their weapons but hold their fire.  It seemed as if the new White Shields were studying them; what would they do next?  Chien decided to wait and see.

Blissfully unaware of the exact state of his left flank, Lt Frye ordered Seejee and Sawjaw -- leading the Native Bearers -- to catch up with he and his marines.

He had heard some sporadic shooting from the tirailleurs and the legionnaires, but so far there was nothing about which he needed to be concerned.  What he needed to do was get those Native Bearers to the repulsive religious shrine so they could begin dismantling it, but it was all he could do just to get the nervous natives to advance at all.

Over the jungle birds' calls and the insects' buzzing noises, Frye heard Chien bark out another order to fire.  He was expecting to see the results appear in the Black Shields ahead of him but nothing happened in that direction.

Frye didn't know it but the tirailleurs' fire had felled two more of the new White Shields.  In spite of their mounting casualties, they did not run away.  Instead they continued surveying the trespassers.

Feeling like he had a moment to spare, Lt Frye decided to transfer his command from les marines to 'B' legionnaires.  He reasoned that les marines had caporal Cabot to lead them, whereas the legionnaires only had a senior trooper, Cane.  Frye's authority would be better spent with the legionnaires.

Taking up his position he rapped out an order, which was instantly obeyed.  They fired a volley at the Black Shields to the right, unfortunately missing.

As he watched for the effects of their firing, Frye thought he saw two Black Shields stand up from their hiding places in the long grass, although he was sure more than two did not.  Nevertheless this seemed to be enough to restore their bravery.

And in spite of three of their number returning, the White Shields near the shrine area lost what remained of their nerve and fled back through the shrine to hide on the far side.

Of the new White Shields, Cpl Chien watched as two reappeared as if by magic (two, of course, did not).  They silently took their places in the ranks alongside their kin, and collectively shook off any debilitating effects of their losses.

Cpl Chien had a very bad feeling about this squad.

Lt Frye felt the battle was going very well.  What could go wrong now?

[Turn Eight Ends]

21. Death in the Jungle: Part 7

[Turn Seven Begins]

Lieutenant Frye of the Légion étrangère very nearly took too long to decide what to do next.  The wet heat of the jungle sapped his concentration, making the shouts of the Natives blur into a single, continuous holler.  Or was that those damnably annoying screeching monkeys...?

The White Shields to his right were already renewing their attack, shooting their deadly blowguns at their most-hated enemies, their tall black-skinned brothers acting as Native Bearers in Frye's troop.

To Frye's amazement they missed; and in reply, the two Tirailleurs Sénégalais soldiers acting as NCOs to the Bearers -- Seejee and Sawjaw -- fired their rifles at l'indigènes, also missing.  Yet the White Shields refused to give up and blew their darts again, downing one of the Bearers.   Seejee and Sawjaw just as quickly reloaded, yet missed again.

Lt Frye caused his Infanterie de Marine to pivot to face the White Shields, and to fire when in position.  All shots missed!  Still the stout short warriors held their ground, and this time fired their missiles at Frye.  To his relief they missed as well, though he felt the wind of their passage.  He could tell that they had just about played their full hand, at least for the moment.

Lt Frye shouted to Cane, the senior trooper of B legionnaire squad, ordering him to advance as quickly as possible towards those dangerous White Shields.  Cane rapped out his own commands in Italian-accented French, and after their advance, took it on his own initiative to shoot at the Pygmies.  Yet again, all shots missed!  This unit of indigènes seemed to have a magical protection.

The Black Shields who had tangled with 'A' legionnaire squad, and had come away the worse, also advanced, despite their natural caution.

Lt Frye, meanwhile, ordered Seejee and Sawjaw to get their men out of the line of fire of the White Shields and seek some protection in the bush.

The leaderless Black Shields, who had until now been skulking around their decrepit religious shrine, suddenly found their courage and burst forth, rushing at les Marines.

