Life in Fortune's Hand (Aussie and Foxxie)

[The Australian]

Name: Leopold Krieger
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Appearance:


Rank (For Me): Unteroffizier
Biography:
Leopold 'Der Alte Ein' Krieger was born in the province of New Saxony (Essenitally, Nova Scotia) to a Leutnant in the army named Franz and his wife, a housemaid, named Annaliese on a cold November 29th, 1886. Leopold was named after the first Schildkrotelander king, who was part of the Prussian Royal Family, the House of Hohenzollern. Schildkroteland had been given its independence by the Prussians ten years before he was born.

His father, a military man, was routinely on active duty and was rarely at home. Leopold grew up knowing his mother, and all her dreams, views, aspirations, and fears. As far as he cared, his father was simply there. He was never in his life, so why should he care?

But, when he came of age, his father pressured him to enter the army. Left with little choice, he joined the army. After suffering through nine-weeks of training, he was assigned to the 20. Infanterie-Regiment, in the 11. Infanterie-Division.

The division was given its first tour in the Schildkrotelander colony in Africa, named Nordwesten Afrika Kolonie, and sent in to suppress the natives, who were constantly rising up.

In Biafra, which was a colonial province, his fighting-group was involved with heavy fighting with the natives. Leopold would later say that it was like 'Slaughtering cattle.' He led his team of six, as he was a Gefreiter, through hell. They were completely surrounded but managed to hold off the natives until relief arrived, ten days after the encirclement began. For that, he was given the Gold Cross for Military Merit and promoted to Obergefreiter. He served in Nordwesten Afrika Kolonie for another two years.

After his division was rotated out of Africa, he was moved to border duty on the Tōitochi-Schildkrotelander border. There, he was involved with a few border skirmishes. During one of those skirmishes, where a Tōitochi platoon attacked his outpost, which he held with a partner, he held off the platoon single-handedly, with his rifle and a machine gun, while his partner ran for help. When reinforcements arrived, they found Leopold smoking a pipe and keeping an eye on the prisoners.

For his actions there, he was awarded the Iron Cross.

After these actions, he was given an immediate promotion to Unteroffizier and was transferred to the 50. Infanterie-Regiment, which was stationed in Neue Bremen (Boston) and has spent the last couple months there, endlessly drilling in a depot.

Und der Teufel, der lacht nur dazu;
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

The full moon gleamed down on the smooth street and side-paths of Neue Bremen. A few cars drove along the street, and quite a few men, mostly soldiers, were out with their girlfriends and mistresses. It had rained earlier in the day and the streets were still rather wet.

Leopold didn't care.

He had spent the past five months running endless drills at the merciless hands of Hauptmann Mirau. He was truly a Prussian officer. The endless marches in full parade gear, the endless firing drills, the endless stripping-and-reassembling of the rifles. It all had to end! Thankfully, Leopold's platoon commander, Oberleutnant Reinhardt Trausnitz, had managed to persuade the Hauptmann to give the company a night's leave. It was grudging accepted.

Leopold decided to head for a pub in which he had been in when he first arrived in Neue Bremen. It was named 'Cromwell's Tavern' after the owner, Richard Cromwell. Pushing the door open, it rang a nice bell. A man behind the bar waved, then went back wiping the counter. It was decently occupied, with a few people in. There were some soldiers, talking to their girlfriends, while there couples in civilian clothing drinking, and there was the odd lonesome fellow.

There was one woman sitting by herself at a table in the far corner of the room. She was wearing a black dress that seemed to invite Leopold in. It was a chance he just couldn't resist. Adjusting his dress uniform and straightening his medals and ribbons, making sure his Iron Cross, which was slung around his neck, was nice and good, and made his way over. He took a seat in front of her and smiled. He had a smile that, according to him, could seduce any woman.

"What's a beautiful young woman like yourself sitting alone?" He winked at her, "That just won't do."

