Atop a hill, overlooking the city of Asnio in the small nation of Borovia, sat a manor. Formerly, it served as the government building for the city, back when it had been a part of Austria-Hungary. Supposedly, it now served as the seat of power for the democratically-elected Borovian government, but that, as anyone could see, was a lie. There was no elected government, at least not anymore. The building which once stood for democracy was no a manor for the corrupt and vile. What had existed of the government had either fled to other nations, or been ground under the heel of rampant, uncontrolled capitalism. Now one man stood at the forefront of the nation, ruling with an iron fist and a stone-cold heart: The Robber Baron of Asnio. Having bought out the government, placing himself atop the proverbial throne, he had formed a massive paramilitary group, out of both loyal citizens and foreign mercenaries, armed them with military equipment, and donned them in their signature black uniforms. These Blackshirts, as they had become known, began a massive operation to ensure the populace of Borovia remains working for the Baron and his underlings, and that any dissidence or thoughts of uprising are crushed. The people of Borovia have grown increasingly discontent, and have begun what many are dubbing a 'Revolution'. This has left the Baron most displeased, and he has issued the formation of new units among the Blackshirts, drawing from all the various divisions and branches, to craft elite forces that can combat any threat in any way.

---

The Robber Baron of Asnio sat at his dining table with a delicious banquet rested in front of him, his first of many for the day. Just as he was about to begin consuming the feast, a man rushed in with what seemed to be a newspaper flapping about in his hand.

"I-I'm sorry to interrupt, your greatness...b-but the newspaper has just published a story! A massive worker's strike has just been declared at one of the manufacturing districts here in the city. Workers are occupying at least five city blocks surrounding the factories, and they intend to take more. They've armed themselves, sir, with tools and weapons gathered from as far away as Prague. What would you have me order."

The Baron let out an exhausted sigh, and carefully folded up his napkin as he looked to his aide. "Send some of the new units, have them break up the strike and confiscate any weapons they find. Tell them that if they're attacked, they are allowed to use any force necessary. Have any normal divisions nearest the strike set up barricades for when the others arrive."

The aide nodded, rushing off to deliver the message. The Baron promptly returned to his meal, gorging himself on his ill-gotten morsels.

---

Hauptmann Josef Fichter sat with the men of his unit, awaiting their first set of orders. Many of them had served in the Blackshirts for a bit now, having previously served during the Great War, and had been brought together as part of the Baron's plan for quick-response teams. Others were newer to the concept of military life, and it showed. However, all that mattered now was that they were here. A radio played the news in the room with them, the current story describing an event in Berlin, of how an army of German Freikorps assaulting the capital, declaring themselves the new government.

Just then, an aide came through the door, orders in hand. With a prompt salute, he passed them off to Josef, who quickly read them over, before announcing them to his men. "We've got orders. There's a large, armed strike being held in one of the manufacturing sectors. We're going in to try and break it up. We have orders not to use force unless they attack us first, but given that some of them have military weapons, we're likely going to end up in a fight. So gather whatever gear you might need, and we'll get going. Servác, get you're truck ready, as most of us are going to need a ride. Everyone meet up with the truck once you're ready." Handing a paper of directions to the site of the strike to Servác, Josef walked with the others to the armory.

Karl reluctantly turned the radio off. After the Spartakus uprising in Berlin two years ago, talk had been amoung the Freikorpsmen that they would have their turn, and finally, when it had happened, here he was in backwater ex-Austro-Hungaria. It seemed like they were doing pretty well as a matter of fact, so that was certainly nice, hopefully he could return with a pretty Austrian on his hip to the Kaisar's palace. Have some grandkids for his mother to fawn over.

Still, that was his future, and right now, they had a job to do. Giving a quick salute, he walked almost in step with Josef, and he decided to strike up a conversation, or at least attempt to, the armoury door already looming. "Ten to one it's a bunch of communist thugs eh?" He said, glad to be speaking German. Before he had signed on with the count he had been with some Hungarian noble who refused to speak a word of the language, much to his dissapointment.

Inside the armoury, what was his was very clear. The German equipment stuck out like a sore thumb amoungst the surplas gear. He hefted his Gewehr, on which a canvas strap had been attached, and tucked his combat knife into it's holster, following up with his luger, the gun snapping loudly when he slid the magazine in.

