"Good to see you're up to the front with us. I never did catch your name." Franz took his hand from the wound, droning a hum to himself as he flexed his hand. There was wincing as he rolled his shoulder and readjusted his position. "I must not have applied the supplies correctly. It's still bleeding too much. It wouldn't be too much to ask for a cigarette? I've misplaced my pack."

Although he sounded calm, the man was in pain. He was in a great deal of it but there was only so much they could do about it now. Maybe some drink but a cigarette would have done him just fine... the smoke it... helped him think. It helped him relax as he explained his situation to the other arriving soldier.

"Bullet wound. It went in and out clean, you just need to close the wound." He ruffled his hair a bit to get the dirt out,leaning away from his temporary doctor so they could work without getting it all over him or the wound. He addressed them both, wincing as the makeshift medic worked and caused him to grit his teeth for a moment.

"I am Franz. We didn't have a chance to talk with our superior giving the order to charge. I'm glad to see you've both made it here safely. I must ponder, however, why help a Darscen like me? Not that I'm complaining."

There was some minor peace to be had, the feeling of not being abandoned being more than he was honestly expecting. There was so much hostility against his person and his people that he wouldn't have been surprised if more people here turned up to be anti-darscen. The imperial blood also served as its own problem. From the right angle any man could tell he was strongly blooded in Imperial genes although he had little worry of that right now. Neither of these two appeared to have any major bias against him for the moment.

@Conscripts@Letter Bee

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

---

Diana was looking at Kalisa and then the Lance Corporal Jean. She couldn’t really stop blushing from what Kalisa asked the lance corporal in question. ”I feel like I am being teased a little too hard by this girl… but I wonder…” She got lost in thought for a split second. Which was broken by when the Lance Corporal spoke up about what she asked directly to him. She smiled when she heard the Lance Corporal’s voice. Her face was still beat red, however.

"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..."

She looked directly at the lance corporal and learned a single thing, the name of the girl. However, her thought was correct and wished to finish Jean’s statement. ”H-Her being a Darcsen, l-like yourself? A-And n-nice to meet you K-Kalisa Larsen. M-My name is D-Diana E-Elana Vastergoth,” Diana said towards the Lance Corporal & Kalisa. Her voice was cracking a bit and she was stuttering on some of her words. Her heartbeat was racing much and was blushing even harder since she finished his sentence.

"How oddly specific of you to mention that."

She looked directly at Kalisa, which said those exact words. She was blushing even harder, which definitely means she has a problem with her blurting out things randomly. She looked down to the ground. ”U-Uhhh, y-yeah… K-Kalisa, p-please s-stop t-teasing me,” Her voice spoke as if she was highly nervous at what Kalisa said. Her feelings were correct she was being teased. She couldn’t really think on what else to say to Kalisa.

"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?"

She blinked and looked up at Jean, the lance corporal. Who was now teasing her as well. Which was pretty much too much for her to handle. Her entire body language was really easy to read if people was looking at her. ”L-Lance Corporal, everything in this world is important. I wish I wasn’t jealous but I am. Because, I want you.” She said out loud, where Kalisa and anyone else who was listening in could hear it. However, she eyed someone who walked up to them. She didn’t know his name but he looked like he has a flake on his shoulder.

“You’re both idiots.”

She was utterly in shock at the fact that this man walked up to them and started to yell at her and Jean. She didn’t know his name but he was somewhat an asshole. Her eyes started to water and she was crying from what he said at first. She was silently waiting if he would stop yelling at her. However, it continued with what he was saying.

”Take it to a tent or a goddamn foxhole for all I care! This is day one. Day One! You can’t just pretend everything is going to be alright now that we have a single victory and start flirting with each other like you haven’t got a care in the world!”

Her entire body was shaking in fear with what he was saying. Her look on her face was ’what’s his problem,’ type of deal. Her waterworks was definitely on with what he said specifically about every single thing that happened. She felt like this guy didn’t like her or the Lance Corporal. ”Why is he yelling at me? B-Being flirty isn’t a crime now. But I don’t really know much about this at all… In terms of the war in question.” Her thoughts was trying to rack her brain around why he’s yelling at them. However, she lost her thought since the guy continued to rant and rave.

“I can’t believe I have to follow orders from someone who clearly lacks any kind of spine and fight alongside a woman who couldn’t have her head any farther up in the clouds!”

She heard what he said about her, which was a bit harsh. She watched him walk away after he ranted and raved about them too in question. Her mood was harshly deeply affected by the guy who just walked away. ”I-I…” Diana said. She couldn’t really stand anymore and literally sat down and started rocking herself back and forward. She was highly shaken by him and couldn’t stop crying. ”H-He didn’t have to… be… so mean.” She spoke as if she was shattered by what he said. She continued to cry while rocking back and forth.

Mimi's dirty and grimy visage beamed up slightly. She had been called a Candy Lady... even with hesitations of fear, a clear feminine voice with friendly overtones. She just smiled, and decided to share her stash of candy with the newcomer. Diana was it? She smiled as she deposited the treat in her hand. "Mila Wagner, they call me Mimi." She said.

And now, apparently flirting was happening between the Corporal, who on second look was one of those Darcsen folks. Well at least he wasn't beaten up to death. That'd be bad. She didn't have much time to witness how another woman joined the fray, as she followed Michael, Isaac and the still torn Lucia to another section of the trench. If they were flirting, they probably wouldn't need a sisterly hug.

