The earthen aroma enveloped Mila, as her boots made splashing sounds under the forest canopy. Tall fragant pines and cedars shoot up in the sky as the young child ventured farther in the woods. She liked it here, the peace of the forest. It was breathtaking experience, despite the mud. Here and there, the wind rustled. Mother's homeland had been for years just a second hand story. But now here she was, in an odd turn of events, her 10th birthday would take place in Bodenn, where mother had been born. She could now see firsthand it. And she liked every single part of it. She never understood how her parents had grown to hate it.

The happy child skipped a step as she followed the beaten trail deeper into the woods. Cousin Oskar was a few years olders than her, so he had been assigned as her caretaker. She had always wanted to see deer, and she threw a tantrum about it. In the end they relented, her blue eyes, rosy features and golden locks melted the people's hearts. Or so it seemed.

The tall lanky figure of a huntsman made her smile. It was Oskar, squatting on a forest clearing. He heard her approaching, and his equally gallant and fair features made a reassuring smile for his cousin to come. "I've found one, Mimi." He added, as she hurried up, her tiny hands lifting her skirt.

It wasn't what she was expecting. No big, funny antlers. This one was a hind, a female. Red blood, stinking to iron was pooling in the grass underneath her. Mimi wanted to run, but the hands of her sixteen year old cousin gripped firmly her shoulder. "You wanted to see one, so i caught one."

"b...but she's dead..." Mimi weakly protested.

"Well, Mimi... where do you think venison comes from? The venison you liked that much." Oskar was relentless. "Silly girl. You need to learn a few things." The man whose blue gaze Mimi once thought as cool... was icy. His eyes were boring into her skull. "I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." The youth said, pulling the child towards himself.

"But there's more, Mimi." He said, pointing to a nearby patch. It was then when she was it. The fawn. It was cute and adorable, but it was petrified, its eyes sending a silent plea to the two humans. But Oskar didn't even flinch, as he unslung his rifle, and put it in Mimi's hands. She couldn't fight it, she wasn't strong enough.

"Mimi, this is the true face of nature. It's beautiful and breathtaking. But it's because Nature -is- ruthless. That cute fawn? Won't survive next winter. It's doomed without a mother. So... we will give it mercy." He added, his hands making Mimi's childlike hands go for the trigger.

"No!" She squeamed, but to no avail. The weapon did its job... and the little animal was no more.

"It's about time you learn that this world... is Kill or be Killed." The sixteen year old said, as she let the scared child let go of his grip. Mimi's eyes were blurry with tears as she fell on her knees to the ground. She could barely register what her cousin was muttering under his breath.

_{"It'd be so easy to make you disappear in a hunting accident, you little stain on my house's honour, but father asked me to be merciful."}. Words that Mimi never had understood.

"I am filthy..." She said in a weak voice.

---

She saw red. Kill. Or be Killed. This was all that was to it. They were fawns without a mother, thrown agains the scopes of a hunter. She had always known, but she had tried to be nice. This place was not beatiful. It was hellish... but it also showed the true nature of all things.

Kill or be Killed. She raged with the fear of seeing young lives dying in her presence. The ones she had grown attached to. While on her side, the others she hadn't become attached to were seeing the brunt of her attacks. She pressed, and moved with speed and ferocity. A single shot would mean death. She had to shoot faster. Everything went in a blur of vaguely define figures, although one event broke through the veil of her bloodlust.

A shot fired at her back made her tilt her head in her craze for a second, and recognize one of the federation uniforms, female shape and Darcsen complexion. She flashed a blood spattered smile at Kalisa. "Thank you, sis." She managed to piece together before continuing her assault with renewed ferocity. The imperials on her path were sluggish. They were trembling. And the shots fired at her back helped to cover more ground. She lost her ability to talk, only grunting now.

It was then when she run out of ammo, and forgot to fix the bayonet. But that wasn't an issue. The tip of the barrel was still hard, and there where enough soft body parts to aim at. Gritting her teeth, she drove the tip of the barrel through an imperial's throat, the messy sounds of cartillage crunching, and a man gasping for air only to be choked on his own blood were heard. His rifle didn't even manage to fire more than a couple of rounds, before Mila tore it from his hands.

She knew how to use them. She had seen her father and her uncles do it. She cocked and aimed with the weapon of the fallen, and restarted her carnage. The bodies and lives piled up, flashes of violence in her eyes.

And then she came to an halt. They had suceeded in the breach. Her legs failed to support her, as fire burned her lungs. All that anger was flushing out, and her own body seemed like a puppet with her strings cut. She collapsed into the dirty mud of the trench, alongside the other federation friendlies who were as tired as her. She saw the corporal crumpled up, tired, but she too was tired to move. Other people were looking at her. She wasn't sure if she had sustained wounds, or all the blood on her clothes came from imperial troopers.

It had been like a drunken haze, until her gaze saw what she was holding in her hand. A rifle with some brain matter still sticking to the butt, of imperial make. Realization broke her like a storm cracks a tree apart. She had murdered a lot of people, because they had touched her little sisters of battle.

She felt filthy. Tears flowed down her eyes as she stared at the gray sky above the trench. "Even the sky is filthy... like me. But I made it. I killed all of those...people" She said out loud, before giving to tears, between sniffles and hickups, which eerily resembled like a tired laugh.

---

"...I and Papa will be waiting for you back at home..."

...

"...waiting for you..."

...

"...back at home..."

...
...

"Haa...Haa..."

That once beautiful, sparkling, curious and innocent eyes of that day. It was still there, but the adjectives had all dropped. Decayed. Disintegrated. Gone. It was now replaced with a dim fire underneath the dark blue. His lids were all blood. His brows mud. His forehead both. His lips swayed up and down unconsciously, but rhymed with the ups and downs of his chest. His hand was still holding the Longfield rifle that he somehow still miraculously retain. The bolt had just been cocked, an empty shell lied on the cold muddy ground. And behind him were more than a dozen faces, some still frozen with rage, while some had drifted away into the eternal sleep. Federations and Imperials alike, piled up together as blood mixed and washed into the stream of rainwater in the narrow trenches.

Continue, he must. Another step, he walked. Even if he was all by himself now, his legs still found its strength to take another step. Two Imperials were in the other trenches, as Michael turned the corner. They were probably as shocked and as scared as he was, seeing how the Federations were taking the fight right to their noses. And they were completely unaware of the five foot tall sapper behind him.

Two shots. His Longfield Rifle made it into his left shoulder. The iron-sight lined up. The trigger pulled. His left hand breached over the stock to grab onto the bolt on the right side of the gun, as he silently complained why the manufacturer would not create one on the left side for him and those like him. One soldier fell to the ground, his eyes refused to close. The shock of his companion's death stacked up among the other shock and horrors these two had been through, so that even though the Imperial, if he was fast enough, could have shot Michael dead on site, his arms had been crackled to freeze where it stood. With the horrors in his eyes, and his mouth gaping wide, he watched as the sapper pulled the trigger once more.

As the two Imperial soldiers dropped dead on the ground, Michael did not hesitate to reach for two strip clips inside his pocket, pulled back the bolt, rack the clips into the gun one by one then pushed the bolt forward, as he moved forward, stepping over the two Imperials he just unknowingly shattered their parent's only will to live.

And yet through all of that, he felt nothing...Absolutely nothing but two dead Imperials.

As Michael walked further, he discovered another two soldiers. But they weren't buddies like the last two. Their uniforms contrasted. And they were upon one another, one were grinding a gun with its bayonet onto the other one, while the poor victim was desperately trying to stop it. For one moment, Michael's eyes opened wide. There was something about that soldier on the ground. Short brown hair with that scar across his cheek. That's Briggs for sure. A future carpenter. His family owned a workshop that he intended to inherit and do the same to his children and grandchildren. An extremely simple guy. He met Michael at the bootcamp and, although weren't that close, helped each other to go through the grueling training of the Federation.

Again, with no hesitation, Michael brought the stock of his gun pressed tightly onto his left shoulder, but he fired as he moved forward to Briggs. The first shot did not connect. Grunting inward, Michael hastily cocked the bolt. His eyes looked both over his gun and his friend, as the Imperial's bayonet continued to sink into his stomach. Once the bullet had ejected, Michael fired the second shot. He did not miss this time. It was a direct hit to the Imperial soldier's cheek, as the soldier fell dead on spot.

All of a sudden, another Imperial appeared as he charged toward the young sapper. Now that he noticed it, he was in the middle of the T-section between the two trenches, and unfortunately, whilst he didn't notice the other guy, the Imp saw him, and was coming running at him full speed with a trench club. However, just barely enough, Michael's survival instinct saved him this time. The club was a few millimeters away from his head, as the sapper dropped his rifle to hold onto it like it was his life. It was his life in fact. His other hand caught the other free hand of the Imperial, as the two soldiers dragged each other onto the ground. Both were exhausted, their lungs couldn't form a breathe, and yet once on the ground, they were still holding onto the other in the same stance like they did standing.

It may look unbelievable to an outsider, and it was unbelievable to both combatants as well, as the smaller, shorter and seemingly unimpressive soldier emerged as the one on the top of the Imperial soldier, whilst the bigger one got pinned onto the ground. The one who took it worst was perhaps the soldier himself. How could this youngling that had probably just stopped drinking their mother's breast put him in a position like this? His hand trembled in anger, but the story of anger fueling retaliation to victory was all but fairy tale nonsense.

Michael quickly glanced around as he continued to pin the Imperial down. Right above the guy was his helmet that fell off during the struggle. It was his chance. His life. Michael, without half a second wasted, reached for the helmet, held the side firmly and slammed it onto the Imperial. Each hit emitted a sound of uncomfortable cracking. By the fourth one, the soldier was dead, the side of his forehead existed a trough.

And yet again, it ended at that. Without a second of thought, Michael dropped the helmet on the ground as he stood up. Dragging himself over to his friend Briggs lying next to the dead Imperial, he crouched down to check on him. No response. His eyes still opened, the gun and bayonet still in his gut, yet no breaths, no pulse.