[FoxLeFay]

Name: Rosalind Beringhuysen

Age: 21

Gender: Female

Appearance:


Rank: Leutnant

Biography: Rosalind is the only child of Ilse and Adalbert Beringhuysen. Ilse was a concert pianist and generally well-suited to the upper class way of life and she found great joy in the prospect of marrying the enterprising Adalbert who owned one of the largest gun factories in Prussia. Both parents had a different idea on how to raise Rosalind but both of them agreed to keep her out of the tumultuous war zone as much as possible. Rosalind failed to inherit the musicality to become a prodigious pianist and that was when her father began to have the biggest influence on his young daughter. While he wanted to travel with her, the state of the world forced them to stay local and Adalbert spoiled Rosalind with the current fashions and any books she wanted. She began to become interested in the study of history and she told her parents she wanted to become a professor.

After a tour of her father's factory and a few long conversation with some haggard but handsome soldiers, Rosalind decided she wanted to be a part of the military. Her mother was outraged and demanded that Adalbert talk some sense into her, but he instead sent away for several books of military tactics and etiquette in regards to foreign nations. He was convinced that he would keep his daughter out of the military by securing her a position as an advisor. At the age of 20, she began working around the capitol in the offices of various high-ranking officials. She was sent abroad to Neue Bremen for a year-long observation of an infantry unit.

Whenever it rained in Neue Bremen, it always brought the soliders out. Sure, the old saying wasn't exactly accurate as it rained much more frequently in the coastal city than the military could afford to give days off, but the sentiment stayed the same. Soldiers were crowding the slippery streets and tumbling towards any bars that would take them. Most of them had pretty girls on their arms and others had only one thought on their minds and would take any girl to make it a reality. Such were the types that Rosalind had become accustomed to seeing ever since she arrived. She hadn't been in Neue Bremen long, a few days if she was going to be punctilious about timekeeping, but she kept coming back to this one pub in order to steady herself for her assignment. The trip had made her somewhat sick and only brandy and ginger ale made her feel any better. Rosalind had never imagined that she would be assessing an infantry unit in Schildkroteland of all places. Sitting alone in a pub watching while cars broke up the eerily lit puddles in the street and nearly ran over a few wayward young men didn't seem any more real to her. Rosalind quickly dropped some more ice into her glass of brandy, downed it, then pushed it out of sight and out of mind at the corner of the small table.

When she was about to pack up and head to sleep for the night, she noticed a stranger walk into Cromwell's who took great pains to straighten out his uniform. He didn't look a thing like the other soldiers huddled around the bar. He wasn't yet glassy-eyed and neither was he attached to a fresh-faced young girl with the vacant expression of a housewife in training. It was a welcome change to her weary sight. The solider had, much to her surprise, an Iron Cross dangling around his neck. A man with such a great honor would be at least more interesting to talk to than the last straggler to try sitting next to her. She had ended up swatting his hand away with her trusty book when he decided that discussing tactics were much too distracting for his one-track mind. Rosalind had found out later from Richard Cromwell himself that the chap was from the Navy. Sailors, what can you do? she had dismissed it, but was more or less inclined to believe that it had ruined any chance of her having a good evening before she reported for duty as an advisor. Her fingers twitched a bit as she realized she went to reach for the brandy again only to remember that it was empty, except for some remnants that were now diluted by ice.

The solider sat down across from her and gave a winning smile. She was suitably impressed with his line and his brash wink, so she laughed and decided to play along, "I'm new in town. Back at home, I'd nearly be fighting off the soldiers in a pub like this. Poor showing so far for Neue Bremen." She flashed a flirty grin, mostly lip with just a flash of pearly whites. "Even though this is a business trip I thought I'd at least get to have some fun before settling into a grim routine." Tomorrow's the time to be professional. Today's the last day before I'm taken much more seriously than I'm used to, so I might as well get it out of my system. Whatever came of this evening anyway wouldn't cause her any harm in the long run. As long as she stayed clear of the bar and didn't look directly into the stranger's eyes she would be fine.

[The Australian]

"I'm disappointed, but not too surprised." Leopold laughed, fiddling with his golden cuff buttons, which were each stamped with the coat of arms of the Kingdom of Schildkroteland. He had a habit of messing with them when he was talking to a woman. It kept him calm, and focused on her, for some odd reason. He could never truly explain it, and he didn't try to. It was just a weird quirk of his. His laugh was more of a light chuckle, but he wasn't going to make her opinion of him turn for the worse if he decided to laugh like a drunkard, "They're mostly just fresh-faced recruits. The most blood they've seen is a bloody nose and from the blisters in their boots."

