Qui Ose Gagne

Author's Note: So…my first full conversion AU. Well if the summary wasn't obvious enough, this story takes place during the Interwar and Second World War era and follows Ezra's service as a paratrooper with the French Army and SAS trooper with the Free French Forces, his relationship with Sabine, and Sabine's work with the British and Free French intelligence. So that the names will actually sound like something you'd hear on Earth, I've Gaulified or Anglicized the names of many of the characters from the Star Wars Universe which shall be noted in each chapter's Dramatis Personae as demonstrated below. Also, if some of the social norms shown in the story seem a little unrealistic, there is a reason for that because the course of political and social development during the 19th and early 20th century diverged wildly from our timeline after 1813; I'll explain in further detail when I get all the kinks in my timeline worked out (alt-history is a lot harder than it looks).

Dramatis Personae

Sous-Lieutenant Ezra Bellanger (Ezra Bridger): Andorran-born Paratrooper of the 1st Marine Parachutist Regiment and the French SAS; Born in 1918

Chief Sgt. Tristan Renoir (Tristan Wren): Brother of Sabine, Paratrooper; born in 1916

Capitain Caleb Dumas (Kanan Jarrus): French Canadian-born Marine paratrooper, Battalion XO; born 1904

Master Sergeant Zeb Orrell (Garazeb Orrellios)- Welsh SAS trooper

Captain Gideon Rex - New Zealander SAS trooper.

Sgt. Major Thane Royce (Fenn Rau) - Scottish SAS trooper

Cpl. Cassian Andor- Former Spanish Republican Guerilla and Foreign Legionnaire, transferred to 2nd Platoon in England

Cpl. Jacques-Guy 'Jai' Cellier (Jai Kell)- French Paratrooper

Sgt.. Zare Leon (Zare Leonis)- French Paratrooper

PFC Bodhi Rocque (Bodhi Rook)- Franco-Algerian Paratrooper

PFC Martin Matignon (Mart Mattin)- French Paratrooper

Pvt. Jean Jeannin (Jonner Jin)- French Paratrooper

Somewhere near Rochefort, Belgium

11:47 January 3rd, 1945

Three weeks: that's how about how long Ezra's platoon had been out there since the Boche came knocking and ruined everyone's Christmas. Three weeks of some of the worst winter weather they had ever experienced. Three weeks of constant shelling. And three weeks of close calls as soldiers from both sides would get lost and walk into each other's lines.

According to some of Ezra's mates in the British Squadron, it got really bad on last night. Apparently two companies of Panzergrenadiers accidentally stumbled into the lines of A and B Company from the Lancashire "Red Devils" Para regiment at about 0900. Zeb, Rex, and Royce happened to stop by to try and resupply their ammo only to leave it all behind when it started, they were lucky to get out in time with the Jeep. By the time they returned with reinforcements at about 0200 this morning the situation had completely deteriorated. Only an hour or two after Zeb and the others left, the Germans already had them completely surrounded and we're starting to push in, forcing the paratroopers to call in artillery just meters from their own positions. By midnight, in an effort to conserve ammo, the paratroopers got out their combat knives, gagged the wounded, and hid under the dead waiting to pop up and ambush the enemy once they ran up on their positions. They managed to hold the line, but with nearly 60% casualties, the wounded were still coming from the line in droves this morning when Ezra and the rest of his French SAS platoon set out to recon the situation near Bure.

"That can't happen again, especially not to my guys. Not on my watch." Ezra thought. Before he could think more on it he felt an elbow jab in the side.

"Ezra. Ezra!" the driver's voice called out, trying to get his attention.

"Huh, wh-what? Merde, sorry about that Tristan." Tristan, his number two guy and brother in just about everything. Ever since they met at basic training back in '36 they came to rely on each other. And when Captain Dumas, or Caleb, promoted Ezra to 2nd Lieutenant, he recommended Tristan get promoted to Chief Sergeant and take over Ezra's role as Platoon Sergeant. "I was just thinking."

"About last night? Don't worry about it. If we get in trouble, we'll pack everyone on the Jeeps and get the hell out of there. Besides I promised Sabine I'd get you home to both her and my niece. And by that I mean she threatened to shoot me if I didn't return you home safely."

"Thanks," Ezra chuckled, "By the way, I've been meaning to ask how your hand's doing. Doc say everything was alright?" Ezra was referring to the layers of bandages separating the skin of Tristan's hand from the steering wheel. A little New Year's gift from some cannery in the states, received when Tristan tried using his bayonet to open his rations tin.