Lt Frye, seeing this new threat, pivoted his men to face them.

Over on the French far left flank, caporal Chien of the Tirailleurs Sénégalais advanced his men around the blocking legionnaires of 'A' squad.

Seeing the disordered Black Shields ahead, he advanced again, trying to get within good solid rifle shot range.

Behind him, the 'A' legionnaires changed formation to an Open one, to better navigate the dense jungle.

The Black Shields, seeing the determined set of the Tirailleurs faces, wisely sought shelter behind the thick vegetation.

However their effort was too little, too late.  Cpl Chien led his men forward to a position from which they could easily see l'indigènes, and fired into their flank, causing one Pygmy to fall.

Chien could tell they were shaken by his bold move, but they did not run.  Coming up behind him, the legionnaires of 'A' squad, led by Sergent Cur, also fired at the Pygmies, but this time with no effect.

Lt Frye had the merest moment to congratulate his accurate reading of the situation before he had no time to think at all, as the leaderless Black Shields from the shrine charged his Native Bearers.  Even without a Brown Shield to direct them, their racial hatred of the tall blacks was enough to cause them to attack.

The Black Shields had a fairly far distant stretch of clear jungle to traverse to reach their enemy, and to Lt Frye's immense relief Seejee and Sawjaw led, or were led by, their men in a hasty retreat away from the oncoming Pygmies.  Their movement took them out of easy reach of the charging Natives.

The Black Shields appeared to waver for just a moment, unsure of what to do.

His relief instantly faded, as the onrushing mob smoothly changed direction to crash full force into his Marines!  A hoarse last-second cry steadied his men's nerves, yet they had not even the time to meet the charge with rifles blazing.  Instead one of his men apparently fainted from the tension!

Behind him Frye heard Cane and the 'B' legionnaires charge the White Shields to the right.  The Natives received the charge fearlessly enough, although it appeared one of them may have fainted too!

Frye's Marines held an advantage over their short adversaries:  the Pygmies had no leader to spur them on.  In one short, violent, bloody encounter, the French cut down their enemies, trampling them underfoot.  Lt Frye breathed a sigh of relief at his quick win.

The legionnaires hoped for the same outcome, only in this instance they were the unit without leadership.  Trooper Cane was a good soldier, but he had no formal training as a sergent.  Only their collective experience could save them.  As they swarmed over the Pygmies, two jumped out of the tall grass and brought down a legionnaire.  The next moment it seemed as though the tall whites would win with ease, but the Brown Shield leader attempted to steal the victory.  His efforts were not enough, though, and the Pygmies melted away into the brush, broken and defeated.

In the sudden quiet that always seemed to follow the fiercest fights, Lt Frye took stock of his situation.  As the 'A' legionnaires finished mopping up their mêlée, trooper Cane turned to him with a slow shake of his head.  His meaning was clear:  Sgt Coyote was dead, the poison was too much for him at last.  Of the other trooper, the news was better:  he was already struggling to his feet, shaking off the grazing wound he had received.

The fainting Marine, Poulet, was also standing again, flushing crimson under the jibes and derision of his fellows.  His stammered, "C'était la chaleur," ("It was the heat") went ignored.

The Native Bearer -- Frye realized he didn't know the man's name, yet felt no real concern over the fact -- had been killed by the blowguns.  There remained barely enough men left to complete the razing of the shrine, should they even reach it.  Fortunately Seejee and Sawjaw had their men under control.

Frye surveyed what he could see of his enemy:  the leaderless Black Shields who had charged so brazenly out from the shrine were no more.  One or two had crept off to join with some of the other Pygmies milling about, but they were no long effective as a fighting force.  Most of the other Pygmies seemed to both disappear and reappear in equal measure; it was impossible to keep track of which units were hemorrhaging men and which were not.  Yet the remaining Black Shields to the left and the White Shields to the right appeared steady and ready to renew the fight.