Slowly, the sapper stood up from his dead friend. His eyes turned to the sky. The heaven still poured down gallons of water onto him, as if it was trying to clean his soul. But deep inside, he knew it would never be able to. He had claimed a total of nine kills today. Nine lives he claimed, nine dreams he destroyed, and many more love he crushed. How could one justify for such an action?

Every steps he made felt autonomous, but he was conscious enough to realize that the battle had ended. For now at least, but it had ended. The Federations had breached the Imperial defense line. He actually made it through. He somehow made it through the hails of gunfire, the shells of artilleries, and the unrelenting rain. He made it through alive, and without significant wounds. But Briggs did not. She did not as well...

Soon, Michael saw the rest of the squad again - those that holed up at the church ruin just before. They seemed to be alright from that group of Imperial soldiers. But then again, they were not. The Darcsen Lance Corporal was now a shadow of his former self, as the rain could do nothing to hide the tears coming out of his eyes. How he envied that man? How could that man let out such emotions and yet he here could not? He looked down onto his shaking hand, now soaked of not just one person's blood. His eyes blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice? Yet nothing came...

Once he looked down now, he realized that he wasn't alone. He was standing beside a giant, to him at least. A girl probably two heads taller than him, with a side ponytail, all in a yellow that could have looked pretty in a clean environment, but was utterly stained by the blood in the mud in the rain. She was lying flat on the mud on the ground, facing the rainy sky. Her sniffles echoed like a bat's cry, as she muttered out loud. The words that echoed louder than her sniffles, or anything that could have.

"Everyone's filthy. In fact, I admire you and the Lance Corporal for your cleanness." Michael uttered softly, as he slowly crumpled down in the trenches, resting his back on the wall made of dirt and wooden planks, his eyes looking down on his thigh, and the gun, the gun he used to kill those nine souls. "How you could express yourself like that, while I can't."
@AtomicNut

They were inside Hill 58.

Specifically, the frontliners of the 15th Atlantic Rifles had made it inside - sappers, shockers, and of course the rifles themselves. Thanks to the gunner support, their training, and a little luck...they were inside the enemy line and fighting for their lives. And judging by the look and the sound of things, they'd won. The hill was infiltrated and their foothold made in the enemy ranks. Hill 58 was theirs, or would be shortly. Isaac checked the immediate outside for enemy stragglers - people they might've missed who were trying to get away or sneak around to hit their impromptu gun nest - and looked over at Britta with a nod. Nobody was there. She checked his blindspot and returned the nod. The battlefield was empty enough to move forward. They were heeading up the hill, themselves.

At no point did either one of them say anything as they emerged. Even with scarcely anybody left in this area, they needed to be careful and quiet. There could be anyone out here, or any thing. Soldiers they missed, soldiers playing dead, soldiers who are almost dead and determined to get off one last shot, unexploded mines... That last thought was why Isaac was sticking to heavily-trampled areas of the combat zone. He hadn't heard any particular sound he'd pair up with a landmine going up, but that was no reason not to think there might be. Logically, any mines on the approach would've detonated already, but then logically he shouldn't even be here. He should be raising livestock with his family so that Edinburgh can eat. He should be periodically checking on Rikes and them, making sure they're being good, and raising the new pups...

God dammit, why now? This is neither the time, nor the place!

"Are you alright?"

Britta must have seen something, a moment of agitation, and broken the silence. Silence... Good god, it had gotten quiet out here, hadn't it? Distant sounds of fighting were heard now, as it had been when they were just arriving in this area. It was eerie, getting that feeling again, stepping forth in this battlefield. The bodies were all bodies, not a live one among them. Those who hung out long enough from the Imperial side had been shot dead, some by the pair that now walked among them. Isaac could only imagine what Britta thought of this. He shook his head in reply. He wasn't alright.

"Thoughts of home."

He didn't belong here, even if he did alright here. Yes, even if it was specifically his skills that kept people alive, this was not for him. This was not for many of them. The two Gunners began to ascend Hill 58, Isaac starting to double-time it. Nobody remained in the foxholes. They hit them and moved on. Soon, they came to the enemy trench and found...well...the Atlantic Rifles. Isaac managed to come in right as their short Sapper was speaking. He answered for them.

"You're in shock. You won't be, later."

It was about as much as he could do for him, at the moment. The Sapper had charged a hill and killed people, just now. He couldn't tell him he'd be alright. Nobody could. He could only tell him he'd definitely feel it later, maybe hate himself because of it. Isaac had made Gunner and Lance-Corporal because of his skill and because he could keep a lid on it. He was gonna find that recruitment officer, all safe behind the front lines, and shoot him. That damn bastard... He and others like him probably put Darcsens like Jean into combat just because they didn't like them. Jean was...disintegrating. Something had snapped him like a twig, mentally-speaking.

Dammit, I'm a Lance too. I could've led. We could've switched places a while, him watching my back with me attacking the trenches. I'm still trained for rifles, at least! He didn't need this.

Isaac sighed, the shock wearing off on him, as well. The adrenaline was gone. He no longer feared for his life. He only regretted what this had done to others. Even still, his job wasn't done yet. In fact, it'd just stepped up a little. Jean was...well...he needed a minute. The Lance-Corporal looked around to the others present now.

"Somebody tell me what's going on. What's our status?"

While one Lance was down, the other had to take charge.

During his solitary snivelling, Jean was first approached by the blonde man who'd been caught in the small exchange between himself and the supposed Michael, one of the Platoon's other sappers. Since their last encounter from behind the church rubble, it had been rather demolished with the sights of faces being caved in from bullet cackles, bodies deformed by the explosives thrown by his own soldiers and the endless sounds of screaming coming from both the Feds and Imperials alike. The man had a sort of glimmer in his own words and speech he decided to give, and for the first time in a long time, Jean felt his own belly boil and mind cramp up. Optimism was never a strong point for Jean, and this was one of those periods in which he couldn't help but wonder why someone was simply accepting this fate. Jean was merely a broken young man, if his age could even qualify for adulthood, who was trying to escape. It was the first battle, one that many of the veterans back in the homelands would always rumour to be the worst. It was filled with irreplaceable images of death and decease all around them. The skies were lurked with an endless barrage of gargled screeches chirping from the mouths of many. Jean was scared. Many were scared, and perhaps this man was too, but he showed little appreciation for the situation they were in, as if he were accepting the fate.

It was a surprise to see him lift his head, his hair slightly ruffled from the scuffles of the first charge. His helmet still had its scratch across its factory paintwork, where the bullet had narrowly missed gaining the appropriate angle to kill him. A slight annoyance was in his expression, one that required the tenderness of another to calm down.

"Get...through this?" Clearly appalled at attempt made, despite its good intentions and happiness along with it, Jean had muttered loud enough for those near to hear them. "Is that all there is to do, now? Are we already at the point, on some of our first days, in which we agree to conform to such atrocities? By what this war has proven, friendship will be only temporary at this stage, and yet we will be separated by the cold bullets of one another's barrels; whether that be the Imperial's or the Federation's armaments. I appreciate your efforts, mate, but the...everything is not good. Is it not fucking good enough to just turn ourselves in? Are you saying we should sell our bloody souls to the damned devils and chain our limbs to their puppeteer-like fingertips? And I don't drink either, not that I will live long enough to even see the bloody pub."

Suddenly, Jean was forced to spit a small splutter of blood from his chapped lips. He'd never been this harsh before and it was indefinitely due to the stress he had just endured. Part of him was completely sorrowful for Archibald, who clearly had some good intentions himself. Jean saw his religious prayers before he was approached and it slightly unnerved Jean, but as an atheist in his own rights Jean was very much in denial that he could be mentally healed from such undoubted violence. He unfortunately didn't know the irony that these men and women around him were to grow into his greatest comrades, ones that would last a lot longer than the simple months of the first Europa War. It was dramatic irony at its finest, and yet the writer could not ever predict it.

He was in dire need of calming down, as Jean was slowly beginning to tighten his fists in a blind rage. The imagery all around him struck a nerve so violently that his innate appreciation for like-minded stability left him in a constant state of plucked anger. However, suddenly, but surely, after his quick outburst at Archibald that he so regretted, a divine spectre descended upon their position.

Jean was blessed when an angelic apparition appeared before him. She had a rather crisp shimmer within her eyes, despite the murkiness of the bloody battlefields they were surrounded by. Her hair was yet to be stained by the grudge of the world, still shining as brightly as it had likely done many years before. Though they had slightly met for a second behind the church's rubble, they hadn't yet exchanged such conversations as she was about to press upon him. A sweetness in their Edinburgh accent made the impact of her words tenfold their original amount. Jean's breath drew short simply because her words were suddenly calming his outburst, reminding him that it was nothing more than a false facade of his true personality playing tricks upon his soul. She fluttered a small feeling inside of him when she clearly claimed she wanted to get to know him better, using a great technique to calm him down, and claiming that she was conscripted. It made him feel even more poor-minded, knowing that fair maidens and lords from all around Europa weren't just volunteering, but being forced into combat by the threats of legal imprisonment.

Jean looked down for a second when her hand lent onto his shoulder. For once, it was human physical contact on these new frontlines that didn't involve holding the blade at one another. It wasn't the choking of an Imperial's mud-stained hands grasping at his throat. It was the tender and bittersweet graze of a pure-blooded girl, one who knew nothing of her fate. It saddened Jean's heart for a second, making him wonder what was really in store for them. He suddenly hesitated, nodding slowly and looking up towards her with a pale glance of hope. With intentions to even set-aside his Darcsen heritage, Diana was awaiting his response.

"I..." Jean was unsure of what to say at first. The words she used were far more impactful than Archibald's, mainly because of the tender voice she held. Archibald wasn't a bad person, from what he could tell, but the choice of words simply switched Jean into his mistreated explosion of emotions. Jean politely took Diana's hand for a second from his shoulder and placed it beside herself, freeing himself of her gentle grip. "I...Apologise. I lost a nerve there. I...I can't express my anxiety more than anyone else can, but...I'm sure you truly meant well, Archibald. And, well...Thank you Diana. I guess I really need to pay attention to the true nature of those around me. Perhaps we are stuck here, and no matter how painful it's going to be for us I seem to have a cast of...people. I don't know anyone personally yet, but I guess that's something I should work on."