Servác eagerly snapped a salute, partly because of his general eagerness to be ‘soldier’ also partly because it allowed him to get away from the others a little, particularly that strange red-haired man. The blond German was also a lot taller, around 15 centimeters taller, but at the very least was a kind of person he had previously known about. Same thing with the other Slavic soldier but the red-haired man, he wasn’t sure about, he was not particularly pleasant, not in a way like he was rude but Servác wasn’t sure he liked him.

In general, he wasn’t very comfortable around any of the others. It wasn’t like he particularly disliked any of them, it was more an intimidation factor. Being far younger, shorter and lacking combat experience made the others seem more than just physical giants. In any case, he hurried out to grab his equipment before going to the truck.

Checking his pack Servác looks to make sure everything is still there. Some tools for the truck, nothing that would help in any major problem but they were small things for small problems, his trenching spade and some spare magazines for the standard issued weapons. Picking up the weapons Servác head out to the truck presuming nobody stops him, he doesn’t both to load the weapons at that moment, he had a truck to make sure was ready.

Erich Fuchs had finished cleaning and maintaining his equipment shortly before Josef opened the door, announcing their orders.
It had become an habit for Erich to keep his equipment in perfect shape. He didn't liked to trust them to some unknown soldier, so he kept his equipment near him all times
Oiling the blade of his rapier, cleaning his scalpels, ensuring that the telescopic sight on his M1895. It was a new acquisition, coming directly from the Baron's armory, but he had to admit, he took a liking to that rifle, so much that he actually customized his personal rifle. Precise, reliable and it packed quite a punch, it was truly a very effective weapon. His rapier though, was the only part of his equipment he refused to change. It was undeniable that the sight of a rapier on the battlefield was quite strange, but that particular blade accompanied him through many grim moments, and when he most needed it, in situations where weapons and comrades had failed him, it was always there. It was undeniable that it had almost an emotional importance to him.

"So, are we ready then?" he asked in german, looking to the other members while sheathing his rapier on his belt and grabbing his rifle.

The target this time were some rebels, workers that were unsatisfied with the current situation. They were armed, although probably very poorly. Erich really didn't mind the occasional killing. He knew that the world wasn't a kind world, and above everything else, he knew that the only thing, the only true rule of that world was the survival of the strongest. He would mercilessly kill and torture if that meant his survival. That mentality had saved him many times, and it wasn't something that Erich was going to change. But he had to admit, he took the relationship between a team very seriously. For Erich, few things in that world could match the honesty and truthfulness of the relationship between two people who had risked their lives in a battlefield together. He knew that having a team that knew each other and worked well together could be the difference between completing the mission or dying.

As Karl and Josef got out of the room, he followed them inside the armory. He already had his equipment in hand, but he felt it would be interesting to at least accompany them.
"Interesting choice." he said to Karl, looking at the Luger and the Gewehr he picked up.
"Very beautiful weapons, I must say. Why do you keep them at the armoury? Personally, I prefer to keep my weapons near me. I feel more comfortable knowing that I'm the one taking care of them." he said in german.

'Sir, yes, sir!' Pyotr announced once Josef had finished giving out his orders. The Baron's orders, rather, for that was who they served, and why not? It was just another form of fighting, at the end of the day. Grabbing his weapons from next to himself and stowing them on his body, he stood from where he'd been sitting, listening to the radio along with the tall blond Karl, and headed out, not to the front of the building, but instead to a door leading out to its back side. Here was where the stables for the local cavalry horses were kept, and here was where Varvara was located. She was easily spotted, one of the few black horses in the stables round these parts, and all the more beautiful for it.

'Varvara!' he called, agitating her for a moment before he arrived, passing into her stall so as to soothe her. '[I know, I know, my dear,]' he murmured into her ear, speaking in Russian, the language they were both accustomed to, '[it is dreadful that you have not been allowed to stretch your legs enough. But you are a good strong horse, I know, for I have ridden you many times before. We're going out to do some work with our fellows, Varvara,]' he said, smiling at the horse as she gazed back, whether or not she knew what he was saying. '[You will be able to get some exercise whilst we are crushing the peasantry down, and once we get back, you shall have a nice hot mash, yes? Does that sound good? I will first need to saddle you up, as the Americans say, so just return when I call.]'