Lt Frye could only hope he appeared as ready as they did.  With a little luck he would see these two units of Pygmies off and be able to advance unopposed to his objective.

[Turn Seven Ends]

20. Death in the Jungle: Part 6

[Turn Six Begins]

Lieutenant Frye considered his position.  His troops were in good order, ready and awaiting his commands.  They would be able to carry out a great many orders quite easily, he sensed.

The White Shields to the right front came sneaking through the foliage, trying to get closer to B legionnaires.  To Sergent Coyote's credit, his men ignored the Pygmies with a nearly-palpable disdain.

To make up for their dismal performance so far, Caporal Chien ordered his Tirailleurs forward, advancing towards the Black Shields who had caused so much trouble just before.  His anger at his men was tempered by the knowledge that they could just as easily run away again, so he was gladdened by Sergent Cur leading his A legionnaires in supported line at the same Natives.

Before Lt Frye knew it, things began to happen very fast.  Cpl Chien's Tirailleurs fired at the Black Shields in front of them.  Still some distance off in the brush, they missed, but the plucky Pygmies' response surprised them all:  Chien saw them first attempt to shoot their blowguns before realizing they were out of range.  Then they began to work up their courage, shuffling closer with only some hesitation.

On Frye's right, Sgt Coyote's legionnaires fired a volley at the half-hidden White Shields.  The jungle was good for hiding, but not so good for blocking bullets, as two more l'indigènes dropped.  The White Shields, either by design or luck, did nothing in reply except hide harder at first.  After several moments consideration, though, the Brown Shielded leader convinced his men to reveal themselves long enough to shoot their deadly darts at B squad.  Their aim was just as good as ever, proving that not hiding held no advantages either:  the Swede trooper Karl fell, as did Sgt Coyote, fletched barbs bristling from their faces.  The legionnaires' relentless training paid off, as even leaderless they returned fire, killing(?) one more Pygmy.

L'indigènes jungle-wide seemed to pause, and into the hesitation stepped Lt Frye.  He ordered the Marines to fire at those same White Shields, who were entirely too close and entirely too sure of themselves for comfort.  In retribution for offing Sgt Coyote, the Marines' fire dropped two Natives, including the Brown Shield leader.  The Pygmies were obviously well-trained, too, as they still did not flee.

Fyre's joy was short-lived.  Even leaderless, the White Shields charged B legionnaire squad.  Behind him, Frye heard the piercing war whoops of the Black Shields as they charged into mêlée with the tirailleurs, who were at least supported by a counter-charge from A legionnaires.  Perhaps it was knowing these stalwarts were by their side that kept the tirailleurs steady enough to receive the charge.

Even stalwarts can have enough, and B squad, leaderless without the steady discipline of Sgt Coyote, fell back a considerable distance, shaken.

The fear in his eyes is very evident!

The Black Shields had whipped themselves into a veritable frenzy, and their reaction to a charge in their flank was to accept it and fight both fights at once!

The French forces felt unusually confident going into this fight:  l'indigènes were outnumbered and they were flanked.  However, no one told the Brown Shield leader!  When the conflict began to go against the Pygmies he urged his men to greater efforts, and was nearly successful in turning the tide of battle.  Unfortunately for him, as he turned to urge his men to those greater efforts, he exposed himself to a vicious counter-thrust of a bayonet, and down he went like a small-statured sack of potatoes.  After that, the combined muscle of tirailleur and legionnaire saw the Pygmies off in short order.  The White Shields fled back the way they had come, severely shaken and leaderless. 

Sgt Cur, following up on his win, pivoted his men to face the direction the Natives had retreated.

Lt Frye's head was a whirl of sounds and smells.  The acrid smoke of gunfire mixed with the wet smell of jungle mashed underfoot into paste.  One the one side he had a traumatically weakened flank where B squad had been; on the other, he had victory in force.