Jean looked up at Diana and finally let out a rather wobbly smile. It wasn't a very charming one, he imagined, but it seemed to be one that complimented her adorable kindness. Maybe these were people who may stick around long enough to help Jean through the war, but Jean himself was still sceptical of the true potential. The speed and rapidity in which bodies fell into the trench reminded him every minute, through ruthless memory, that at any minute of every hour one of these acquaintances, or even himself, could fall in the face of battle.

But before Jean could continue to talk to them, knowing that there was supposedly some time to rest in this bloody trench, which would likely require the emptying of its deceased, something caught him and the others off guard. As it slowly came towards them from behind the trench walls, a feminine, youthful pant of terrified vocals broke free of the silence of the battlefield before she, the small angel of the Federation, fell down into the trench. Jean looked and even jumped in place, trying to gather his place on his feet once more, before he saw that this was the same small girl from before the charge...



During that moment, when her mind fell blank, she could not fear anything else other than her own violent capabilities with a rifle. Lucia was a damsel in distress, in which she had caused herself the pain and horrific origin story to that predicament. Her eyes were of a bloodstained red when she eventually dropped into the peak trench of Hill 58. She hadn't joined the initial charge but Lucia was more than aware of the aftermath as she ran the silent fields up there. For her, there weren't any machine guns or rifles aiming towards her as she made up the small reserve force called to fortify the newly capture position. Yet despite this, the soulless and lifeless eyes of the Federation's newly deceased scattered themselves across the battlefield. Mud engulfed the stretches of land and hid some of the more gouged of corpses. Lucia had even tripped and fallen over some of the bloody messes left behind from that first wave.

No one apart from her truly knew why she had joined that reserve force in the first place, but ever since the final girl, most likely of the same age as her, entered the trench in retreat from the battle, things went downhill. Lucia never felt so guilty as to have executed someone of her own ethnicity and allegiance. On the orders of her superiors, as well, she'd taken her rifle and unleashed all she could upon a fair maiden in brown drabs. Regret had coursed through her fragile veins to the point of wanting to escape the scene of her immoral objective. Lucia never wanted to see that girl's body ever again.

When she fell in, a few soldiers instantly surrounded her, questioning why she was in such a panic, asking if she was okay and courteously helping her to her feet. It was a kind gesture, but nothing of that small compassion could ever bring the beautiful maid into a state of calmness. Tears constantly flowed from her eyes and the overwhelming power of self-hatred tore her mind from the realities of purity and light. Lucia was crying alone, once more, and soon an unfamiliar face almost crawled towards her. He bore the Lance Corporal's insignia, and he spoke quietly to her.



"S-shh...Hey...It's okay. Hey..." In that moment, Jean suddenly rose to a strange sense of sympathy. He took the words of Diana and Archibald to heart, knowing that there were people relying on his imitation in order to find morality on their compasses. And so, Jean, despite not being a young man of physical kindness and confidence, felt his own arms wrap around the smaller girl in a comforting way, attempting to quieten her nerves and tears. Some could have called it a fatherly gesture, but Jean simply did it out of instinct for the similarly broken girl. "S-Shh, we're here. Our Platoon is here, your platoon...Lucia, is it? Don't cry, we'll find you some way to ease the pain of your head."

Jean quickly took another instinct in caring for his whimpering comrade, one he barely knew too, and pointed towards one man he knew the name of. Despite blood dripping from his uniform, Jean knew his name from the words of others. Michael, he remembered.

"Michael...S-Sorry to be a pain, but please take Private Farris somewhere...somewhere warm and calmer. Go with the Can-" And for a second, he paused as he looked upon who he nearly chose to accompany Michael with. She was drenched, head to toe, in Imperial and Federation blood. Crying in her own boots, quivering perhaps of the crimes she may have committed in her outburst, the supposed Candy Lady was a hesitant choice. Jean honestly was a little frightened of what she'd done, and so quickly shifted his fingers away, trying not to make it any more awkward than he suddenly made it. He pointed to Isaac instead. "G-Go with Lance Corporal Isaac and take care of her...p-please?"

@SMS@Bushman501@Ithradine@Letter Bee@AtomicNut@Sync@Deadnaut@CFProxy@Conscripts@FalloutJack

Mila stood there for a little while, her cries trying to exorcise the horrible visions on her mind to no avail. She registered one of the sappers, a ridiculously young one, saying something to her. But she never quite understood what he had just said, as the words never pierced the veil of her sorrow fully. Or at least she thought so, as being called clean was the least think she expected. However, thanks to all those drills, when the Lance corporal said something, her mind was fairly quick on the uptake. Charpentier, the Darcsen Corporal had crumbled. It was Corporal Black this time the one addressing the troops. His words made much more sense than the sapper's.

Shock huh? She was in shock. Jean Charpentier was in Shock. Half of the people if not all, were in Shock. Without even rising to her feet, she pieced something together rather quickly.

"It was a ...bloody charge into the trench, but our losses aren't as heavy as they... could have been." She answered to Isaac, her voice trembling, and still hiccuping quite a bit. And then, there was the wail. This one came from a rather young girl. It was all Mila needed. She snapped to her senses, eyes wide open, as she rubbed her teary face with the sleeve. It was then when she noticed the lance Corporal Charpentier pointing at her... but hesitating for some reason.

Get your bearings, Mila. What kind of older sister breaks down in tears? She thought to herself as she exerted force and made her lead-like limbs to stand, regaining her full towering height. She eyed both Charpentier and Black, before saying. "No need, I can do it, sir." She addressed both corporals. Her fist clenched and unclenched, before she unbuttoned part of the top of the uniform, accessing some kind of ... compartment inside her clothes, producing both a handkerchief and a smashed-up but pretty much unblooded packet of candy, before closing in Lucia.

"Hey. A pretty girl like you should not be crying like that." She said as she put a hand on Lucia's shoulder, still caked with the blood of enemies. "Look at me, kitten. There's no shame in being a survivor." She added, as the gears clicked in her mind, before drawing the still mostly clean handkerchief to wipe the grime off the private's face. "Do you want a humbug?" She finished.

Archibald Andrews - Sapper

Archibald was tempted to snark and say something defensive at Jean, before Diana managed to succeed at what he was trying better. Now he didn't know what to do, what to say. So it was a good thing that Jean had softened, although to be honest, Archibald had a different perspective to what Jean had. After all, atrocities are immoral and abominable, but there was no way to avoid sin in this life, not totally. And having to get through this damned war was not innately ignoble; in fact, it was positively noble!

"Sir," he said to Jean, "We - this squad - have to survive nevertheless. Like it or not, we can either be a surrogate family or we will all die seperately. And it is okay if you don't drink; we serve pasteurized milk as well in our inn."

He then smiled at Diana, "All is well, and that's a good name; the blonde wonder. And what you said to the Lance Corporal was a good thing; he does deserve as much kindness as possible."

Lance Corporal is cute. If I didn't already have a girlfriend... He let that thought trail off as he watched Jean comfort Lucia, smiling at the Darscen's efforts. It seems that he had listened to him and Diana's words, which was an honor. While Mila the shocktrooper showed her kind side once more, Archibald watched around to see if Lieutenant Middleton was still away; he did not want that asshole to come back with his distaste for human life!

Diana’s Brutal Reality - Frontline - Salient Hill 58 Battle (August 25th)

---

Diana blushed when the lance corporal politely moved her hand off his shoulder and placed it besides herself. She listened as he was apologizing to Archibald, which she smiled kindly and gently while looking at him. She couldn’t help that but tear up at what he was saying since it made her feel slightly a bit better. The one thought going in her head, which was the Lance Corporal needs to work on his speeches. ”His speeches definitely need to get better. I do like him for who he is.” She thought to herself with a smile on her face. Her heartbeat was a bit faster mostly since she always felt no one completes her, until today.

Her look on her face, when the Lance Corporal gave his smile made her cutely giggle, as her reaction. ”N-Nice smile, Lance Corporal.” Diana spoke with a kind and gentle look towards him. She couldn’t help but compliment the Lance Corporal since he needs encouragement then what some people in the military are. She looked in the direction of Archibald and smiled. ”I guess, it’s no problem then. And yeah I agree with you on the Lance Corporal needing kindness and so much more.” She smiled as she looked. However, something distracted her and that was the girl that entered the trench, in tears.

She got up as soon the Lance Corporal got up, to comfort the young girl in question. Her movement was a bit wobbly and stopped a bit behind the lance corporal, which she saw him hugging her. Her facial look on her face was aww, with a hint of jealousy but it’s very hard to see the jealous look since she was smiling kindly. ”Oh my… Wish we met not on a battlefield.” She thought with a shocked to her system since she couldn’t understand what she was feeling. Her feelings were all scrambled and wished they weren’t on this battlefield.

However, she looked towards the ‘candy lady’ and noticed her not angry but she has a slight fear from her outburst before. ”N-Nice to see her back to normal… even though I am slightly afraid of her,” Diana thought to herself. She clears her throat a bit and looks directly at the candy lady. Her body is shaking a bit as if she is afraid similar to what the Lance Corporal is feeling. ”W-What’s your name? Candy Lady.” She asked at the Candy lady since she wanted to know the name of the one who terrified her.

---

His limbs felt detached as his Longfield Rifle laid bare on the mud, the barrel still hot from the shots that had just been fired just minutes ago. His left hand still held firm on the stock like glue. Again, his eyes found its way to his hand again. His palm. A palm of blood and mud. Just shock? The fact that he killed nine people, including one that he personally smashed his head in and two more who were horrified that they could not resist, saw his friend died in front of him, two friends, and he could do basically nothing. All of that could be explained with a single word? Shock? He found the prospect appalling, that when things began to settle down, he would be able to let it all out like the Lance Corporal or this huge lady over here. Maybe he would. He didn't know. But the matter is now. What did he need to do to dispel the shock that had haunted him for the last hour of battle?