Then he allowed her out, and for a brief minute, she ran round the field the horses would frolic in, giving him time to open the gateway out and gather all the necessities for ensuring she remained under control, saddle, stirrups, bit and reins; and once she returned to him, he attached them to her body with practiced ease, finally lifting himself into her saddle and encouraging her to ride out the gate, dismounting only to close it behind them again. And once that was done, it was simply a matter of riding out front to meet his comrades in arms, ready to head out and do the dirty work of crushing this rebellion.

Josef nodded to Karl and Erich as they followed him, noting their polite startings to conversation. "There's likely some communist influence in these strikes, but I doubt we'll know unless we take some of them prisoner, which we likely will."

Noting that Erich had spoken to Karl, Josef turned to take to his gear, gathering his rifle and officer's sword, his pistol having already been on him. All three weapons had been his during the Great War as well, and so they bore a bit of customization and identification. The rifle's sights had been modified to measure in meters rather than the old paces, while the stock bore a carving of his name, and several tally marks from kills. The saber was well cared for, as was the sheath, the metal still just as bright as the day it was issued. Josef took these weapons, latching them over him, and once Karl and Erich were ready, heading out towards where Servác kept the truck.

Approaching the truck, Josef called out to Servác. "I hope you're ready to go, everyone else is." If they were, he'd climb into the rear of the truck, and after helping everyone else in, give the signal to go.

If Pyotr had heard Josef mention communism, he'd likely have had a few words to say on the topic of the Bolsheviks, none of them good. As it was, he was none the wiser as he met up with the rest of the crew at the front of the building, happy as ever. Riding what his thing, so he often claimed, and he found it hard to imagine a better time than riding full-speed on the back of a sturdy steed. Maybe fucking a nubile and eager lady, of course, as many men might agree, but it'd be a very close second, if that.

'I know I am!' he called, having heard Josef yell over at Servác. Nice guy. That said, he trotted Varvara over to stand by Karl, glancing down at the tall German with a grin on his face. It was funny, really - you could be as tall as you wanted, and yet a man on a horse would still tower over you. 'So Karl,' he uttered, 'are you ready to keep these silly peasants in line? Varvara has been cooped up for very long, so she is extremely eager to stomp them under her hooves! Maybe. She is a horse, so perhaps yes, perhaps no.'

"They are weapons," said Karl simply. "Excellent peices of proper German engineering, yes, but weapons nonetheless. I take care of them, they serve me well, and they live with the other weapons where they have company." He laughed and patted the butt of the gun gently, turning to the good captain. "They're always communists. Bastards."

"As for why I seriously keep them in the armoury? It is where they are safest. Attempting to raid the baron's armoury is a death sentence. My room in the barracks? Less so, especilly since I'm normally in a much more feminine room every night." He winked as he chatted to Erich, before rapping his stahlhelm heavily.

"Ja, let us get going!"

He smiled as the Russian approached. The man was a little odd, that much was clear, but funny, yes. A little bit in the clouds but good where it counted. "I think a good horse like Bavaria-" Karl had long since given up calling the horse its true name. The province was much easier for him to pronounce, and more memorable "should always be ready to stamp on some enemies of the state. Isn't that right?"

He hefted himself up imto the back of the van, hammering on the bench and shouting. "Servác, my good man! Let's get this show on the road!"

"Fine pieces of German engineering, indeed they are." he said, looking to it.
"Solid, beautiful and reliable. German engineering never let me down."
"Although i must say that i grew quite fond of this one here." he said, holding his m1890 and looking through its telescopic sight.
"Its quite enjoyable to shoot with."

"As for why I seriously keep them in the armoury? It is where they are safest. Attempting to raid the baron's armoury is a death sentence. My room in the barracks? Less so, especilly since I'm normally in a much more feminine room every night."

"True... Although i do enjoy to give my equipment a more... personal care, if you understand what i mean.""Feminine rooms eh? That explains the big smile on your face every time i see you!" he said, laughing.

As he got out of the armoury together with Karl and Josef, meeting with Pyotr and Servác outside.
"Lets go then. Try to not get shot, i don't particularly enjoy having to sew your asses back together." he said with a grin, in a playful tone as he climbed back into Servác's truck.

After checking the truck over for any overt signs of dysfunction Servác starts up the engine, and after nothing breaks begins attempting to visualize the route that will take do these instructions. He mouths the words as he reads them, not entirely comfortable with the written language, but he has no problems understanding it.

