Benedict heard all of the arguments and planning for how to take out the train and sighed, his anger deflating a little bit by focusing on a logical exercise that was tactics. It didn’t completely dissolve his anger though, as they were wasting valuable time, and time can be a fickle mistress in the best of moments. He didn’t let this frustration boil over, however, as he realized that there is hardly anything that he could do about it. To him, if most of the others are committed to derailing the upcoming train, then so be it. He didn’t have much to say to dissuade them anyways. Although, from what he had heard, some among them greatly overestimated what they could do with the manpower and equipment at their disposal.
Benedict took in a deep breath and began to march back to his home to gather his old war gear, readying his mind for the fight to come. As he gave the gathered crowd a final passover, he caught Sam whispering into Granny Nauja’s ear. Perhaps it was to comfort her, or to give out a plan for her to escape. Benedict didn’t bother defending against the pessimism that found its old home in his head when he saw this. If she wanted to die by going out on her own terms the better, and at the very least she would make sure that the Russians would pay if she set the dynamite correctly.
Benedict wasn’t able to hold back the snigger that pounced on him when he heard Silas talk to Ronan.
“You are bold if you think that you can court fate like that,” said Benedict, straining his face to put away the sour smile that didn’t want to go away, “Taking your time for traps and finely wrapped gifts for the Russians to discover. Perhaps you can make them think that it is Christmas all over again.” He finally gained control over his face and this voice leveled out. “Besides, I would leave the store untouched for those that wish to stay behind. I do not want those that wish to choose life to suffer the indignation of starvation.”
Silas looked over his shoulder at the man. Maybe he was right. He had lived through the nightmare of trench warfare, lost friends … brothers in arms to mud and bullets. The man’s grin reminded him of a British private he met during a battle - he was glad to see that this man was able to keep his, genuine or not.
But he had a point. The whole town wasn’t going to fit in a train, and what supplies that weren’t ransacked by the Russians or Mounties probably wouldn’t be enough for those that stayed behind.
he checked his watch once more. If he hurried, he could make it back to his cabin, grab some extra gear and make it back before the hour limit was up.
as for courting fate … “I may not be able to court fate, but I’ve danced with death in the pale moon light. I’m here while others … my betters, aren’t.”
He nodded slowly as his gaze once again focused on faces that haunted him in his sleep - a thousand yard stare that always made him wonder why he was here and they weren’t.
He shook his head then looked to Michael. “I changed my mind.” He pointed toward Benedict, “Man has a point. Let those that remain behind have those supplies. I’m going to my place and will be back within the hour.”
He sighed and trudged off through the snow and pines.
Ronan wasn’t sure if the man had any idea what he was thinking. It seemed the others didn’t either. He shook his head as the others talked about how it would be done.
“No waiting, no leaving anyone behind for sacrifice. If we do it my way, we do it like back home - a doorbell bomb. With enough shaking, the train itself could cause a spring to activate a hammer and spark a fuse to set off the dynamite. If you could get the cap to accept flame over electricity.”
Ronan was a bit startled by the grasp, but got up, gave a nod, and came to Sam. Adding a comment.
“An hour would make it difficult to set up by my method though.”
Sam’s capability as a leader was much more useful in pressing circumstances and he clearly had no charisma. With most of the people gathered milling about in confusion, he followed up the verbal order.
“We’ll be moving the train in a few minutes.” He pointed at the old depot building not too far from the town square. “Sam could use some extra hands when the time comes. The rest of you pack what you need.”
“I’m fairly certain we don’t got any metal scrap 'neither.” Sam mumbled in reply. “We’ve got Nauda stayin’ behind. If this all works, she sets it off and makes for that little hole east o’here. Leavin’ it to shake itself risks it goin’ off while we’re leavin’. We get up th’ mountain, tap th’ array, and come down long after they’re gone.”
“Whatever you need, tell Sosruko.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the emaciated fellow, who even from a ways off sensed he was being mentioned and cast an offended glare at the pair. “We’ve got ‘nough dynamite in this town t’blow it sky-high. Is’ere any method you could use t’make it more subtle as t’how it was done? Leave nothin’ behind and such?”