But it wouldn't start with just sitting around for him. As Jean was under no condition to report anything, Isaac immediately took over. And for any commanders of any ranks, it was natural that he asked for a battlefield report. To be honest, Michael didn't really pay that much attention really. He was just clawing his ways through the trenches and fought until the moment everything began to settle down. In fact that was the only moment he remembered vividly of what was happening after he entered the Imperial trenches. The Imperials moved away in the direction Michael was heading towards when he charged up that hill, so probably they retreated. He didn't really get to see the rest of them though. Did they employ the same policy just as Middleton had? Or did they even retreat at all, or they just cornered back up into some spot then got cut down?

"I'm not sure myself. But seems like they retreated." He said briefly to Isaac, after the lady giving him the casualty report. The same time as she saw her, Michael also did. It was her. Private Lucia Farris. She wasn't different from the first time he saw him in that trench though. Did she have to shoot anyone retreating? From the tears, hiccups and wails of the little angel, she probably did. He couldn't blame her or whoever had to die by her hands. They were all afraid that was all. The only one he could blame was perhaps Middleton. That bastard of a human.

Nevertheless, she received huge amount of cares from the rest of the platoon. Though everyone of them surrounded her with cheers and reassurances. To which it didn't feel...right. It surely was almost natural sense to calm her down and said she need not cry. But why would she need to? She was letting it flow. It was just a measure to cope with the hell-on-earth that is war. It was nature, his mother taught him. Everybody could do that. Jean could. Lucia could. That lady could.

'Yet I couldn't...'

What went wrong...

It was not long when Jean asked him and Isaac to take care of her, taking her to somewhere warm and calm. He was unsure if this squad of his would be able to cheer her out of her misery. She might be able to, but her broken state right now meant otherwise to him. Still, he couldn't really just interject with the rest of the squad who were just showing her good-intentions. He stood up from the dirt and slowly approached Lucia and the rest of the squad, the Longfield rifle on his left hand.

"I'll find the suitable place Corporal." He replied to Jean, before turning to Lucia, gently and subtly like the wind. "Find me if you want to."

With the message conveyed as gentle yet clear enough for her, Michael went off slowly and silently. As he passed through the empty trenches, he looked briefly inside. They were quite occupied mostly, with soldiers crumpling together in a messy pile as they tried to catch their breathes after the long and arduous period of combat, compiled along with those who were also lying but would never be able to get back up again. It was hard to distinguish between both if one was lying down. But he didn't want a trench like that. He wanted a trench completely devoid of any human presence, even death. It was a pretty tough filter, but surprisingly, there was one. It was a little into the trench system, and was merely a very short section that fits the category, but it worked for him.

After discovering such a place, Michael leaned onto the wooden planks of the wall covered in dirt. If she wanted to come to him, the search wouldn't be difficult.
@AtomicNut@LetMeDoStuff@FalloutJack

Despite the look of it all, situations were actually not that bad. Those who had charged into the trenches were not terribly wounded. They were just shocked by the horrors of close combat, right after a similar blow inflicted by the initial charge into war and death itself. Now, there was nothing small about that mental impact, but at least you were alive. You were alive and you had to find some way to live with yourself. Isaac tended to focus on his anger, tempered by years of being around wolves who channeled it naturally. This was not where he belonged. This was where he was forced to be, and that was a story similar with others. How many of them were taken, not volunteered? And how many out of the ones that DID volunteer really knew what they were getting into? Out of them all, Isaac and Britta were spared the up-close terror of real combat, thus far, because of their place in battle. One day, that was going to change, or they were going to be surrounded with no cover, or finding a grenade incoming. It was going to happen. They were trained to know that it was going to happen, just as everybody here was trained, as well.

Even still, the answers given on their current stannding were hopeful. Quite a few of them had lived.

Isaac nodded quietly as the crazy girl - Still hadn't caught her name. - and Michael explained briefly. The nod he gave was one of understanding, thanking them for putting up with this on top of stewing in their own remorse. Jean had been overcooked, but a couple of others - Diana and their other Sapper - were getting through to him. It was good, because it showed that the troope believed in him, believed he was worthy of them. A Darcsen in the middle of war probably needed a bit of validation, to be honest, and it was obvious that Middleton wasn't gonna give him any. Despite all things, though, Jean had Isaac's own respect. He'd made it here, he'd broken through the fear barrier, he had a competent plan - Admittedly, it was one that anyone could have come up with, but he shouted it first. - that got them up this hill - all things that deserved some notice. He didn't deserve the crumbling pressure that came with it, though, and again Isaac wished he could have taken the brunt of that instead of him.

They might have to talk about that later, and maybe there'd even be time to address that somewhere, but not here and now. The battle was over and they were all taking a rest to recover their senses, but...there was one more coming.

She arrived with very little warning, the pant of exhausted running having been the only sound before collapsing into the trench. It had been right near where Isaac and Britta had come in. She fell into the trench of Hill 58 with practically no energy left in her body, and so suddenly that everyone was surprised. Jean jumped, Isaac flinched, Britta's eyes widened, and so on. They all recognized her, immediately. It was Private Lucia, the girl that Middleton had ordered to kill anyone who retreated to their own trenches, despite the fact that she was not in any way ready for that kind of order. Several of them helped her to her feet, Britta being one of the ones asking why she was in a panic. Isaac didn't need to ask. He knew.

Good god, she had to do it... She had to kill one of our own people, and just because they were afraid...

Jean came up to her, trying to comfort the girl while Isaac thought of how he was going to deal with Middleton personally over this. Of all the tales of 'They never deserved this' there might be, the tale of Lucia might be the most compelling. It really didn't look that they were going to get through to her so easily, even though the crazy girl was not being particularly crazy at the moment, just offering her candy... However, right now, Jean asked if he and Michael would take the young girl somewhere less horrible. Not his words, just Isaac's own thoughts. This spot was full of blood and corpses. There had to be an emptier, quieter place for Lucia to be, and they would find it.

"I'm on it. Britta, would you patrol, please?"

"Yes, of course, Isaac."

She understood that this was something he had to deal with and that the rest of them needed someone to keep an eye out on things while they all dealt with this trench. In short, Britta would be making sure that there were no surprises in the area, and she would open fire on any that appeared. With that, he and Michael would lead Private Lucia away from this scene as she silently despaired. He quietly took her hand and helped her along the trench, keeping her steady if her exhaustion started kicking in. Now, finding a suitable place was a little difficult because of the bodies, but Michael succeeded anyway, due to the nature of trench design. You see, every now and then, these things bend, usually at harsh angles. There are several reasons for this, but one of the big ones is that if a grenade or a mortor hits an area, the blastwave hits a corner and stops. In a straight trench, an explosion will travel farther than the radius of the blast, but it doesn't do corners well, so this was implemented in order to save lives. As a result, you have short areas like this one that exist between the straight ones. Isaac let Lucia sit down, and he sat with her. Unsure if Middleton even gave her a canteen, he pulled out his own and offered it.

"Right now, I guess you feel alone and terrified, but you're not alone. We're your friends here, Lucia. We care what happens to you, and we'll help you through it, I promise. If there's anything you want or need to say, I won't judge you. Neither will Michael. None of us will. We're all just trying to get through this war alive, so you can depend on us."

He hoped that somehow any of this was reaching her. He wasn't sure if Jean had calmed her any or that she was even listening, but maybe...just maybe...something would break through.



She wanted to keep moving, never have to stare into those eyes again. Those eyes had been like her own: They were full of fear, and then they slowly drained of life as the rifle went off, until they saw nothing but her soul. She had to get away from that, and so she made it all the up her, to Hill 58...but it wasn't far enough. People - other troops - started asking her what was wrong, trying to steady her. Words wouldn't come, only her tears. The next thing she knew, there was warmth and a kind face... Every motion, every inclination to run, just sort of quit when the Lance-Corporal held her and suggested someone take her somewhere to rest, while another cleaned her face. For a moment, Lucia was just in shock at the sudden shift, at finding someone who cared. Somewhere inside of her, this was registering, but it would take some time to process.

She was soon led away, taken somewhere quiet to rest. She was with...names mentioned fluttered around inside of her, trying to find its way to a face... Their eyes, all of them hurt like she'd been - that was clear - but when faced with her, they just... How could they look at her with such kindness? The Lieutenant, her trainer, the other soldiers - all of them ranging from the stern to the indifferent. The Lance-Corporal - that's who held her - asked the other one and a Sapper to take her to a cleaner part of the trench, let her rest, both of them going out of their way to help her. She sat down, then, not aware until then just how tired she really was. The other Lance sat nearby, offered her his water. That, she needed. Her throat was hoarse already. Even as she did, though, Lucia felt the fatigue getting to her. She shook her head weakly.

"No...no...I can't sleep... Not now..."

"Because you'll see it in your dreams?"

She looked at the Lance, just then, maybe a little shocked. Could he read her mind? Did he simply know? Yes...he must have. It was written on his face... He knew everything she'd had to do, just by looking at her. Lucia just nodded, on the verge of more tears. The Lance-Corporal just looked at her with understanding eyes and placed his hand on her shoulder.

"It's okay. You might have nightmares. You might hurt for a long time. We'll be here."

This was what made Lucia want - more than anything else - to be sure that these people survived. And only then, after she knew that there was anybody at all that cared about her plight, did she finally allow sleep.

Kalisa was panting as the adrenaline from her first kill slowly dissolved. The soldier kept his gaze onto her as he slid down, so she was staring back at his now expressionless dead face. The Darcsen mentally apologized to the corpse as she closed her eyes. Killing someone was surprisingly easily in the moment, but it wasn't easy to swallow. Opening her eyes afterwards, she knelt down and closed the eyes of the deceased Imperial.

Keeping low, she took a look at her surroundings to check if there were other Imperials nearby. She was met with the spectacular sight of the madwoman's bloody smile. "A-any time, uh- sis." It was unnerving, but at the same time it gave Kalisa some relief that she was on their side. Not a sight she'll forget for a while.