Servác was caught out of his mental visualization of the route they would be taking by Josef's call. He watched to check and make sure of the Hauptmann's seating before shifting his bag into the passenger side seat as well as the standard issue weapons. Waiting, watching, and listening as the others boarded, or in the case of the other Slav arrive. Trying to ignore Karl's hammering and shouting, while waiting for the Hauptmann's signal and when given taking the Truck out to drive off on the known route.

Servác makes an effort to ensure a distance between Varvara and his truck, having seen some of the awful things that become of vehicles which have gotten caught in with larger animals. Also partly because the beast probably didn't deserve that either, on second thought.

"Jawohl!" Bruno thundered with a crisp salute at the confirmation of his commanders instructions. With a spin on his heels Bruno marched out of his office toward his next orders. He had been reassigned to another unit within the Blackshirts. Unfortunately he wasn't given much of a briefing on his orders other than breaking up a "military disturbance". Bruno was relatively new to the blackshirts, but not the lifestyle. Due to the mandatory conscription of all boys in Switzerland he had already got a good taste of what was to be expected. In his opinion, the flavor was good. His father had been in the military most of his life, but like Bruno, had never experienced any real foreign threat. Bruno couldn't say he wasn't at least a little nervous, considering this may be one of the first times he had encountered any real danger.

Upon exiting the office, Bruno grabbed his K11 rifle leaning against the corner of the wall. He brought the leather strap attached to the rifle over his shoulder and picked up his kit that was laying next to it. His uniform was sharp, very sharp, and he knew it too. His uniform and kit made him feel dynamic and powerful. However, he couldn't relish this moment for too long, he had an assignment to complete. Bruno left the building and jogged at a reasonable pace to where the rest of his unit was located.

First, he saw the truck. With an acute intuition, he assumed that the rest of his unit was inside. Bruno moved up to the rear of the truck and peeked inside with his free hand before the truck drove off and his unit left him behind.

"Bruno Leuthard reporting! I was reassigned to Herr Fichter's unit last minute. I hope I'm in the right place!" he said confidently over the noise from the truck's engine.

Josef leaned out of the truck to speak with the new arrival, who certainly had a knack for dramatic timing. Looking over the newcomer, he spoke with his usual commanding tone. "Yes, that's me, Josef Fichter. I suppose I'm to be your new commanding officer, then. Well, hop in, we haven't all day."

Once everyone was properly within the truck, Josef would wave a goodbye to Pyotr, make sure Servác knew it was clear to go, and once they were moving, give one last clarification on their objective.

"As most of you were told back when I first got our orders, we're moving in to break up a large laborer's strike in one of the industrial areas of town. Word has it that these people are a bit more than rowdy peasants, some having access to military arms, believed to be shipping in from Germany, Czechoslovakia, Austria, and possibly even farther, so we'll likely be dealing with weapons from all over. Now our orders say we're supposed to try and break up the strike non-violently first, and capture any ringleaders we can. But given the level of arms we're seeing, that may not be possible, so be prepared to fight. Leuthard, I suppose introductions are in order. The boy driving the truck is Servác, he's our ride most places. Mr. Tall-and-Red is Erich, our doctor. And the solid German brick there is Karl. The one on the horse was Pyotr, our resident Cossack. I'm sure they'll all have plenty to talk about with you once we get back."

When the truck would arrive at the destination, the group would find a barricade wall erected by the more regular blackshirt forces, separating the rest of the city from the strikers, guarded primarily with riflemen, but the occasional machine gun nest also found along its length. Josef would give the order for everyone to disembark from the truck, and once Pyotr arrived on his horse, break down the mission instructions.

"The main group will be comprised of myself, Karl, and the new blood, Leuthard. We'll be in front, working to quell down the rioting. Pyotr, you'll be a bit behind us, providing support fire if things get hot, and able to bring messages back if we need you to. Servác, you and Erich will stay with the truck about two blocks behind us at any given time. If someone gets hurt, we'll have Pyotr run a message back to you to bring the truck up, so we can get whoever's injured out of the line of fire. as quickly as possible. Same plan for if we need to take any prisoners." Upon mentioning prisoners, Josef would hand Karl and Bruno each two pairs of metal shackles. "Use these if we take anyone alive, which we should try to do."

Leading the others to the gate, he would salute the guard, who would hand him a large metal megaphone, and open the gate. Upon the other side could be seen a large group of civilians, many armed with crudely-made weapons or modified farm implements, though there was also a notable number carrying rifles.