Sam’s eyes betrayed the concern for Nauda that his voice hid. They also seemed to gloss over the existence of Tesso, lying on the ground behind him, with an impatient expression as he waited for Tags to - all on her own - lift his wheelchair out of the hole he emerged from.
Silas trudged through the snow and pines, mulling over the events of the day. He had been through the horror of war for several years, fighting across Europe - fighting other men’s wars. He looked back for a moment, smoke still rising above the pines from the destruction of Town Hall. A gust of wind caused snow to fall from the tops of the trees. It seemed peaceful out in the woods.
He adjusted the sling of his shotgun, and felt its weight. Why was he offering to fight someone else’s battle again?
He let his mind wander to the two men barking orders after the event.
“Not worth it.” He said to no one.
He looked to his watch - they’ll be leaving soon. But they’ll do so without him.
He wasn’t going to fight someone else’s war anymore.
He walked back to his cabin and opened the door. He packed what little he owned in his duffel bag and took one last look around. If he hurried, he could cross the boarder back to the United States by night fall.
He took the lantern he had on the table and walked out into the snow. Took one last look at the cabin he had built in the woods, then tossed the lantern through the front door - glass shattering when it hit the floor.
He stayed and watched the flames consume the structure. Then with one last sigh, he made his way to the border.
Fortunately for Elijah, Benedict understood the meaning of haste, and set off straight for his home right as he finished his quip with Silas. In a few minutes he returned back to the town center. He took all that he could carry: the steel box with some dynamite, all the ammo that he could spare, and his old war gear, which included the gas mask and rebreather unit that he had now strapped to his face. If there was any way for Benedict to look more soulless than he already did, he somehow went beyond it.
As he returned, he noticed the two children and felt perturbed. They should be leaving or hiding with their families, or at very least be with someone that is willing to take them in. Unless, of course, they are wanting to follow Sam, but that would mean….
Benedict picked up his pace until he was next Tags, and helped her lift the wheelchair out of the hole and handed it to her. Glancing at both Tags and Tesso, the spoke addressing both of them, his voice muffled due the gas mask.
“This town is not a place for the young. Go, keep your lives and leave with your families. War is not something that you should witness.”
Ronan was confident that, if he had the time for his contraption, it wouldn’t be set off by their train leaving. After all, it would be a different set of tracks. Besides that, if his guess on the calibration was correct it wouldn’t matter if it exploded as the train passed by or shortly before. As long as it was before it could stop, it would derail.
“Kind a hard to make things subtle out here,” Ronan said, mulling the options over. “Maybe…we could misdirect? Set out more obvious lines and detonators for them to follow. . .”
Ronan’s voice trailed off as another piece clicked into place. “. . Unless that depot has some torpedoes? Might seem like an accident if we have those.”
“Not 'mpos’ble.” Sam scratched at his chin. “Y’need time, though. Think we got 'nought t’make it happen?”
Sam’s eyebrows raised in spite of his clear and ineffective attempts to restrain them.
“Well.” He mused. “There’s a couple I know’ve kept with the train. Long as y’don’t put’em where we’re goin’, they’re yours.”
Tags seemed weirded out by the presence of the gas mask, but reluctantly continued in spite of Benedict’s existence. Together they hauled the wheelchair out of the hole, and Tags awkwardly stood by it as he addressed the pair.
“I can take care of myself just fine, mister.” Tags snorted, indignantly digging her knuckles into her hips to defy the very idea of someone telling her she couldn’t do something so simple as exist in a given area. “You’re not the only one here who’s lived through war before.”
Tesso, who was only spared from lying flat on his back by raising himself up on his elbows, glanced from her towards Benedict with a grave familiarity in his eyes. It was not a friendly look, but it felt like one stolen from the long, listless stares of his brothers in arms that extended past the horizon. Those eyes had seen war.
With that, Ronan went to collect the torpedoes and other explosive materials to set up the trap and misdirect. He calls out in general for any others willing to help to better hide and put it together so they can leave soon.
Benedict paused for a few moments. He expected that these children would have gone through something horrible before. But this….. this was not something that he expected, let alone the imagery of old memories that began to flood him at that moment. Did these children want to die? Was there something that they needed to prove to themselves and others as children often want to do? Surely they are not eager to charge into conflict and battle like he had so many years before?