A few more friendlies had arrived, and it seemed like they have gotten control of the trench. Everything happened within the span of a few minutes but so many things happened. The rest of the squad from earlier had caught up and were now in the trench with them.

Kalisa kept to the side as everybody huddled around the Lance Corporal. It didn't seem like a good idea to suffocate the officer with more people, so she kept her distance and watched. Shortly after... Lucia was it? Had dropped into the trench quite literally. She was a mess. It looks like she might have had to pull the trigger on a friendly. The Darcsen didn't know what to say to her. She wanted to comfort her, but she didn't even know how to handle a situation like that, and a part of her didn't ever want to learn how. She was thankful a few members of the squad were already on it. The Lance Corporal and a few others went up to her and started calming her down.

Not wanting to ruin the moment, she took a look at the others who were present. She had noted a particular red head who had just arrived and sat down on a box, and slowly made her way over.

"Hey, glad you could join us." She gave the guy a weary smile. Perhaps she was looking for someone to talk to as well. Kalisa still hasn't had the chance to introduce herself to anybody else besides Daniel, so it didn't feel right to start chatting up the others. She sat down on one of the other boxes before letting out a big sigh of relief. Things got pretty intense, so her feet only now started to feel the pain and wear of getting to where they were. There was a small euphoria when she lifted her feet off the ground. The pain subsiding before fatigue settled in.

"You holding up alright? We got separated on the way here so I thought you might have kicked the bucket." She said the last part jokingly, but there was a part of her that did think it might have been true. It's hard to keep track of people on a battlefield such as this, so she was quite glad to see that he was alive and well.

@AtomicNut @Ithradine

Covering fire, sprinting, shifting, and keeping within the range of the squad. The blood splattered against wood and metal with dives in and out of the trench. Drinking from the cup of blood their enemy turned around to pitch their walls. Round after round. Bolt after bolt. There was a scream then a silence. There was a stream of tears and then dried salt. Forward. Forward. Forward.

Franz had always admired the empire. From his youth he found them to be the most intriguing and home feeling collective of states to have ever been created. The federation only found strength in cooperation and compromises all while feeding its people the promise of freedom. The Federation was no more than a puppet master riding out its promises. In the end governments had to control their people by any means necessary. The way of the world was to lead or follow. Some people took that as a horrid thing. However, Franz did not. Order was necessary. Checking of powers high and low mandatory.

He accepted such an order when he joined the gang that Markus had set up. He accepted that when he saw the masses following their own orders. He accepted it when he took up arms and swore his oath. No man could take the truth from him. Life simply functioned well under structure and as much as his neighbors tried to sugar coat it there was no denying that even they were effectively powerless to government. He appreciated that the empire was blunt in how it structured itself. He appreciated that despite this singular emperor happiness could still be obtained. There was no need to use propaganda to obtain life’s true meaning. That was the poetry of collective obsession and sacrifice. It was not to be for the individual. It was to be for the collective and especially the state so that in the future, on the darkest of days, the empire could use its strength to keep that dream alive.

That’s… why it hurt…

That’s why… all of it just… hurt…

Had he not lived a rougher life, perhaps it would have hurt far more. Maybe it could have crippled him, but here he only felt so much.

He didn’t let it shake himself, but even blowing a hole into yet another imperial to prevent a squad mate from dying he had to wonder just how much his friends would understand his fight. He had to wonder just how awful things were.

He had lost track of his own kill count... Well, that wasn't quite true. He knew the count but he didn't want to linger on it at the moment. All he knew was that the squad was safe and in the corner while they had a moment of rest he held the hand of an imperial who gasped with fingers gliding across the broken structure. Screams of pain were silenced by tightly constrained lungs trying to grab something- anything for fuel. Blood poured from the abdomen, chest, and leg. The wounds were bad and she appeared to be lost. The pink hair disheveled with blood crawling out of the corners of her lips as she asked Franz a simple question.

“Am I going to die?”

“Yes.”

“I-I don’t- want- to!” Another gagged gasp.

“I know.”

“Did… I do… The empire… proud?”

“Yes… Your family too...”

“Will they remember...”

“...I will remember you...”

“...”

“...”

Her arm went limp as he held her in his arms. The upward cress of her corners drooping to a neutral poise with mouth still and barren. Even in the chaos of the noise and the blood splattered trenches he still found sanity left in him. The heave loosened his grip from the previously pressing rib cage. Gentle strands of hair flowed into the dust as blood dried and eyes glazed. Among her own body, how many more who were simply doing their jobs would suffer the same fate?

Middleton angered him when he had decapitated that poor imperial. Death was to come to all but by beheading? What a heartless fool! Still… He couldn’t… find his burning passion for the moment. Even if the moment was to be brief he needed to finish. He laid her on her back. There was a deep breath, the man standing after reading her tag and studying her expressionless face. He would remember. It was a curse he was to bare but there were just some things that ideologies didn’t cover.

You could tell a man that the other was the enemy. Us versus them. However, he knew already that this was a kill he couldn’t forget. He doubted that those who lived in the trench could ever forget theirs. He knew lots of feds would just trample on corpses and laugh at the fallen, but he would give them more respect than that. He might have been on the other side but it didn’t mean he couldn’t give them some compassion even in their dead or dying state.

He stepped to the woman’s side, picking her up as though she were a bride and held her close as he walked near the squad, throwing himself over into potential gunfire and leaving a trail of blood as he grunted and walked out of position. Out in the middle of danger he set the woman down so that she could face the changing of the light with her helmet latched on tight.

He felt like he could breathe, if only for a moment. He fell to his side, coughing hard as the round she put in him began to make him feel dizzy. He groaned, staggering to his feet and walking back to the trench. He gave one last look to the Imperial who reminded him of so much and spoke of all that he had taken away from her. He would have to take so much more from so many others. But for now he said goodbye to the one who would stay in his mind at night.

“Goodbye, Melanie.” He grunted, staggering to the trench and falling in with the wound in his chest bothering him immensely. His vision blurred. He felt something slide across his cheeks… Tears?

He pressed against the wound, holding back against trench as he looked over to his team and just watched them gather. They had made it. That girl was here too… the one told to kill anyone on the run back. The pain was growing with time, audible groans oozing from his teeth as he pulled out what little medical supplies he had as well as what he took off Melanie to, at least, prevent bleeding to death. Once more he was hesitant to ask his squad for help. He knew none of them and they were all busy with each other. It seemed fitting to himself that he would simply watch over them even in his… less than optimal state. He wasn’t sure what to feel, honestly. On one hand he had just killed people who were doing their job as he was and on the other he would never know them. He would never get to get old and see them again. He would never know who they were or where they came from. He would never know if any of them had any regrets or if he could have eased their pain in some way as they leaked their blood onto the world. He simply stopped them in their tracks, making sure to either wound for capture or instant death. He had dumped three rounds into that girl just because she landed on in him. In his rage he hurt her more than he intended and for that, he realized, the tears kept coming.

The reaper calls. He calls and he calls. The unfortunate man answers.

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in…breathe…

Eyelids closed as he exhaled, his tired state ripping at him with the sounds of their deaths echoing in his head over and over. Was it bad that he thought war, while an awful experience, was a good thing? It was like a greater good that he couldn’t explain to other people without sounding incredibly apathetic. It was an art where many could claim glory and others would find death. It was the balancing act for when things got out of wack. For as much as it was a loss of those who you loved it was the ultimate sacrifice and dedication to the powers for ‘whom thou bend thine knee.’ It was a dance where all things became real and all reality became fiction. A dance in the fall with leaves. Thousands and thousands of leaves floating to the ground with the dancer dancing their dance. Round and round they go until they dance no more.

He blinked rapidly, waking up before he would become one of the thousands himself. He needed to keep awake. The peace could only last so long. He was hardly in the shape to talk to anyone and the butt of his rifle slammed into the side of a clown of a soldier who made teasing comments of his relation to the girl leaning against the rock. With that man now out of his hair, he pulled his helmet a little further down and thought. At least Jean was safe. At least the squad was safe. He blinked more rapidly, sliding a little more down as he felt his wound and grit his teeth. He pat his pockets, sighing as he misplaced his cigarettes. He groaned, an audible gargle from a bit of blood as he sat up straight and asked a question to anyone caring to offer.

“Anyone have a smoke?”

He laughed to himself, thinking about the old gang.

---

“You need more than a fucking smoke, Franz. The hell did Barri do to your arm?”

“Nothing too serious.”

“Fuck that. Where is that loud mouth anyway?”

“Down the river, with his girl.”

“We’ll see how much longer. You want the honors?”

“Nah. I don’t kill people. That’s your job.”

“Well yours isn’t to get ganged up on when I’m not looking. These doctor’s visits aren’t going to get any god damn cheaper.”

“We can always rob another ‘class-a rude boy’ like Cassie talks about.”

“Yeah and then Jack will spend another week in a cell because the dumbass doesn’t know what the hell ‘spring from the clap’ means.”

There would be a groan from Franz as Markus picked him up, lighting a cigarette and putting it in his mouth before patting his back.

“Alright, Franz. Don’t drop it.”

“Thanks.”

“Anything for my favorite boy.”

---

He pressed the end of the wound up against the wall a bit harder, palm of hand clamping against the entry point. What a day.

The time in which he reacted to Diana's compliment on his smile was drawn out. For a second, he could feel himself smiling and becoming slightly flustered, almost forgetting about the battlefield around them. Almost. She had a lovely, yet strange, ambience to her presence, one that threw genuine happiness into the souls of the weak. Jean was indefinitely taken back by her, albeit nervous, response to his weary smile, but it was her voice altogether that added the icing atop of the statement. Jean smiled again, looking away in a very unsubtle embarrassment, forcing him to take a stand onto his own legs again as Lucia was led off. And there he stood, still and utterly emotionless, for what was quite possibly an hour. People were chatting all around him and yet Jean continued to feel almost ethereal as the blurs of everyone around him scooted by. The temporary divergence from the war was broken when he looked simply at the clearing of Imperial and Federation bodies from the trench. Soldiers who hadn't been within the charge were put on the duty of cleaning up such corpses as if they were entitled to giving them the unruly burial. Rather than give the Imperials the opportunity of a respectful conclusion, many were tossed aside and occasionally looted for treasuries.