This woman, he had nary an idea of her name, but everything of her was something to be admired. Her skin seemed as smooth as freshly-frozen ice. Her hair seemed to be made of silk. The smile that she gave, with the ever-so-brief flash of her nicely tended to teeth, was alluring and inviting. Her eyes, they seemed like they could speak a thousand stories.

She seemed to completely contrast him.

He had his hair nicely combed and wetted, sure, and his face was freshly-shaven. But, his skin was rough and a far cry from smooth. His teeth weren't exactly the best. Some had cavities that were just left as they were, and they had a rather odd tint of white. His eyes, likewise, could speak a thousand stories, but he doubted anyone but a fascinated schoolboy would want to hear them. But most of all, he didn't deserve such a nice woman like herself.

"A business trip, eh?" He smiled as well, a rather toothy one at that, "So, you're a businesswoman? Quite a new opening, then. Only recently has women becoming in such high areas of work become so acceptable. No that I mind in the slightest. I think it's rather fitting that women are starting to pull some weight!"

[FoxLeFay]

The soldier had begun to twist the buttons on his cuffs and she took it as a good sign. Plenty of men had a sort of telltale sign, a trademark of sorts, but it would be her first mistake to read it as a sign of interest without any other evidence. He commented on the inexperience of the majority of the soldiers she had seen around with a definite air of superiority. His face still looked young due to the fresh shave so Rosalind couldn't be entirely sure of his age. He spoke like a battle-hardened veteran and his medals proved it, but she had a hard time buying it. She would be dealing with dozens of this sort when she reported to the base tomorrow so it seemed opportune that she honed her skills in reading the cream of the crop, or so she assumed. She was prepared to let him tell her a few of his most exciting stories before she excused herself. However, the man actually showed an interest in the fact that she was hear on a matter of business.

"Military business, funnily enough. I'm with the Prussian military and I'm serving a detail here," Rosalind purposely minced words. She felt there was no reason for him to know the details of her assignment. If he knew, perhaps he would stop by the base to pursue her further. The thought, while not revolting, didn't sit well with her. She had a job to do after all. "And sir, might I ask you how you got that Iron Cross?"

[The Australian]

Leopold raised an eyebrow at her comment about the military. He had heard rumours that the Prussians were putting women in officer positions as supplements to military attachés. They were given mostly de-jure ranks and held no real power. So say the rumours. They still were officers, no matter, and deserved at least some respect in that regard.

But, he was more intrigued on why she inquired about his Iron Cross. It was based off the Prussian Iron Cross and was pretty much indistinguishable between the two. The only difference was the coat of arms stamp on the back.

"About...oh...a year ago?" Leopold mumbled, then raised his voice in an 'Ah' and returned to a normal tone, "Yes, yes, about a year ago, I was in a border outpost along the Greater Tōitochi Republic and us, and the Oriental devils came at us. I sent my partner back to HQ to get reinforcements. I held the buggers off with the machine gun and my rifle, and ended up taking ten prisoner out of thirty."

[FoxLeFay]

She tried to contain the smile that was already creeping its way onto her face. Rosalind pictured Leopold holding off a whole platoon of Oriental soliders (of course she assumed it could be no fewer than fifty men) with nothing more than two guns and a steely look in his eyes. That was the allure of the military for her. Performing acts of heroism, dying in the pursuit of freedom, or being in the presence of great men and women who did so. Her father arranged the next best thing, but her hand still itched for action. Regardless, she chalked up her highly impressionable state to one too many brandys and simply looked at him from under her eyelashes, "It's a great honor. I'm glad it has an equally inspiring story." Had she not contained herself, she might have gushingly called him a hero. It was a term that was to be used sparingly with young and handsome members of the military. They took it as a glowing, although misappropriated, compliment when it was handed out undeservedly and it usually came off as an introduction to closed-door affairs. Rosalind knew that she had a few more clouds on the brain than for that to be an advisable course of action. First of all, she didn't know a thing about this man. His name, his rank, his age, his father's profession or why he chose Cromwell's out of all the pubs in Neue Bremen.