Taking the megaphone in one hand, and raising it to his mouth, Josef shouted to the mob of peasantry, speaking first in German, then repeating the message in Czech. "Citizens of Asnio, you are in violation of both city and national law. Please lay down your weapons, and submit yourself for arrest. If you do not comply, we are authorized to detain and disperse you by any means necessary." As he spoke, various objects came flying towards the group, smashing against the ground, buildings, and barricade around them.

"Move in. If they shoot first, then we can open fire. But until then, just stick to hitting them over the head."

When he heard his name said, Karl offered a lazy salute. "Swiss eh? I can tell that accent from a mile away. We get all sorts around here, don't worry about it." He grinned and rubbed a metallic stain on his helmet. When he was handed the shackle, he hooked one end of it to his belt, noticing he had no keys. "Some poor bastard's gonna have to get this off, and I'm glad it's not me. We just get to do the fun part eh?" He chuckled. Hopping out of the back of the truck, he craned his neck around, loading a magazine in and locking the bolt shut firmly. "Ready to return fire should the crowd get rowdy. Which, honestly," he shrugged. "Seems kind of likely, no?"

He ducked as a half brick came flying at him, before swearing. "Does that not count as them firing..." he paused to smash the butt of his rifle into a burly man's head, sending him to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Kneeling down, he clipped the shackles around his wrists, and stood up, a bottle shattering by his foot and peppering his calf with glass shards. Someone in the crowd shouted out "Freikop scum!" And he laughed, although he was getting nervous.

"Hauptman, I do think it might be wise if we start running to cover. Sometime about now, before the bullets start flying I would think?"

Upon Herr Fichter's orders, Bruno promptly hoisted himself into the rear of the truck. He wouldn't be satisfied if he was late as he was very punctual. Taking a seat, he rolled his head to face Karl when he noted his Swiss accent and returned a kind grin. As the truck was moving to its destination point, Bruno was given a more detailed briefing and further explanation to the situation. He was to quell a laborers strike, and was informed many of the protesters were armed with various foreign weaponry shipped in from around Europe. Judging by the diversity of the squad Bruno was in, he concluded that it would likely be no obstacle assuming that these men had encountered these firearms before. As his commanding officer gave an introduction of everyone, he gave a slight wave and a smile to all of his unit in the back of the truck and awaited patiently to arrive at the laborers protest.

As the truck arrived, Bruno peered outside and observed. He spotted a barricade that was set up by other blackshirts with an orderly group of them guarding it with rifles. On the other side of the barricade were a cluster of rioters and peasants. He could feel the violent tension in the air, and suddenly he was seized with fear. However, this feeling was fairly short-lived considering the numbers of other blackshirts that were there. Bruno would harness this fear and shape himself up like a real soldier because he was well trained for this.

Hopping out of the back of the truck, Bruno would deploy himself with the rest of the squad as another one of the groups members caught up on horse. His commanding officer gave the group a number of orders, and Bruno was being put on the front lines. This surprised him slightly as he was referred to as the "new blood", but it didn't deter him from his current task. He was given two pairs of shackles that he would assumingly be locking up any ring leaders with. He moved up with Karl and Fichter as the gate opened, revealing the crowd that he noticed before. This time the threat was clearer as most of the men were wielding some sort of makeshift weapon or an object that they could hurl at one of the blackshirts. Though, he did find that some of them were carrying rifles, which made him feel uneasy. Bruno grabbed his K11 rifle off his back in a non-hostile, yet protective manner and kept his finger off the trigger. Firmly there he stood with his fellow blackshirts keeping his head up as confidently as he could while his commanding officer Fichter gave the rioters verbal authority over his megaphone. All of the sudden the group of protesters began throwing things at the blackshirts, a few narrowly missing Bruno. As conflict arose, he was given the command to move in further but not shoot at them just yet. Rather, physically subduing them would be the alternative.

Bruno was somewhat struck as his current moral beliefs were being challenged. He paused for a moment to think, but his thoughts were shattered as a chunk of masonry went flying over his head and broke into pieces beside him. A group of three men were visually resentful and one of them, the one who threw the object, began to close in on Bruno. Acting on pure instinct, Bruno shoved the butt of his rifle into his midsection. The man let out an "Ugh!" before kneeling onto the ground.

"Sir, stand down and I will not hurt you!" he yelled reassuringly in an authoritarian tone. The peasant on the continued to clench his stomach. Bruno felt kind of sorry for the man, but felt he wasn't left any other choice. As the current climate between the two parties began to boil, he expected the crowd to burst like a European powder keg any minute.