A hand placed itself down on Jean's shoulder, gently, yet forcefully, moving him to face the direction of its origination. Striped, he was, with thrice as many as Jean had. A Sergeant, respectively. With a great load of facial hair surrounding his upper lip, he definitely took the burly, nationalist NCO stereotype to a whole new level. Jean looked at him with a few empty blinks. The Sergeant, in a rather crude joking matter, pinched his cheeks to try and spark some light back into the man.

"Lad, if you don't stop staring at that lass you'll start drooling." Objectively, Jean knew that the man was wrong. Jean wasn't looking or spying on the females of the group by any means and instead was musing over the treatment of the dead. It sickened him, to say the least. "Now come with me, for a moment. Lieutenant Middleton wants all NCOs to report to him for analysis. Do you know where Lance Corporal Black is as well..?"

"Taking care of a...a young soldier." Jean finally mustered the courage to say something, trying to snap himself out of the horrifying reminder that he was surrounded by those who's fleeting moments were spent drowning in their own oozing blood. The Sergeant looked upon him with a sceptical raise of the eyebrow, despite Jean having been correct for once. He twirled his bountiful moustache and muttered something before finally responding to his claim.

"Is that so, lad? Go get him."

"W-With all due respect, Sergeant, she was very badly swept up. P-Perhaps he can keep the morale of the Platoon up. I'll...I'll just relay what the Lieutenant says to him after."

Jean held his breath before the Sergeant reluctantly nodded, seeing the logic in his place. He too agreed that the morale of the troops was something to uphold, which Middleton may had seen it as least important. Even with conflicting views, Jean couldn't help but stare at the Sergeant and only imagine him as a puppet to the Lieutenant, being made to do irrational things for the irrational means of another spoilt man.

They began to walk, in unison, further down the trench system. A few twists and turns were required as the expanse of the battle started to make itself clear. There were far more bodies required for clearing on the left side of the trench, which was luckily the side Jean's group hadn't taken. More of the soldiers of the Federation who were still alive on that left flank were bleeding, holding in their own wounds or awaiting treatment of their own, even after an hour of the charge's finish. Jean's legs wobbled and shook when he thought of it, shuddering in its position. The sockets ached when he thought of what it truly felt like to get shot. Jean did, as evident by his helmet's dent, scrape a bullet by his head. If the angle had been any deeper, Jean would've been dead without a doubt, yet he wasn't. He never understood why he hadn't been given up for such a stupid act of rescuing a dead body, but he hadn't yet fallen. It worried him, in reality.

As the pair continued their journey towards Middleton, Jean finally found the confidence to speak his mind when he saw the bodies of the Imperials, once again being tossed simply outside of the trench into ditches previously dug by artillery fire. There was no honour in their burials, it seemed, and Jean couldn't help but feel sorry for them. As a humanitarian by heart, it pained him to see such disregard for the decease of many, many men and women.

"Sergeant...M-May I..." He paused for a moment, seeing that the Sergeant simply turned towards him and nodded, awaiting his question. "I can't help but...but feel nervous as to why we are giving our dead to graves, but not the Imperials. I mean...doesn't it just seem a bit weird how we don't value them in the same way?"

The Sergeant stopped walking, turning around and placing a firm, painful grasp onto Jean's shoulders. He whispered into his ears about treason, words that kind of slipped by Jean as he felt his ears go numb. The bitterness of the cold, alongside the firmness of the Sergeant's grip, made him shiver and shudder. In reality he wasn't fully getting anything of what he was saying, but it was crystal clear that the Sergeant was warning him to choose his words correctly. Saying the sort of humanitarian ideals around in a battlefield environment could be insinuating that he cared for the enemy. Middleton's Regiment was built mostly on the famous values of nationalism and anti-Imperial sentiments. It was a real case of dehumanising the enemy. Jean could see now that the war was built entirely on thinking lesser of the opposition and placing their own comrades on a pedestal. But to the Federation Lance Corporal, how could he respect the brass and higher ups if his first battle saw the slaughter of hundreds before they even reached the top of the hill? Was this a common battle for the war? Some of the Sergeants like the one before him seemed completely composed about the structure of the battle. Had the war really been fought in such a barbaric way this entire time? Jean felt a foul taste come into his mouth.

Eventually, the two arrived to a small crowd of muddy NCOs, all surrounding Middleton. The Lieutenant had a sharp look on his face as he stared through the binoculars wrapped loosely around his neck. On the approaching distance, Jean could hear him muttering to himself and other fellow officers who'd joined the formation. It was clear that Lieutenant Middleton held ultimate authority over the rest of the 2nd Lieutenants around him, as he had apparently orchestrated the whole assault itself. Some of the NCOs around him, such as Corporals, Sergeants and Staff Sergeants, all coloured themselves impressed by his strategy in comparison to previous trench raids from certain Majors or Captains. Jean was definitely not a sceptic as such but he knew that the charge of Hill 58 was no manifestation of a tactical genius.

Middleton eventually turned towards the rest, counting the heads of the other NCOs who'd arrived on the scene. At first, Jean thought that this was just to see who'd bothered to show up, but the stout truth to this was simply to see who was still left alive. He realised this shortly after Middleton stared straight into his own eyes and gave a sort of annoyed look as to how thin the NCO list had already become. It was more of a nuisance and thorn in the Lieutenant's side, but how could he care on a personal level without having any need of human life other than to orchestrate and complete the means of war and strategy?

Within a few seconds, Middleton finally let out a large sigh and turned his eyes around in his sockets. There were some pressing matters to attend to and he could only afford around 14 other NCOs, 15 if he counted Isaac who couldn't attend the meeting. It was more of a short update, preparing them for an upcoming storm of such. It seemed that Middleton had a keener eye than Jean had expected.

"At ease, ladies and gentlemen. As you could expect, we've ran into some minor complications. I want you all to take a look around and tell me what's wrong with this trench." With his vague and almost cryptic introduction, the NCOs began to all look amongst one another in confusion. Jean didn't dare make eye contact with the other contracted killers amongst the group, but instead he simply looked at the corrupted officer with a strong glare. From time to time he did look around, but his mind wouldn't bother suggesting what he had figured out on the way towards the meeting. Before Middleton could confirm anything, a few answers from the NCOs began to come into the light, all of which he denied quickly.

"Is it that the Imperials did not build a strong defence?"

"It must be that they haven't included any dugout holes either?"

The Lieutenant smirked and chuckled at their apparent insolence. It was quite clear towards him that he knew the answer best, and so he decided to share it with a more composed face, once he'd had his laugh of course. Why wouldn't the man take the time to enjoy himself in the face of imminent panic?

"And they call you officers, of the sort? No. Remember our objective. We were assigned to charge up this hill and to secure the artillery positions. Now tell me, my subordinates...Do you see any artillery cannons?" By a matter of fact, Jean was slightly surprised by the answer given. The Lance Corporal thought it was to do with the lower Imperial defender numbers than originally anticipated, but the lack of artillery guns made him stagger in confusion. Had they simply charged up this hill and sacrificed hundreds of soldiers without even reaching their objective? Jean was appalled by the revelation and turned around quickly, his head thumping with the images of the battle once more. These Imperials seemed to have a knack at defending, it seemed, and this hill seemed like the perfect place for trickery and deceit. "I have reasons to believe that whilst we have done our part in securing this hill, we are without the knowledge of where their guns are. Until now, that is. If you look closely enough down the opposing side of the hill, towards the newly penetrated Imperial frontline, you can see larger duckboards, easily known for transporting heavy gear and soldiers over thickened mud. It has become apparent to me that they knew that we were to be upon them like the devil within a matter of hours and thus retrieved what they could. Don't let the spoils of their trickery hinder our victory, though. We captured the hill, which I needed for us to take. We now have the higher ground over the Salient, and thus have broken through and began to alter. For now, we will be holding here in these trenches for three hours, approximately. Sappers from the 12th Vinland Mortars voluntary division will be reinforcing this hill alongside the 3rd Atlantic Fusiliers. Just sit tight, you horrible lot."

Jean could see that many of the NCOs would let out a sigh before beginning to disperse from the meeting, but a pressing matter was still lurking on the man's mind. He knew that not all the answers had been given and he was yet to learn more about the tactical reasoning behind this revelation they'd been bestowed upon. He took to the front, slightly having to push his way past the more senior of non-commissioned officers and seasoned veterans.

"L-Lieutenant, if I may?" As he heard his rank called, he and the other NCOs all turned to Jean and his urgency. The pressing vision of their eyes resting upon his muddy face made Jean feel even more anxious to ask, but he followed through anyhow. "I still don't...I don't understand. Why would the Imperials move their artillery off of the hill when it was their advantage? Couldn't they have just bombed us before we...before we charged?"

His heart thumped. Once. Twice. Three times, again and again. The eyes of the beady rested upon him with ruthless judgement, actually finding it weird that a greenhorn Lance Corporal would actually try to get more information than he was gifted from his superior. Most of the time, the information like that was only known to the highest of brass, yet Jean was eager to get some answers and to help understand the tactic the Imperials had in play. Maybe there wasn't a tactic and it was just fear, but Jean was so certain that because of the perfect timing and planning put into moving such heavy pieces of artillery that it could not merely be an act of cowardice.

"God, it's like you Darcsens really don't understand...Are you slow, Lance Corporal?"

"W-What, uh...Sir?"

"Are you, or are you not, a slow thinker, one who doesn't understand my hints like the rest of the dark-heads do?" The bluntness and coarse tone of the racial question caused a few of the Corporals and Sergeants around him to laugh and snigger at the Darcsen. He was again embarrassed and scared as to the pressure they laid upon him, but he tried to prevail and hold his ground with nervous intent.

"No...no, S-sir!