The stranger was clearly a showman and Rosalind knew she could put on an act that he'd never forget. She stood up and adjusted her black dress accordingly. Rosalind smiled lightly at the man and said, "I think it's a nice evening for a walk. I haven't been able to explore the city since arriving in the harbor." She considered asking him if there was any place she shouldn't wander, but she also didn't want to give him the chance to ask to walk her home. Rosalind added, "Close your eyes for a minute, solider." She leaned forward a bit feeling all of her control slip away as she prepared to kiss him gently on the cheek. She jerked up suddenly and checked to see if he had been watching. From the angle, she couldn't be sure, but she sauntered as quickly as possible towards the door. A kiss would have simply been too much. Rosalind reprimanded herself before she erupted into a fit of giggles at her stupidity in the alleyway.

It took a few moments for her to return to the upscale hotel she had been living in for three days. She checked the halls for any stray soldiers and with a sigh, she slipped inside. She would never run into the Iron Cross touting soldier again, nor would she want to. It would be too strange to put it mildly.

[The Australian]

Leopold smiled with joy as she flirted with him. When she had mentioned a walk, he nearly offered to walk with her back to her hotel or her place of stay, and perhaps he could get some...action from her. But, she gave him no chance. As she tugged on her dress, wild thoughts danced in his mind. The thoughts of seeing her out of that tight-fitting, inviting dress, the thoughts of showing her what it meant to be a woman....

Oh! They all felt so alluring!

She commanded him to close his eyes, which he did with much eagerness. He could feel her breath against his cheek and neck as she leaned in, and then he felt her inhale heavily, and pull away. Opening his eyes slowly, he could see her sauntering off, as flirtatiously and provocative as he had wanted, giggling like crazy.

Leopold laughed a little bit as well. It was more of a save-of-face laugh than a true one. He waited until he thought she was long gone into the night, and finally disappeared off into the night, back the depot. Back to hell.

He walked into the compound, the guard-on-duty sitting at his post, behind some sandbags beside the tall walls that surrounded the depot, reading a pornographic magazine and smiling wildly. He had a nice, thick beard which matched the red colouring of his hair. On his chest were campaign ribbons, some medals, and around his neck hung an Iron Cross.

Just like Leopold.

He was Obergefreiter Albrecht Kreutzfeldt. Of God's Grace.

"Guten abend, Der Alte Ein!" He called up from his magazine, "Find any sultry tarts?"

"Sultry, yes." Leopold passed by, standing over him. Albrecht had his feet kicked up on a table as he flipped the pages of the magazine. If Hauptmann Mirau found him..."But, would I call her a tart? No. She was a refined woman. A flirtatious one, too."

"Or, in other words," Albrecht grinned, "She left without you getting so much as a peek at her chest."

"Ja."

"That's a crime against man!" He responded, putting the magazine down as he put his feet on the ground, standing up. A Infanterist, the lowest rank in the army, walked up with his rifle.

"I am here to replace Obergefreiter Kreutzfeld..." His timid voice mumbled. He was barely 18.

"Then do so, my good boy!" Albrecht took his rifle and walked off, leaving the magazine to the eager eyes of the young boy. Leopold and he walked off to the barracks. They were relatively silent, wanting to share what they had on their minds with the rest of their comrades.

They walked through the wooden doors of the small concrete barracks, and were greeted with two rows of bunkbeds, each ten beds long. It housed about forty men. The size of a platoon. The pair walked over to the back end of it, where all the spare mattresses, sheets, and such were kept. A sole light-bulb was suspended over a crate, with six people gathered around it. These were the Comrades of Purgatory.

Obergefreiter Konstantin Winterhoff. He was a monarchist from Posen (Philadelphia) and had intended to cruise his way into the officer caste, but after an incident in Africa, which he never shared, he was pretty much denied that. This has led to him being rather annoyed but has grown to think of his comrades as family. He was quite tall and had a handlebar moustache, obviously the first indication of his monarchist beliefs. He had short brunette hair, which was always combed or wetted. He had the nickname 'Miniatur-Kaiser.'

Gefreiter Joachim Wendlandt, who had shiny brunette hair and was never without a shave. He was nearly 24 but looked 17. He was an opinionated man, and had no objections with sharing his displeasure with others. His harshness and opinions were shared by Albrecht. He was, like Konstantin, quite tall. He earned the nickname 'Großmaul.'