As he drives the truck off on the route Servác listens to the Hauptmann, although he did miss certain portions do to having to focus on the road, and the hardness of hearing through even the especially light boards between the driver and the bed area. He stops the truck as they arrive at the destination, and find the barricade wall and the intimidating size of the crowd awaiting them through the gate.

Disembarking from the truck with everyone else and after Pyotr arriving, Servác would listen with great interest to the Hauptmann not only as a duty as a soldier but as he thought important to know what to do and what would happen given his inexperience. As the others wade forward into the mob, Servác checks his gun to get it ready if need be and looks to see what Erich and Pyotr are doing.

Servác is taking the relative brutality well considering his background. After all, as the Hauptmann had said, he wasn’t entirely sure because he was driving at the time, about them being more than peasants and that they had weapons from all over. Servác wasn’t interested in being shot and less interested in caring about the members of the hostile mob who came here to do him harm.

Erich heard carefully as Josef spoke about their mission. The very idea that the mob wouldn't offer resistance was impossible to him. Weapons give a common man power to decide who lives and who dies and anger is a strong emotion. Power and anger together can make a man blind to most things. Drunk with power and anger, it was obvious that they would fight back, yet, Erich stood behind at the truck with Sérvac.

"Very well, I'll stay here. But be warned, I don't think that the mob has any intention of submitting themselves peacefully. You should be ready to return fire. If something like that happens, just call us and we'll be there to help in no time." he said to everyone, including Bruno, the new blood. He looks like a very reliable guy. Disciplined and ready to action.

He watched them disembarking the truck and walking away. He didn't liked of being left behind, but orders were orders. At least he could relax a little until they called for him and Sérvac, which if this went as he imagined, would be very soon.

"It's terribly boring... Being left behind, huh?" He asked Sérvac.
"But if things go as I immagine, it will be only a few seconds until they call us to help them." He said, inspecting his rifle.


"Say... Sérvac, have you already killed a man?" He asked, with a neutral expression on his face.
"You are a young lad. You could live a more peaceful life. Away from all this blood and death."
"I know what you're thinking... I'm not much older than you are, true. But for me, there is no turning back." He said with a grin.
"After living amongst so much blood and death, you start liking it, you know?" He said, leaning against the back of the truck.

"Oh, but don't worry, i may look cold and heartless, but I like a good round of drinks as much as the next guy." He said laughing.

Pyotr returned Josef's wave after they set off. Then, he kicked Varvara off toward the meeting place, and for a time, it was just him, and the sound of cantering hooves on cobbled street. The new guy, he thought as he rode almost automatically, seemed interesting enough, and he certainly appeared eager to participate in what they did. However, "the proof of the pudding," as the British said, "is in the eating," though in this case, Mister Bruno eating bullets would be less advisable than him doing his job correctly.

In time, Pyotr caught up with the car at the meeting spot, and promptly listened closely to the commanding officer's orders. It seemed Pyotr would provide covering fire from a distance should it be needed, as well as sending messages between the front line elites and those remaining in the car, up to and including telling Servác to bring the car around if injuries were sustained or live prisoners needed escorting.

In due course, Servác and Erich were sent off with the truck, whilst Josef, Karl, and Bruno took themselves to within the containment zone, Josef calling out for the civilians to stand down, or else be beaten down, give or take a few words here and there. Pyotr, still on Varvara's back, stayed just within the bounds of the barricades, ready to ride back if need be- and from the looks of things, and the hail of masonry and other such objects coming toward them, he probably would be forced to do so in very short order. Still, nobody had tried to make their way over to him yet, so he stayed put, patrolling left and right a few steps at a time to keep Varvara relaxed before the inevitable came to pass.

As the bricks, bottles and other assorted rubble continued to fly at the advancing group, Josef nodded to Karl as he requested that they start to take cover. "Alright, find some cover, keep your heads down, and if they open fire with actual weapons, return fire at will."

With that, he ducked down behind a collapsed section of wall, just as a handful of shots rang out, bullets whizzing by over his head. Carefully peeking over the chuck of brick and stone with his rifle, giving a cry of "Open fire!" as he began to fire his rifle, firing off three shots, hitting a man armed with a rifle of some sort, another carrying a makeshift firebomb, which was snuffed out as it fell to the ground, and another man carrying a pistol. As he used his rifle, Josef's face took on one of grim concentration, carefully looking up from the rubble to shoot, before ducking back down to slide the bolt of his rifle back, ejecting the shell before pushing the bolt back forward, chambering in the next round, and repeating the process.