As he scanned the scene, reports were relayed to him.  Trooper Hund of A legionnaires was dead, unable to recover from the terrible poison of the blowdarts.  Sgt Coyote and trooper Karl were in a similar situation:  shaking with fever and ague; only time would tell if they would recover.  To Frye's immense relief, though, he saw the senior trooper of B squad, the Italian name Cane, stop his fellows' flight and remind them of themselves.  Frye knew he could count on them immediately.

Of the White Shields who had seen off the broken legionnaires, two bodies were confirmed dead.  The rest, including the brazen Brown Shield leader, stood up again, ready to renew the fight.

And all of the Black Shields, including that brazen Brown Shield leader, rejoined their unit.  But it was not enough to keep them from running further afield.  Their nerve was shot at last.

[Turn Six Ends]

19. Death in the Jungle: Part 5

[Turn Five Begins]

Lieutenant Frye, swiftly mastering himself in the face of a threatening enemy, rapped out orders as though Capitaine Woolfe was standing at his shoulder.  L'indigènes were still out there, mingling in massed formations, hooting and hollering in fury.  It would surely only be mere moments before they rallied enough to renew their attacks.  If he were to win this fight, he must take it to the foe.

"Sergent Coyote," Frye called to the veteran soldier of B legionnaire squad, "if you would be so kind, have your men shoot those petits bâtards."

"Aye, mon capitai--"  Coyote broke off abruptly.  "Oui, lieutenant," he finished lamely.  To his soldiers he gave the command.  Their shots roared out at the Black Shields off to their right.  Their aim was rewarded at seeing one of the Pygmies drop.  It was further rewarded when the Brown Shield leader was unable to stop their rearward flight.  They had run earlier at the firing of the legionnaires and they were running now.  They disappeared into the jungle as though they had never been.

Frye returned his attention to his front.  The other group of Black Shields had retreated far upfield.  There they sat, leaping obscenely in mock taunting of the French forces.  Frye gauged the distance:  it was far, well outside pistol shot, but worth a try.  He ordered what remained of his Marines to fire.  To his dismay they missed.  In response, though, he could see several of the Pygmies start to bring their blowguns to their lips before realizing they, too, were well out of range.  Their dismay was greater than Frye's as they fell back further.  It was apparent they sorely missed their Brown Shield leader.  Now they had retreated to surround their decrepit shrine, no doubt to bolster their courage and allay their confusion.

With no more immediate targets presenting themselves, Frye let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.  He ordered his Marines to form a supported firing line, then both his and Coyote's squads advanced a short distance.  He would continue taking the fight to the enemy.

The White Shields' leader was showing signs of regaining control of his men.  It was all he could do, it seemed, to urge them into cover behind some thick jungle plants.

Frye wiped the sweat from his forehead.  It was disconcerting how easily these jungle warriors could practically disappear!  Sometimes all that gave them away was the glint of their eyes.

Frye gestured for Seejee and Sawjaw, the Tirailleurs leading the Native Bearers, to move their men up.  As he turned back around, he saw those leaderless Black Shields, reinvigorated after their dance around their shrine, come creeping out.

They were not yet brave enough to test the White Man's fire sticks again.

Unexpectedly the third and last Black Shield unit came rushing out of the underbrush on the left flank, firing their sinister silent blowguns at squad A of the legionnaires.

Trooper Hund fell heavily against the man next to him, a feathered dart protruding from his chest.

In response, Sergent Cur ordered rifles raised.   The volley shook the trees, causing brightly plumed birds to launch into the air, and felling two l'indigènes.  Following up on his success, Cur had them fire again, only to waste the ammunition.  The Natives did nothing in reply.

These Black Shields were fresh and eager for blood.  With a frenzied roar the Pygmies charged Sgt Cur's legionnaires.  Cur coolly surveyed his men, and was proud to see no fear in their faces; only disgust, and anger at the death of Capitaine Woolfe.  They stood firm to receive the charge, getting off one volley with little effect -- one Pygmy dropped -- before the cannibals were amongst them.

