Jim yelped and leapt up into the air as a hand pinched his backside. Reflexively he looked around for Blair the prankster, only to find him a little aways, leaning on a pick-axe and chuckling. Turning, he saw Serena give him a saucy grin and a little wave before moving off, still making little pincer movements at him with her fingers.

Shaking his head a little, Jim returned to his task, feeling the warm sun beat down on his naked back. Good work, solid work, stretching his muscles and reminding him sometimes you didn't need to carry a gun to do some good.

They were digging an airstrip, tamping out and flattening the rough ground for planes, Allied planes, that would be arriving with supplies. The weapons would be used by the Maquis to sabotage the efforts of the Germans rushing to stem the growth of the foothold gained in Normandy. Slowly but surely, the nazis were being pushed back. Ridiculously the patrols hunting resistance had increased, more people needed to watch and scout for arriving Germans. Those who weren't scouting were off killing nazis, or helping with the airstrip.

Jim, Blair, Joel, Brown, Rafe, Simon and Megan all leant their shoulders to the work, pick-axes and shovels against the hard, rock encrusted earth. Serena carried buckets of scree away from the strip and generally enjoyed the view of all the half-naked men, occasionally keeping her hand in, as it were.

Concerned about the Maquisard’s still-healing shoulder, Jim tried to take the heavy pick-axe from him, only to be met with a disgusted glare and a thinly veiled threat about metal points in inconvenint places if he didn't stop mothering. With a wry chuckle, Jim took a shovel instead, digging around the large rock they were trying to remove so that the smaller man could wedge the aforementioned point underneath it. Using the handle as a lever, he pried it up high enough for both of them to get a handle on it and throw it over to the ever-growing collection littering the hillside.  It landed with a dull ~thump~ in the damp ground, the impact sending little spatters of mud up into the air.  Despite the warmth of the sun, the high, cool air of the Vercors mountains had trapped night rains, making working conditions muddy, slimy and wet.

The air had a vibrancy to it, almost as if the destruction of the walls that had trapped Blair had been the catalyst,  the thought that the Germans were finally being driven back, the Allies were helping, they were no longer alone sparking long buried hopes in their hearts, even the hardened fighters that knew the fragility of the dream.

Everyone was buzzed, energised, the general feeling like a public holiday: Christmas and Easter and Ramadan and Hanukkah and New Years and birthdays all rolled into one. They were drunk on it, almost goofy, the mood lending to playful idiocy.

Jim was wrestling a rock out of the clingy mud when the first blow struck.

splat

Something wet and slimy landed against the seat of his pants.  Jim straightened hurriedly, looking around.

Everyone studiously ignored him, doing their own work.

Turning, Jim wrapped his hands around the rock and tugged again.

splat splat  Two hits. Different sources. Jim straightened again and treated the general countryside to a laser glare.  Everyone seemed suitably humbled and chagrined, so he bent to his task, this time gathering a palmful of mud.  He stuck his ass up in the air and wiggled it temptingly. He didn't have too long to wait.

splat splat splat splat splat

With a roar, the Leftenant spun on his heel, sending mudballs out at the offending parties. Blair. Joel. Megan. Rafe. Brown.  Three of them were hit dead on, the smack of mud extremely satisfying. Megan ducked and Blair had already shifted out of the way. 

Feeling mud drip off his ass, Jim stalked the smaller man, growling. Blair chuckled, then laughed, scooting backwards through puddles and rocks until Jim struck, sending them both rolling over and over in soft mud.

When they finally stopped, Jim planted a handful of mud on his stomach and Blair squawked, wriggling madly.  When they broke, he saw Megan grinning down at them and tossed a handful of mud at her.  She sidestepped and tried to back away, but Jim hooked his foot behind her ankle and brought her down.

That was the start.

With a strangled shriek, Megan fell butt-first in a puddle. Growling, she immediately scooped up a slimy handful and spattered it across the two laughing men.  Behind her, Joel laughed so hard he fell backwards, his butt making an odd plopping sound as it hit the mud.  The sound made him laugh
harder, and he clutched at his stomach weakly, rolling back and forth, uncaring of the mud that was slowly turning his clothes a uniform black.

Brown and Rafe immediate pounced on the weakness, almost burying the big man under mud like eager kids making their parents sand islands at the beach.  Joel's full-bodied laugh roiled across the air as they wrestled, mud flying in all directions.

Deciding the odds were unfair, Megan, Jim and Blair waded in, turning the fairly harmless puddle into a giant swamp.

Simon stood aloof, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, until a double handful of mud down his pants, courtesy of Brown and Rafe, and a determined leg yank from Megan and Joel sent him squelching into the fray with a bellow that promise vengeance. Shouting in delight, Blair pinned the big man down, smearing mud all over his shirt, only to be sent flying by a tackle from Jim.

Serena chose that moment to return with a basket of food for the poor hardworking dears, only to be descended upon by a horde of starving mud monsters.   She shrieked and tried to run, only to be grabbed around the waist by Jim's strong arms, divested of the basket by Blair and tossed lightly into
the mud. 

The promise of food quickly ended the mud fight and they headed to the safety of higher ground. Mud-covered hands were hastily swiped off on the grass, eager mouths devouring the food.  The bread was flat, stale, mud-touched and absolute ambrosia to the workers.

Bread in one hand, mud in the other, Simon carefully picked a worm out of a clot of mud in his lap and peered at it. "Go home." He tossed it away "Before I eat you too." 

Megan made a gagging noise. "Simon, that's revolting."

Simon cocked a brow at her. "This from the woman who eats horse gonad pie?"

Megan gagged and threw another wad of mud. "That's the Great Aussie Pie you're insulting, snail muncher."

Rafe hooted with laughter "Snail muncher!!"

Brown poked him. "What're you laughing at, Mr. Spotted Dick?"

Blair grinned cheekily around a mouthful of bread. "Ever been to Mexico?"  He chuckled evilly. "You should see what they eat there."

"Sandburg..." Simon turned green in the face of the coming knowledge.

"What do they eat, Sandy?" Megan belched against the back of her hand "Sorry."

Blair paused, waiting until he had his audience captive.  "Salamanders."

"Oh merde." Joel buried his muddy face in his muddy hands, all thoughts of food now far away.

"Salamanders?" Brown wrinkled his brow in confusion. "As in those big lizardy things that are supposed to be fireproof? Bullshit."

"No, they do!" Blair sat up, waving his bread in one hand, eyes alight with evil glee. "They do.  They slice them up into strips for their tortillas.."

"Sandburg..."

"...and they mash them up into this slimy gluggy paste for their soups.."  the anthropologist seemed oblivious to the green faces around him.

"Sandburg..."

"And they also-"

"SANDBURG!"  The Maquisard jumped at the bellow from Simon.

"Sir?" he babbled reflexively.

"Ta gueule," the Captain said kindly.

Above them, a German spyplane banked and turned.