Having fired off the three shots, he quickly affixed the bayonet to his rifle, gesturing for Karl and Bruno to do the same, moving ahead under cover, jabbing a man armed with a club as he came close, and butting another with the end of his rifle, confiscating the man's rifle, and tossing to back behind him to prevent it being retrieved by more rebels.

"Karl, Bruno, keep moving forward, and keep up the fire on them! If we get close enough, they should start to break apart!"

The bullets was when it all went to hell. Karl was behind a brick wall when he heard the first shots going up, and he immediatly changed, drawing the luger and his trench club. No fucking around with his bayonet, oh no. He popped up and fired off two shots, a man holding some kind of can and another with a submachine gun going down. He ducked behind cover just as an explosion went up, and he looked up, confused, before realising the can was a makeshift grenade. "They've got explosives!" He yelled, before firing off another few shots and letting the empty luger mag clank to the floor, clumsily loading another one.

When Josef advanced, he athletically vaulted over his cover. "Just like the trenches eh? Crackin' skulls..." He punctuated his words by smashing a man charging towards him, holding what looked like a makeshift pike, before firing more shots into the crowd. "DISPERSE NOW!"
"FUCK YOU FREIKOPS SCUM!"

Karl looked to see where the voice came from and popped off two shots, quickly followed by a cry of agony. Grinning in satisfaction, Karl didn't notice the club coming towards his belly until it was too late and was hit, a solid blow that knocked the air out of him and caused him to fumble his trench club. Unfortunately for his attacker, he still had a grasp on hisgun, and he blew the lucky bastard away, although he doubled over in pain. As he coughed, the crowd surged around him and he feared he would be overwhelmed, even as he fired into the group.

"NEED BACKUP?!"

First one shot rang out. And then another. Soon after, multiple rounds were discharged and bullets were whizzing past the Blackshirts units. Bruno managed to scramble onto the ground as he quickly dove into cover behind the wall of what looked to be a general store. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he took his rifle off safety and watched as the Blackshirts returned fire on the revolutionaries. Bruno felt uneasy again as he had never confronted any sort of crisis this threatening. He was pulled back and forth between an inner moral struggle. Perhaps he didn't truly feel the plight that the peasants were feeling, and that's the reason they were angry. Regardless, Bruno had a job to do, and he wasn't just about to let violence uncontrollably ravage the streets of Borovia.

As he proceeded to glance around surroundings, he noticed his commanding officer Fichter motion for him and Karl to fix their bayonets. Bruno did so promptly, moving the long blade from his side and fixing it to the end of his K11 rifle. His motions were swift like a switchblade, and his military training was doing the work for him. Shouldering his rifle, he peeked around the corner and leveled his muzzle in the general direction at a group of three men.

"Halt! Back up!" he yelled, giving the trio he now had full sight of a second chance. He motioned for them to step back and lower their arms. Just before they started to do so, a few more rounds were fired at Bruno, causing him to duck back into cover as to avoid being hit. Shots continued to ring out all around the streets which were now converted into a battlefield. A thin haze of smoke from all the rifles was in the air and there was now a number of injured, or even dead bodies laying across the ground. Out of the blue, a loud explosion occurred that shook the ground and nearly caused Bruno to fall. It was a makeshift grenade created by one of the peasant revolutionaries. He felt as if he was in an awful grinding dream as his ears started ringing and more shots were fired back and forth between the protesters and the Blackshirts. It was at this point that he realized they were not going to listen to him unless the violence was controlled, which would have to be obtained with violent retaliation. Peeking around the corner again, Bruno noticed that Karl was currently being overrun by a large group of the protesters. Without thinking he brought his sights to the chest of one of the peasants and fired. The man dropped instantly and Bruno fired again at another fellow next to him, ripping his right shoulder apart and sending him onto the ground with his colleague. The K11 used a straight-pull bolt action which made the chambering of each new round quicker than a regular bolt-action rifle. The rest of the group divided themselves and Bruno started to move forward toward Karl as the mob slowly began to split.

"Are you all right?" he asked Karl, making sure to keep low under the debris and bullets that flew overhead every so often.