Gefreiter Alfred Bauer, a 21 year old with brown hair and a handlebar moustache. He was a soft-spoken reserved fellow who had grown up with a silver spoon. The military gave him reality. Unlike the other two, he was not tall, but rather of average height. Since he was the only real man of rich stature in the group, he had the nickname 'Begabten.'

Infanterist Armin Schaffner, a 20 year old with blonde hair. He was, like Joachim, opinionated, but kept them to himself unless he was brought into a debate. He was from the intelligentsia and had intended the military to be a simple assistance in his aspiring career as an artist. The military had other ideas. Armin was quite short compared to the rest of them. He, due to his art skills, earned the nickname 'Künstler.'

Infanterist Otto Wagenfeld. An 18 year old who had fit right in from the very beginning with the humble fellows of Purgatory. He lived in the poor slums of Neue Bremen and had joined the first chance he got. He served a brief tenure in Africa but was transferred to this regiment. He was usually tanned and had brunette hair which complimented it well. Otto, like Alfred, was of average height. He had the nickname 'Straßenhund.'

Infanterist Kristian Lindgren. A hunter from Scandinavian Vinland. In all of the shooting drills, he never ceased to hit the mark every time. He never talked about why he immigrated to Schildkroteland, usually joking about a wife or her angry husband. The truth to any of these stories are a topic of much discussion. He was rather tall and, like all of the men in the platoon, slender. Being the only Scandinavian from the group, he had the appropriate nickname of 'Nordländer.'

They were sitting on crates and smoking cigarettes, laughing as Albrecht and Leopold took a seat. Albrecht lit his cigarette while Leopold lit his pipe.

"So, Der Alte Ein..." Konstantin looked over to him, "How was your trip to the streets? You were out for an awfully short time."

"All I got was one woman," Leopold sucked on his pipe, "Sure, as I came back here, I got some tarts throwing themselves at me, legs already wide open, but that woman...."

"Hah!" Joachim slammed his fist on the table, laughing like a hyena, "Looks like our hopelessly romantic Der Alte Ein has found his woman!"

"Stuff it up your ass, Großmaul." Leopold hissed, "When was the last time a woman even talked to you without slapping you?"

That shut him right up.

"Der Alte Ein," Armin spoke up, sliding a magazine across the table to him, "What do you think of her?"

Leopold studied the cover. Of course, it was a pornographic magazine. But, what could be expected of soldiers who had nary experience to even really talk to a woman? The military had nearly fixed that up. The woman on the cover was atop a white-clothed table, with a nice white dress on that hugged her body and gave excellent view of her...womanly features. It got a good angle of her side, which let slip a nice look of her back. It seemed smooth and was unblemished. Her face was locked in an expression of amusement. She was laughing. He wanted to imagine it was in a flirtatious way. She had a small mole on the edge of her lip that he found absolutely maddeningly attracting, and her hair was hung from her hair, neatly combed and styled.

"Do you think we can find her?" Was Leopold's reply.

"I think she's a fine example of a woman." Kristian smiled, "I'd show her a good time."

"A Scandinavian like you, Nordländer?" Joachim laughed again, "I don't think she'd be into you!"

Leopold passed the magazine to Albrecht, who grinned, "Oh, she's a lovely woman! I think she'd like me, no?"

"Ja..." Leopold went into his own thoughts. He thought of that woman in the pub and her alone as Joachim and the rest got into another insult-throwing-match. They didn't matter at that point. All that mattered was her.

But it didn't matter.

He would never see her again. It was best to try and forget her.

"Here, Der Alte Ein!" Otto handed him a bottle. Schnapps. "Drink up!"

Leopold took a firm hold and put it to his mouth, wrapping his lips around the bottle and drinking. Drinking to forget.

[FoxLeFay]

After securing the door tightly, Rosalind threw the key onto the almost expectant side table that was bare and utterly purposeless without it. Her eyes wandered to the unmade bed. It seemed a complete waste of this giddiness to just quell her mind and sleep. She wondered if Gisela was still in her brother's managerial apartment.