"It seems like it. He called for all the other NCOs to disperse, leaving the Lieutenant and the Darcsen alone together for a brief moment. Middleton wandered forward and placed a hand on his shoulder, albeit quite gently, and held a strange tone that made Jean uncomfortable by all means. "It's simple really. You arrived here before the rest of the Platoon, I know that, and you must also know that they didn't strike us with artillery in the few days before the charge, correct? Well, it seems they expected us once more. Why give us the artillery advantage as soon as we take the hill, especially when they can just delay us further by making us wait for the our own artillery and mortars to get here?"

"So...we're...we are like targets, then? They wanted us to slow down to buy them more time? Did we not...did we not account for this?"

Jean felt a hand silence his words, a gloved hand pressing against his mouth in a sort of unfunny comedic manner. The Lieutenant chuckled lightly at his own silencing of the Lance Corporal, before he noticed something. It was time to try and take Jean's mind off of the matter that they were in fact prey, potentially, and he would do so by noticing the pieces of paper within his pocket. Jean was too slow to react to the Lieutenant grabbing and reading the letters, noticing the poetic lines and stanzas presented before him. Jean was embarrassed immediately, seeing an almost mocking grin sprawl across his superior's face. A burst of laughter made Jean shrivel his head into his shoulders, almost hiding his shame. At the very least, it was alright that his comrades and other NCOs were not present to the mockery, but he couldn't help but see the punishing man rip him to shreds, including his passions. Was he being petty or was this just another way to try and toughen the Darcsen up?

"Is this yours, Lance Corporal?" Jean nodded slowly, before the Lieutenant pushed them tightly into his chest, slightly scrunching up the paper whilst doing so. "How will any lost soul read this soppy stuff? How about you devote your time to researching tactics, and maybe we would never of had to have this conversation, perhaps? Now go make yourself useful with the platoon and wait for further orders. We're here for another three hours, remember, before the mortars and artillery pieces arrive. Then we can return to the rear-line and prepare for reassignment."

"Re...Reassignment, Sir?"

"Yes. I cannot share the details now, but you'll learn. Hopefully tomorrow or the day after we'll be leaving for another frontline. Won't spill any spoilers now, so you can wait and see. Should be more...accepting, for greenhorns like you. After all, the 5th Army Group, including the Assault Regiments from Edinburgh, are going to take over with breaking down this Salient. Don't worry...we're the ones who will be hailed as heroes."

Jean hated that phrase; nothing was honourable to him about being called a supposed hero, especially when he had to crack an imperial skull in with a rock he found on the floor. If that was what being a hero was, demoting his own humanity towards being a primitive species of violence and destruction, then he would have rather been nothing more than an expendable soldier who'd been killed early on. Jean trekked back through the trench, finding himself back where the majority of his newly found comrades were. There were only a few people near him specifically, and the only one of notice Jean could see was the strange and lightening aura of the girl who complimented him before. He didn't know Kalisa's name, and Diana was probably elsewhere or awaiting for him to return, but like the latter girl he felt a strange feeling when gazing upon the more stern girl. He didn't know he was staring, though more in an admirable fashion than a stalkerish one, and instead felt his mind drift away to a perfect dream land.

---

He stood waiting for long. Five minutes, ten minutes? He couldn't count. Time seemed to fly, as his mind seemed to blur perception with reality, while his eyes burned as if someone was putting coal onto his eyes. He had arrived at the Salient at a time where his peace-time self would be sleeping peacefully on his comfortable bed. He charged up a hill through a hail of gunfire, had his hands full of blood, his boots full of mud, witnessed the death of two of those he knew personally. His mentality had been stretched thin, and now the rubber was slashing back at him. He now found himself constantly needing the wall behind him as support, but finally when the guest he was waiting for finally arrived, he had to give himself a mental pat to straighten himself. He did have a lot to say to Lucia, but much of it was already said by Isaac. He was right. As much as Michael was in a physical decline right now, he still forced himself a smile for the girl, if she could ever see it through the veils of tears that she had. And with that veil of tears, she went into sleep, a temporary one among so many eternals.

'Dreams huh?'

Would she appear in his dream too if he were to fall asleep right here, right now? Or would he drift away to a better world, a better place? A nightmare would have been an understatement if she appeared. He'd preferred to go to somewhere nice instead. Bruhl would be nice. He had been there once. The mills looked fantastic and the bread there was just second to none. He'd want to visit that again. But nothing could be compared to his home in Tyrelia, in that cozy mansion full of love and warmth of what was called a family, in the tight embrace of his mother, his frail, sickly yet brave and caring mother. It wasn't anything fancy like big cities, in fact sometimes a little dull and mundane, but he could never have it anywhere else than that. He only had that love once. He'd not go anywhere else. But then again, once he did drift away to sleep, once he woke up, it'd be nothing but disappointment as he'd come back to reality right now, a world of death where families are shattered, fathers burying their sons, mothers crying for their husbands, brothers and sisters torn apart, lives lost, deads forgotten. He'd rather just dreamt of nothing. Yeah, nothing. Just go to a place where his mind just shut itself off then come back, knowing nothing of what happened.

Like Isaac would tell Lucia that the squad would be watching, the sapper did. He lost track of how many times his eyes blinked or slammed shut only to be forcibly opened, but he stood laying against that wall, standing outside of the trench, politely gesturing allied soldiers to leave the two alone if they didn't necessarily have to enter the trench. But as it was evident that she was already deep in her sleep, maybe he could get some too. But he'd rather wait for the officers to actually brief them of what was happening first. He'd not want a rest knowing he may still have something else he may have to do.

For once he wandered into the trench that Lucia was staying. It really triggered his curiosity that the trench were designed in an interesting way to mitigate the effects of not just explosions, but also machine gun fire. In case of a trench raid, a straight trench with soldiers firing on the parapet would be a shooting gallery. But it was not the case for zigzagging trench. But that made the attack really nerve shattering in a way. You never know what would be on the other side of the wall.

He turned a few corners as he peered into the parts of the Imperial trenches that he didn't know exist, and the commonly known part. It looked like fierce fighting broke out in this sector, as dead Imperials piled the lot. It was a little irritating to know that they weren't given the same treatment as the allied soldiers. It was to be expected really. Federations, Imperials, they never change. But they were nonetheless humans. Still, it looked like this part of the trench was untreated.

"Huh?"

That uniform. It's one of the Federations. The breathe of the man could not be heard that far, but very visible. As clear as days. It wasn't normal. And the distant look, the placement of his palm onto his chest, it didn't look good.

Michael found himself compelled forward as he walked closer to the man. Upon closer inspection, he was a Darcsen just like Jean, with that trademark dark-blue hair. A badly wounded one. A bloodied hand on the chest that oozed blood slowly.

"My God..."

He didn't need to ask 'Are you okay?', because he obviously wasn't. The short stride walk quickly turned into a run as he approached the man, knelt by him, his eyes did not leave the wounds, trying to recollect any memories he had of first aid.

'Need to expose it.'

He wasn't sure what the other steps were, but a wound should not be left piled up on a mound of dirtied cloth.
@CFProxy

Diana’s Brutal Reality - Frontline - Salient Hill 58 Battle (August 25th)

---

Diana wasn’t really paying attention much since it looked like she was in a daydream, which was abnormal for anyone to do on a battlefield. She was walking in a certain direction while she was in the Trench, however, she was a bit out of it. Not really much could get her out of this daydream, but her movement was different to how she usually is, a wobbly mess. It’s like she’s having awakening dream or something of that effect. ”I-I wonder where did the NCO go, which makes my chest beat like I am in love.” She thought to herself, while walking but she walked right by the candy lady. If the candy lady did tell her name, she wouldn’t be able to hear it since she’s in lala land. She was humming a sweet tune, which her mother used to hum to her to calm her down.

---

---

Diana snaps out of her daydream to see something that kinda makes her jealous. She noticed the lance corporal staring at another girl in the platoon. Who was talking to another person in the platoon, who was a male, who felt like she shouldn’t talk to since he looked nervous around the girl in question that the lance corporal was looking at. She gasped a bit loudly, which anyone could hear. ”L-Lance Corporal, why are you looking at her?” She asked directly towards the Lance Corporal with a nervousness in her voice. One of her fingers was pointing directly at Kalisa, but she didn’t know her yet. She didn’t really know anyone’s names yet but she wanted to know the Lance Corporal.

Diana deeply sighs in wondering if her daydream was a bit too good to be true or something. She started to cry with her sweet tears running down her face. She hadn’t really felt like this before, this was the second time she was jealous at something the Lance Corporal has done. Her body language, however, told a different story since she was highly easy to read for people, who can read people’s body language well. ”W-What’s wrong with me? Do I love him that much. Kinda embarrassing, it seems. I wish I knew his name… so my daydream was a bit more impactful.” Her thoughts was flowing throughout her mind and only one word was loud enough for people to hear. It was daydream, which was emphasized from her lips.

Her eyes go out wide wondering if anyone heard her say daydream, she started to blush a bit too much. She gets a bit nervous and couldn’t really hold herself from the shock of what she said. ”U-Uh, I wasn’t daydreaming of the Lance Corporal.” She said out loud, in a nervous look towards the Lance Corporal. In the moment, it took her a bit to realize she opened her big mouth and she was definitely daydreaming of Jean, who she didn’t knew his name. Her face was redder than an apple in how badly she was blushing about what she said out loud about what she was doing.

"Is that so?" Kalisa gave him another weary smile. "Happy to hear it." Her response was sincere. Although they barely knew each other, she was glad to see someone familiar alive and well. War tends to be very indiscriminate about the casualties, so the chances of making it out alive is often low.

"Where are you from?" The question was partly her curiosity as well as her grasping for something to talk about. It was a simple enough question, without being too personal. Red hair isn't something she was used to seeing, so she was curious as to what part of the world he was from. The Darcsen had noticed that he was tapping his foot however. "Ah, I guess he really isn't much of a talker." She had noted earlier before the battle that he kept his responses short, so she decided to keep it short also to avoid annoying him further. After hearing his answer, she began to feel the fatigue catching up to her. Her eyelids were starting to droop and her posture slumping a little. "This'll work." She straightened herself before she continued.