In the first rush of mêlée Cur felt he had it won at once; yet in the moment of near-victory the Pgymy Brown Shielded leader rapped out some pre-planned orders and Cur's confidence evaporated.  By good luck, the Brown Shield narrowly saved his own neck.  Cur's men were whittling the Pygmies' numbers down one and two at a time, when the Brown Shield tried another surprise tactic that almost spelled squad B's end.  Cur, though, his blood running hot in the middle of the action, snapped out his own orders and encouragment, and caught the Brown Shield leader on the head with the butt of his rifle.  Without his inspiring presence, the Black Shields quickly fell beneath the bayonets and boots of the legionnaires.

The sparse remnants of the Black Shields retreated in disorder.

Cur caught his breath, then shouted a report to Lt Frye.  As Frye listened, the fourth downed Marine stood up, weak-kneed but hale.  Legionnaire Hund, however, remained semi-conscious.  His body trembled with fever as he tried to fight off the poison in his system.

As Cur stomped through the tall grass he counted six dead Pygmies, but -- curse it all -- the Brown Shield leader was not among them.  Squinting against the sweat and glare, Cur could just make out four Black Shields half-carrying their leader back to his unit.

To Fyre's immense relief, the Tirailleurs Sénégalais finally rallied their courage and regrouped.  Apparently only the undaunted bravery of the legionnaires was enough to finally restore the yellow-backed unit.  Frye swore lustily in three languages at their cowardice.

Returning his attention to his right flank, Frye could see that the cover of the jungle had similarly restored the spine of the White Shields there.

Yet overall, Lt Frye was pleased.  The enemy, while not on the run, had been dealt enough of a bloody nose to give him pause.  The French would have to make the most of this short breathing space.

[Turn Five Ends]

18, Death in the Jungle: Part 4

[Turn Four Begins]

While Capitaine Woolfe's practiced mind was running through the necessary orders, the Pygmies came on again!  Too soon, he thought.  Before he could give those orders the White Shields to his front approached and fired their blowguns.  One of his Marines went down, a feathered dart in his throat.  Woolfe restrained his men from wasting a shot in reply; they would simply snap it off and miss, if he let them.

The same White Shields shot their blowguns again at the Frenchmen, causing two more casualties.  Were the darts poison-coated?  It was too soon to tell if any of his men would rise, or lie forever where they fell.  Woolfe felt a curious personal dislike for these tricky l'indigènes and their pagan beliefs.  This time he ordered his men to return fire, bringing down two of les monstre miniatures.  His own and Frye's shots, however, missed.

While he was preoccupied with the White Shields, Woolfe didn't notice the Black Shields to his right approaching until they were almost upon him.  They seemed to materialize right out of the jungle.  Feeling the pressure, Woolfe again ordered his men to fire, this time at the Black Shields, causing two to fall.  His own pistol shot accounted for a third.

Unfortunately, these Black Shields were a fierce enemy.  Their response to their comrades' deaths was to blow a hail of deadly darts at the Marines.  Yet another Frenchman sank into the tall jungle grass.  And to add insult to injury, they fired again!  Their aim was perfect, as two more Marines dropped.

Le capitaine could tell his Marines would be unresponsive now; they were feeling the pressure, too.  He could get nothing more out of those who remained, but he at least prevented them from being more scared than they already were.

With his hands full controlling his Marines, Woolfe could only hope his earlier orders were being carried out by his other patrols.

At the back of the French formation, caporal Chien advanced his Tirailleurs ahead in open formation, but he could urge them no further.  They remained far too shaken at the savagery they had witnessed from the Pygmies to voluntarily come any closer.

Sergent Coyote of legionnaire squad B, meanwhile, formed his men into a supported firing line adjacent to the remnant of Capitaine Woolfe's Marines.  Woolfe was glad to have the seasoned soldier with him; Coyote knew what needed to be done as well as anyone.  He could see, as well as Woolfe, that the Pygmies were working themselves up for an imminent charge.