Gisela, a Prussian by birth, moved to Neue Bremen after the death of her parents to be with her only living family. Her brother Eckhart had settled in the city many years earlier to lead a quiet life running a bed and breakfast of sorts. Everyone thought his choice to be out of the ordinary, but Rosalind was feeling grateful for the free lodging right about now. Gisela had twisted Eckhart's arm to allow her friend a few free nights.

Not bothering to change, she made her way to the bottom floor and moved past the front desk. The door was locked so she knocked and waited patiently. If there was one thing the Metzgers weren't, it was fast. When she heard footsteps on the other side of the heavy wooden door, she began to straighten her hair in case it was the blond brother who answered. She didn't want to scare the easily flustered young man into thinking there was anything really the matter.

The door finally swung open with a nasal creak and Eckhart poked his head out. He took one long look at his guest and wrinkled his nose, "No rooms for straßenmädchen." He spoke bluntly, even in jest. It was one of many traits that made him far from suitable for running a business that involved making people feel welcome and well taken care of.

She ruffled his hair in return. Looking past him, she waved at Gisela as she reclined on the couch.

Even as he opened the door, he had to add, "You do smell like a wreck." It was hard to tell if he had any concern for the girl or if she was simply spoiling his evening and he had to use every moment to retaliate.

"Please, leave poor Rosa alone!" Gisela cried out. Always a little tightly wound, her brother's stuffy attitude was nearly enough to send her up a wall. Eckhart shrugged and shuffled off to one of the private rooms off of the kitchen. Rosalind sat next to her friend. "The way my brother carries on, you'd think you were a drunk. Were you at that nice pub I pointed out? Was it marvelous? Did you meet anyone?" Her questions flowed effervescently. Gisela's excitement for gossip, good drinks and men knew no bounds.

"I did, it was, and I did," Rosalind ticked off each response in order of the inquiries. Her friends eyes grew wide and she looked all around as though the dark-haired girl had stowed a soldier along in a tiny bag she had concealed. She was obviously disappointed with Rosalind's lack of follow through. "Don't give me those eyes. I didn't even get his name. He did have an Iron Cross, though." She paused thoughtfully on that detail for a moment.

Gisela flicked her cream-colored hand in the air dismissively, with all the force of a disproving whip to snap Rosalind back to reality. "And you let him get away? When has anonymity ever stopped a great romance?" Nothing could be done of it now. She let out the rest of her excitement in a loud, long whistle, "It cannot be helped. That medal was likely making up for some inadequacy anyway." Where Eckhart's frankness was exacerbating, Gisela always had the charm and smile to back her cutting commentary.

Rosalind interlaced her fingers. She couldn't speak of the soldier without feeling a bit sick with herself. What she had expected to gain from the encounter was beyond her. This outcome made her feel even worse.

"I almost kissed him, you know." Rosalind laughed again.

"Yes, and I was almost a famous actress, you know. You know how I feel about almost," Gisela warned sternly.

"Ja. Almost is still a failure."

Gisela grasped her friend's hand. She told her to go to bed and prepare for her assignment. Rosalind didn't recall agreeing to such a mundane resolution to her crisis until she felt her cheek against her pillow and her eyelids crashing down.

[The Australian]

"And I expect you all to be on your best behaviour!" Oberst Reinhardt Lorenz bellowed. He had gone on a twenty minute rant about the advisor who was supposed to arrive any minute. His face was red and he straightened his uniform as he ended. Lorenz meant well, but he was so serious and uptight. Meanwhile, the heads of the Comrades of Purgatory ached. Their excessive hangovers were not helped by the Oberst's rant. The entire regiment was assembled on the cobblestone parade ground. It was in a courtyard, surrounded by regimental HQ. There was an archway with a wooden door that led to the rest of the depot, and to the outside. This was specifically made to be the parade grounds. Enough room for an entire regiment, and then some. All of the men were dressed in the field uniforms, with the Pickelhauben, with the brown cloth covering the metal, adoring their heads.

"Jesus, if that bastard would just show up..." Albrecht muttered, standing beside Leopold. Their squad had been specifically picked out of No.1 Company to lead their battalion. That fucking Hauptmann...

"Let's not be hasty...." Alfred interjected, trying to hold in a chuckle, "I'd rather get all ready and prepared! What if this Prussian desk-jockey wants to talk to me? Oh, I must prepare a speech."