A small yawn. "Would you mind if I take a nap real quick? This charge got me good." Without really waiting for a response, she had begun to adjust herself on the box she was on to a more comfortable position. It wouldn't do good to keep annoying Daniel if he was uncomfortable around her. Although she would have preferred to move away herself, the fatigue glued her to the box. She leaned back on the wooden plank that was on the wall for support, and set her rifle to her side. She made sure to unload the gun before she did so, just in case it fell over or something so it wouldn't fire off accidentally. "Let's get through this later alive, OK?" After finding a good position, she closed her eyes and nodded off shortly after.

---

She wasn't sure how long had it been since she talked to Daniel, but the face of the dead Imperial from earlier had spooked her in her dream. It caused her body to involuntarily jolt, which broke her sleep and almost knocked her off the box. She was leaning over to the side a little already, so her fixing her seating arrangement earlier prevented the fall. She caught herself from falling over by using her arm, and the sudden movement definitely woke her up.

"Looks like I won't be having good dreams for a while." Although she tried to wave it off, she was still somewhat haunted by it. It was her first human kill too, not exactly something to forget anyway.

Kalisa slowly opened her eyes, her vision still blurred as she blinked. The Darcsen had readjusted herself on her seat to sit up straight once more while using both hands to rub her eyes. As her vision cleared up, she was greeted by the sight of the Lance Corporal staring at her in curiosity. If the rubbing of her eyes didn't completely wake her up, this did. The girl stood up from her seat, faced the officer and saluted. "I still haven't had the chance to introduce myself yet, haven't I? Private Kalisa Larsen, reporting."

She didn't notice it earlier because of the chaos, but the Lance Corporal had a similar hue of his hair to hers. "...Is he-?" A part of his scarf was peeking through his collar, and the pattern etched onto it looked very familiar. It seems he is one as well. "It makes me happy to see a fellow Darcsen in the squad, Lance Corporal." Even if all else fails, there was someone she knew she could trust. "Your head doing alright? Didn't jog your memory too much?" She gestured at the general area where the bullet had hit his helmet earlier.

”L-Lance Corporal, why are you looking at her?”

Her head turned to the owner of the voice who had just arrived. The new girl's face was beet red, and she was pointing at Kalisa. The Darcsen blinked a few times. It took her a moment, but then something clicked in her head. "Oh, you have an admirer already, Lance Corporal?" She jokingly said out loud to the both of them. A little fun here could help get her mind off of depressing thoughts.

”U-Uh, I wasn’t daydreaming of the Lance Corporal.”

"How oddly specific of you to mention that." Although she's not one to tease, the blonde was just too adorable. Someone told her that girls who are as red as a tomato around the person they liked tend to get jealous over the smallest of things. It seems like this was one of those moments. She also wanted to see if the Lance Corporal had reciprocated the blonde's feelings. A sly smile forming on her lips.

@Ithradine @Landaus Five-One @LetMeDoStuff

Jean finally realised that she began to stir in her slumber, awakening to see him oddly analysing her from a close proximity. It wasn't creepy in any ways, just a Lance Corporal standing and inspecting his troops, potentially; right? The fellow Darcsen snapped herself to attention. He could tell her descent clearly from the shade of her hair, one that anyone in Europa could realise. It was a strange gloss, at least in what Kalisa's looked like, as she introduced herself. There was something sweet about her almost shining example amongst the murkiness of the mud and soil. Jean couldn't help but find himself smiling uncontrollably at her, with some admiration and almost appreciation for what stood before him. However, for a second, her sweet and formal introduction almost made him feel somewhat important, which was a feature he was still yet to get used to. Initially, he simply led out his hand and held it against his slightly muddy face, which had dried up since in the hour they'd been stationed in the previous graveyard. Jean found some comfort in the beauties around him, almost making it seem life-like and detached from the previous horrors still etched into his head. Nevertheless, he still finally got around to speaking, laughing slightly.

"I...I appreciate the formalities, Kalisa. Uhm...if you wouldn't mind me addressing you by name, it's just easier for my memory. And, well if we are going by formalities, shouldn't you be remembering that you don't salute an NCO?" Jean quickly decided to poke a small amount of fun at her, not aiming to damage her reputation or integrity of course. It was the first joke Jean had made in a small while, almost bringing and revealing that lost life from before. "Oh...and...well please don't stand for me, I just...Well there clearly are more capable people you should be respecting that aren't be, right?"

She suddenly noticed something he had tucked beneath his collar. It was indeed the small Autumn shemagh bearing the Darcsen pattern. The pattern was a sign of peace and camaraderie in their community, but recent years had diminished such valued purposes and sentiments into a symbol of prejudice and hatred. Jean was equally surprised at her keen eye, despite the fact he hadn't really tried very hard to hide it. The Lance Corporal was something of a strange case. Most Darcsens still lived in fear, hiding what they could and when they could. Despite actively hiding from abuse, Jean never hid his true colours or identity and found it to be his strongest quality. Kalisa, the Darcsen mistress before him, had a fount of respect and intrigue, adding relief to her system when she found out he too shared her heritage. It actually warmed Jean's heart a small fraction, making him feel more at home with this figure of modern perfection.

Jean drew his knife, almost spontaneously, and brought it up to his scarf. Whilst unveiling a small part of it from beneath his overshirt, he began to gently tear a small fraction off of his dressing. It was only a small patch of what the scarf actually was, perhaps around 5 by 5 centimetres in size, but it still retained the pattern clear enough to be identified. He walked forward, albeit a little nervously around the fellow Darcsen, and placed it in her pocket located on the frontal webbing. He slightly smiled to himself as he did so, looking down to her as if they'd been friends for years. It was one of the strange bonds of Darcsens, being able to read one another's personalities and share mental struggles, even by first glance.

"Well, I do appreciate another Darcsen being present. It helps me become at-ease with myself, especially in this terrible world of conflict, ones that are really shaking me up. Here...We are in the same Platoon, it seems, so maybe take this as a token gift from me. And besides, I prefer the name Kalisa to Private, anyway." Once more, he smiled and brightened up, though only a little. It was hard to differentiate his emotions and colours from within the muddy confines of Hill 58's peak, but he still attempted to his very best ability. She mentioned his helmet shot that appeared when charging up the hill and his face slightly dimmed, remembering the shock he felt when it first collided close to his scalp and skull. Jean removed his helmet and held it in front of him, scanning the marks where the bullet had skimmed earlier. It was surreal to imagine such a narrow gap between life and death was encountered within his first battle. Honestly, it was a terrifying reminder of what was to come, if he were to make it any further than that day. "It's...I don't think it's done any damage other than...shock. I still am shocked. I'm still alive, and this piece of iron and steel was what kept me from biting the bullet. It's...you shouldn't think about it too much, causes too much worry."

Suddenly, from his flank once more, the second angel Diana returned, somewhat staring at him in a different way to how he stared at Kalisa. She seemed to be nosy, having interjected herself in a comedic way into the conversation. Part of her openly questioned why he was staring at Kalisa, which instantly brought an array of awkwardness onto his shoulders. His face brightened up into a somewhat reddish bliss, making him look between Kalisa and Diana with strange hesitation. Whatever she was getting at, it somewhat took him off guard, making him almost panic on the spot.

"I...uhh...Wait I was...staring? I...uhm...well you see...I just...was inspecting the t-troops, you know...Morale...nothing to do with Kalisa...Uhh...Private Larsen, and her being...uhm..." He started to drift off, shedding his own argument into nothing but byproducts and dust. Almost immediately, Kalisa suddenly jumped onto the train of teasing and questioning, raising her own satirical concerns on his relationship with her and Diana. Jean immediately felt himself fluster and stammer, his hand trembling in awkwardness. He almost dropped his knife, but a small part of control allowed him to sheathe it once more into his webbing. "A-Admirer? Oh well...I think we might b-be jumping the gun a bit, Kalisa. I...I certainly wouldn't put it that way as, well, that way. Why...are you jealous of that fact?"

He did it.

What an idiot.

Jean suddenly slapped himself in the face, realising that he indirectly returned that same giddy fun back towards Kalisa and Diana. He felt himself tense up from nerves as he simply swivelled around on his heels, facing away from them as to let out a grand sigh. Was he really this inept as to facing these two darlings, so far? However, Jean could take one positive from the mockery and friendliness, and that was it took his mind completely off of the previous slaughter and the potential hellfire that was yet to come within the hour or two.

Archibald Andrews - Sapper

Archibald looked at the scenes of peace and lightheartedness that were popping up all around him, blinking in puzzlement as he allowed himself to relax. The time for great philosophical questions and shock and trauma and shoothing was gone now, as the group seemed to divide itself into two groups; one with Jean and one with Michael. The group with Jean was engaged in a debate about romance; that was good - the Lance Corporal needed all the distraction he can get. As for the group with Michael, the one with the wounded Darscen soldier, something told Archibald he should stay away; a shadow of fear.

Was the fear of confronting Michael? Or was rooted with someone else; the soldier he was taking care of? He sorted through his memories in the training camp, the soldier's name was Franz and he was a Federation citizen with some Imperial blood... And unlike 'Candy Lady', his behavior around the others rubbed him the wrong way. Nevertheless, he stayed away from the two; refused to even walk towards them and turned to where the love triangle was brewing.

Coward. A part of Archibald's mind whispered with a sudden chill. How can you raise children in the ways of peace if you cannot overcome your fears and hypocrisies? Unforgiven actions, prejudices at those who may probably think differently from the party line, those are mere obstacles to overcome.

The Sapper stopped; turned away from Jean and towards where Michael was trying to help Franz. But as he walked, he kept watch to see if a fallen soldier had a first aid kit to be used. A dead female Medic had one on her; he took it. And so he went to where the other combat engineer was, saying, "You guys need help? I know the civilian form of First Aid."

And without much fanfare, Archibald bent down to take care of the wounds of someone who raised his hackles, who unknown to him was signaling to his instincts that he was an enemy. But the Cruxian faith's most violated rule in wartime was to love one's enemies; Archibald knew it would be a sin to be one of those violators himself, to not love his enemy when he wasn't even sure the fellow Federation soldier was an enemy.

@Conscripts @CFProxy