“There is living through war, and there is being *in* war,” Benedict rasped, “Do not confuse the two.” He sighed. “If you stay here you will taste more of the latter. If you stay you will be forced to take life or have ours be taken. If you stay, death will come knocking before your time is due. Are you certain this is what you want to do?”
Sam clapped his hands together on either side of his mouth and cupped them to amplify his shout. “WE’RE MOVIN’ THE TRAIN!!” He bellowed, before heading towards the depot station.
The depot doors open with an ear-splitting squeal, rust spilling into the air as the Rocky Mountaineer faced the great peak once more. Sam disappeared for a moment inside the engine before emerging and gently handing a box with a rotted cloth folded up inside, cushioning the torpedoes beneath it.
“Y’ll find s’metal scraps’n the like over in the corner.” He huffed, gesturing limply to a loose pile of rusted strips and metal shavings stuffed behind a neat stack of spare rails. “Make Sosruko carry it, or whoever else shows up t’help, if y’find any of’t useful.”
Sosruko responded to his being mentioned by backpedaling slightly and hoping he had not approached close enough to be noticed.
The akimbo stance of Tags refused to waver, but her expression was a worse liar, and clear concern wormed its way under her confidence. Just before she could form a retort, however, Tesso cut her off.
“There is only one train.” He sniffed. “It does not leave Canada.”
Pushing himself up further, there was some tension in his knees that he quite obviously fought against, as if they would start drawing up to assist him. Resting on his open palms, his gaze returned to meet Benedict’s, pure determination - or perhaps disdain? - glowing in his pupils.
“Thank you kindly,” Ronan said as he received the box.
He turned around to see if Sosruko was around, figuring that’s why Sam specified the man. Though he didn’t seem to notice the backpedaling. After adding a few smaller scraps to the box, he’ll address the voluntold helper.
“Actually, do you think you could load these spare rails on the train? Why leave them with more means to repair the damage? Either we should take them with us or blow them up with the train.”
Sosruko looked at Ronan as if he was completely mad, his head jutting forward with his mouth open while bearing an exasperated expression. Just as he picked his jaw up and began to form a response, his entire body jolted as Elijah clapped a hand to his shoulder.
“We’ll make it work.” Elijah nodded towards Ronan, ignoring Sosruko’s presence as he marched towards the rail and felt about it for the best grip. Sosruko stood for another few seconds, his eyes desperately searching for some way out of the situation before he very begrudgingly relented and trudged despondently into the depot to assist.
Benedict sighed, he didn’t have time to argue with these kids. Perhaps they will listen to him, perhaps they will not. Either way, their fate was in their own hands now, even though Benedict hated that that was the case. He gathered up his stuff again and started to walk to the train.
Benedict froze mid stride. Surely, he didn’t hear what he thought he heard. However, he knew too well that his hearing was sharp enough to not mishear. His fears confirmed and somehow exceeded, he turned back slowly to face Tesso.
“Are you mad, boy? What are you wanting to prove by risking your life? Do you think that you are able to kill a man in your state?”
Tesso’s eyes remained locked on Benedict as Tags, irritated at being ordered about, eventually relented with a flop of her arms and spun the wheelchair around in place - revealing the shotgun strapped to its back.
“My father died in that war.” Tesso’s look grew colder at he continued, his chin slowly lowering to frame his eyes behind his brows even further. “My mother is dead also. My country is lost to the Americans, and now the Russians have destroyed this town. What life am I risking?”
Tags shifted her stance awkwardly. Indignation at being ordered about was locked in fierce battle with clear trepidation at Tesso’s outlook and her own strong feelings on the matter.
OOC: Apologies, the secreting has been taking more free time than expected. I’ll keep it short for now if any of the other players want to jump in.
IC: Ronan gave his thanks and went to the tracks. He tied up the torpedoes on the rails where their train should not cross and, uncertain as to the distance they should be placed, staggered them by going down eight feet from the first placement until there were three sections. Should place the enemy train into easy viewing for those staying behind. As before, he’ll set up the dynamite and try to disguise it and have some false lines going out. Getting anyone not busy with moving the spare rails to help lay it all out and ready.