"Shut up, Künstler." Konstantin threw up from beside Albrecht, "No one would want to talk to you."

"And with that attitude, Miniatur-Kaiser," Kristian held in a chuckle, "You won't even attract the most promiscuous tart in Berlin."

"I'll have you know..." Konstantin was interrupted by the swinging of the doors. An assembly of two dark-blue soldiers, carrying Mausers like the regiment was, marched in.

"Regiment!" The Oberst's voice rang out once more, "Attention!"

The regiment stood at attention.

"No.1 Battalion!" Oberstleutnant Rudolf Bellegarde cried out to the Prussians who were marching over, all efficient like, "At the ready!"

Leopold could see, in the middle, there was a woman dressed in a custom-made Prussian uniform.

Her face, her body, her expressions. How could he ever drink them away?

It was her from the pub.

[FoxLeFay]

Rosalind felt a shiver even through the heavy fabric of her well-cut officer's uniform. Had it been colder than average, she would have understood the involuntary movement. But the weather was almost balmy by Neue Bremen standards and if anything, the uniform raised her body temperature at least six degrees. She should be sweating. Maybe she was hungover. Maybe she was nervous. The Beringhuysens don't experience nerves, she reminded herself with the greatest conviction she could muster, Mother has played in nearly every belligerent nation in the world with steady fingers and Father displayed great courage serving in the military and then making guns to prevent those same mistakes and loss of limbs from machinery malfunctions. Simplification was one of her strongest suits in times of distress. She began to twirl one of the buttons on the cuff a little. They were about to march. To her right, an Feldwebelleutnant stirred. Kaspar Baumgartner was a man she had been serving with since her entry into her honorary position over a year ago. He was someone she trusted implicitly, despite the nickname she bestowed on him. She called him "Würfel" whenever they had a moment to talk together. It arose from their first meeting when he was trying to win back an important heirloom of his that he had gambled away the night before in a stupor. His luck was never better than it was that night. He won back the pin and even got a generous sum of money in a few other side bets. To the best of her knowledge, he hadn't gambled since, and she was in possession of those lucky dice. It was his placing them on her table back in Prussia as a means of flirting that has struck up their unlikely friendship.

His dark hair was wetted and his light brown and green eyes were kept fixed on the door. "Marching. It's the worst part of our job isn't it?" He hadn't joined the military for the ceremony of it all. In fact, he was likely the only one among them who would complain that marching ranked above the dangers of field service as the worst part of their job.

The door swung open as their cue. Rosalind began marching, keeping elbow-to-elbow with Kaspar. There were so many soliders in the large expanse of the parade grounds that she had to take a moment to compose herself. Would she be expected to make a speech in front of them? If she looked out over them instead of surveying each of their faces, she found it was much easier to remain focused. One of the Oberstleutnant called out for them to halt and then Kaspar subtly nudged her. "Introduce yourself. Don't go on too long. A few of these guys don't look like they can stand up straight let alone be attentive to anything a Prussian has to say."

Rosalind remained stony-faced as she stared just over the tops of the heads of the men. "Good morning, gentlemen. I am Leutnant Rosalind Beringhuysen, and I am to remain at this base as an advisor for one year." She then decided to bite the bullet and scan the crowd. Her teachers in school always mentioned that any speech was made several times better by intense or caustic eye contact. There was a man with a handlebar mustache and she found she couldn't focus on him for any prolonged period of time if only because of the facial hair. She searched the rest of that area only to find a most unwelcome sight.

Him!

She felt like she should turn and run further into the ranks of her comrades. Have Kaspar introduce her, maybe. How did she end up addressing the same regiment that he was in? Würfel chuckled. He knew that Rosalind wasn't one to give a succinct introduction for any reason. She mustn't have been feeling well. He piped up, "She will be overseeing various goings-on in this base. The Leutnant has never been one to mince words, so you must pardon her short address." He might get knocked upside the head for his unprofessional behavior, speaking out of line and all, but it was worth it to poke fun at her a little.

"As Feldwebelleutnant Baumgartner said, I will ensure that things run smoothly while I am here. If everyone carries on as if nothing has happened, this arrangement will be all the better for it." Her words were just general enough to promote cohabitation but she had hoped she had made it clear to that Iron-Cross toting stranger that she was here on strictly business.