"Eh, it still hurts like a son of a bitch. Doc gave me some penicillin and stitches alongside a lecture on knife safety. Not that I wasn't trying to be careful, if anything someone needs to tell those connards who are making our rations not to weld everything shut. Still this is nothing compared to what happened to you." Tristan was of course referring to the missing finger on Ezra's left hand, it had been shot off by a stray round a couple months earlier after a German bullet ricocheted off his rifle. Figures as the only married man in the platoon at the time, it would be the ring finger. "Doesn't feel too long ago doesn't it? Besides I've been wondering: where'd you put your wedding band anyway?"

Ezra felt for the cord around his neck until he brushed his fingers over a small lump under his shirt collar. "Yeah, I don't really notice it to be honest. With everything we've seen, it seems a little silly to get upset over losing a finger. Understandably, Sabine wasn't exactly as apathetic about it, but I guess she was just worried yet happy to see that I was alive. I've been keeping my wedding ring around my neck ever since, she threatened to send me back through the mud on my hands and knees if I lost the damn thing. Trust me on this Tristan, hell hath no fury like an upset pregnant woman."

The sides of Tristan's mouth turned up into a feral grin as the image of Ezra wandering around some of the villages, woodlands, and farms searching for the ring flashed through his mind. "Sabine might not take too much after our mother, but I could definitely see her forcing you to do that." Before they could talk any further the sound of a throat clearing behind them interrupted. Corporal Cellier, their jeep's gunner. "What is it Jai?"

"Sorry I hate to interrupt this little family moment you two are having, but are we anywhere near our objective yet? I've been standing back here on the .50, and the windchill from our movement isn't doing any favors for my couilles. Fuck, I swear I'm actually starting to miss our time in the desert. Sure the night's there were still freezing, but anything's better than this."

"Don't worry Corporal, it's just a kilometer or so down the road until we reach our waypoint. Just quit whining back there and keep your eyes peeled for Boche. And if it's bothering you that much, clench your legs together so we don't have to hear you bitch about your genitals for the rest of the ride."

"Ha, ha, ha, love you too sarge!"

Tristan smiled, "Crétin."

"Salaud!"

Ezra laughed and then turned around to face Jai, "Hey can you hand me the radio headset, I going to check on the other jeeps; make sure Zare isn't about to kill Mart and Jean."

"Sure, here you go L-T."

Ezra put the headset on and brought the radio transceiver up to his mouth. "Poilu Leader to Poilu Two. Poilu Two are you receiving?"

A burst of static came over the receiver headset before Sgt. Leon's voice came on over the air. "Yes sir, lieutenant. Poilu Two, reading you loud and clear. Though I have to say, this jeep is about to go from a crew of four to a crew of two if Privates Matignon and Jeannin don't SHUT THE HELL UP!" Ezra had to stifle a laugh at Zare's misfortunes with the platoon idiots. "Other than that, because of the poor visibility we're having some difficulty judging our distance from your vehicle. Can you have Jai drop a flair behind you, so we can use it to judge our distance?"

"No problem, Poilu Two." Turning back around to Jai he asked him "Jai would you drop a flair? Sgt. Leon is having visibility issues, and we need to make sure that if we need stop suddenly he won't rear-end us."

"No problem sir! Dropping one now." Ezra heard the snap-hiss of the flare activating before it trailed off as they left it in the snow.

"Okay we see your flair. Hey Bodhi, how far would you say that was? Bodhi's saying it was at least 20 meters. Thanks sir, Poilu Two out."

Ezra was about to take off the headset when he thought he saw movement in the treeline to his right. Then more movement. And even more. Then the fire started coming in. "Shit, all Poilu vehicles, this is Poilu lead. We're under attack from the woods to our right, you are cleared to open fire. Tristan get us the hell out of here!"

"You got it Ezra!"

Ezra pulled his Thompson up and returned fire. "I count fifteen, maybe twenty, foot soldiers at our three, our four, and our five. Jai open up on 'em with the Fifty."

Private Jeannin's voice came over the radio "Goddammit Mart, I told you writing that on the hood was a bad idea."

"Shut up farm boy, and keep firing on the fucking Krauts. Oh shit! They got AT!"

The color drained from Ezra's face. He turned to his left, "Tristan step on-" He was cutoff as a shell hit the road in front of them. Tristan swerved to try and avoid, but instead drove into a ditch throwing the occupants from the vehicle. The last thing Ezra heard before blacking out was Tristan calling out to him.

"Ezra! Can you hear me buddy? Ezra! Come on man, I know you can hear me. Ezra! Ezra! Stretcher! I need a stretcher!"