Trying to head off that close attack, Coyote ordered his men to shoot at the Black Shields just in front of them.  The calm, deliberative fire only caused one Native to fall, but the effect of the volley was greater:  these Black Shields, who had so brazenly snubbed their noses at Woolfe, now fled in dissarray.  They would not approach so carelessly again, Coyote gloated.

There were others who would, though.  The White Shields and the other Black Shields (to the left, who had already lost their own leader) with a clangor of stomps and shouts, charged forward to attack the remains of Woolfe's squad and B legionnaires.  Simultaneously, Coyote ordered bayonets fixed.

The White Shields surged into contact with Coyote's men, but with the sure confidence of veteran soldiers the legionnaires stood their ground.  They could only watch as the Black Shields attacked the Marines.  Few though they were, they were one less almost immediately.

In the mêlée with the legionnaires, the advantage changed sides as quickly as the jungle weeds grew.  Just when it seemed Coyote's men were winning, the Native leader would mutter something in his gibberish language and his men would fight even harder, sometimes blocking the kill and stealing their own.  One legionnaire, then another, collapsed under the spears, even as a Pygmy fell too.  Finally Coyote felt he had the fight won, when the cunning indigène tried to stab him in the back.  He missed, and it was too little, too late, for the remaining Pygmies retreated, shaken and bloody.

There were very few Marines left to fight off the White Shields.  The French caporal de l'Infanterie Marine, Cabot, threw himself in front of the onrushing horde, only to be unceremoniously trampled.  Lieutenant Frye, despite an instant's hesitation, boldly interposed himself between the Pygmies and his capitaine.  It was not enough to turn the tide, though, and Capitaine Woolfe, his sword red with blood, took a club to the head and collapsed.  Seeing his leader fall, Frye redoubled his efforts, personally seeing off three Natives.  His bravery won the day; with an overarching effort, and almost single-handedly, the Pgymies turned tail and ran.

They found Doopee, one of the Native Bearers, crying over the body of his friend Loopee, never to bear a load again.

Lt Frye took deep shuddering breaths, and took stock of his situation.  Cpl Cabot was shaking his head as he stood up, as if to clear the cobwebs away, but he appeared otherwise unharmed.  Three Marines likewise were dusting themselves off, only slightly the worse for wear.  Three others, however, were victims of the Pygmies attack; about a fourth it was unclear if he would recover.

But the greatest tragedy was Capitaine Woolfe, dead on the trampled jungle floor.  Frye bit down hard to hold back tears.  Command devolved to him, and at that moment something in him changed.  He felt an anger he had never felt before, and a furious rushing sound filled his head.  He would avenge his fallen mentor, and prove himself worthy of his trust.  "Le capitaine est mort, vivent longtemps le capitaine!" he called, letting the men of le troupe, of his troupe, know what had happened.

Legionnaires Goort and Wood of B squad climbed back to their feet, having had their breath knocked out, nothing more.  They shared a glance, upon hearing the news that Frye was in command.  Things just got a lot more interesting, and a lot more dangerous, they decided.

From what Frye could see, the Natives had not fared well in the engagement.  Only two, perhaps, of the seven Pygmies returned to their units.

Frye turned to survey his command.  He met the eyes of Cpl Chien, shaking his fists in exasperation as his Tirailleurs retreated yet again.  They had seen Capt Woolfe die, and their already fragile nerves were strung tauter than the government's money purse.  He wanted to rail at them, and show them how the leaderless Black Shields had already returned to good order, as well as the Black Shields who did not take part in the mêlée.  Only the White Shields were having difficulty finding themselves again.

Frye set his jaw.  It would take all his command experience, and natural cunning, to complete this mission.  One thing he knew for certain:  he would rather die than return with his tail between his legs again.  The Native shrine must fall!

[Turn Four Ends]