Lucia did, however, and Mimi forsake her uncleanliness as Isaac and Michael tried to console her. "Nobody will blame you for surviving, little kitten. Nobody. Like they said...we are now brothers and sisters." She told Lucia, as she cooed.

And then another soldier with a Federation uniform collapsed nearby. Mimi stood there, as others rushed to his aid. But she couldn't. She was frozen in the spot, as if she had seen a slimy giant slug crossed with a cockroach. Her otherwise reassuren face blanched all of a sudden, and the hugh he had around the riflewoman became awfully stiff.

"D...Darcsen." She whispered, before letting off Lucia and stepping a few steps back, fidgetting when she spotted Franz.

"Jealous? Would you prefer if I was, Lance Corporal sir?" She said with an emphasis on his rank. Although she was present when Jean mentioned his name to the rest of the platoon earlier today, she wasn't one of the people he addressed at the time. Kalisa isn't one to use someone's name unless they tell it to her specifically, so hearing it secondhand might as well be her not hearing it anyway.

Back onto the situation at hand, she wasn't particularly jealous about Diana and Jean. She had just met these people, so she found it hard to be so. Though digging a little deeper, maybe she was jealous at how Diana was crushing hard on the Lance Corporal. "Nice to meet you too, Diana." Kalisa didn't have any crushes growing up, so she wasn't familiar with the feeling.

The Darcsen gave the blonde a sincere smile. Although she was teasing them just a moment ago, she was glad that the new girl didn't seem to mind that Kalisa was a Darcsen even after Jean mentioning it. Though, if Diana was crushing hard on him, that would mean she's not discriminate against their race.

"I wish I wasn’t jealous but I am. Because, I want you.”

Kalisa blinked at Diana's response. Before she could get a word in, she noticed a familiar face walking closer to them and turned to him. "Oh. Hey Daniel, what's u-?" She was about to give a small wave at him before he spoke.

“You’re both idiots.”

Kalisa's eyes widened at his sudden outburst and she took a half-step back. Daniel continued his onslaught on Diana and Jean, as Kalisa watched on the sidelines. Although he was a little harsh on them like an officer, it seemed more like he was at his limit with the sickeningly adorable moment between the two and wanted to vent his frustrations.

His own eyes widened at the realization of what he said when he finished, and promptly stormed off without another word. Kalisa let out a small sigh of relief before giggling at the situation. "Well, what do you know? You can make a face like that too, Daniel." She was worried that he had his heart closed off after her previous conversations with the guy went rather badly. It looks like there's still something there after all.

Diana seemed to take it rather seriously though, as she dropped onto the ground and was crying. "Don't mind him too much. I'm sure he doesn't entirely mean everything he said. Or maybe he was the one who was jealous?" She playfully responded to the crying girl as she shrugged.

@Ithradine@Landaus Five-One@LetMeDoStuff

Kalisa, shining a slight breeze onto the situation with her almost...alluring composure, joked if he wanted her to be jealous. Jean hadn't felt discomfort like this ever in his life, yet it wasn't for any negative reasons. It was more discomfort for the pacing of the situation. Everything was happening so quickly and he seemingly had both a Darcsen mistress and a Edinburgh damsel either side of him, talking to him in very different manners. Jean loosened his collar slightly and tried to keep his calmness at stake. For once, it was the first sign of comfort on the desolate plains of human sacrifice. His mind had been fully detached from the previous suffering they'd endured just over an hour prior, and Jean wasn't too upset about that. Every now and then each person needed their breathing room of humanity, giving their soul a chance to simply let loose and show its true colours. Both of the girls around him seemingly knew that better than he did, and as a Lance Corporal he couldn't help but question whether it was okay to have such a playful encounter with such a Darcsen. They were similar after all, so he honestly wasn't too bothered about who she was as a person, neither was he for Diana. But the reminder of his rank also allowed for him to recognise her almost patronising tease of his rank, clearly not knowing his name personally.

Jean fumbled with his own sleeves and ceremonial cufflinks. Unsure of how to respond at first, he could feel himself brighten up as he finally composed his words. For the first time in a while, he managed to speak with clear and almost unhinged dialect. In all fairness, he was quite proud of the way it came out.

"I wouldn't know. Maybe you could tell me? And for the record, I prefer to be called Jean. Jean-Robin Charpentier. We're all destined to work alongside one another, some closer than others, so I'd rather be personally involved with all that the Platoon presented. Besides, everyone needs a guiding light amongst darkened paths, even Lance Corporals. Wouldn't you agree, Private Larsen, ma'am?" He returned the patronising language back to her, this time with a grin on his face. But soon after saying what he had to, Diana suddenly piped up with something almost unprecedented, even from her apparent straight-forwardness in behaviour.

Jean was taken even further aback when suddenly, from the depths of naivety and confusion to her own wishes, Diana seemed to let loose an emotion that challenged the playful situation. His face froze for a second, creasing halfway up its left side as he was confused and unsure of how to react to the situation. It was...different. No one had ever uttered such lustful words, especially in the now quiet battlefields once more. It was almost undeniably adorable, but at the same time it made him uncomfortable. A race of emotions shot from the bottom of his boots and to the top of the strands that spouted from his scalp, beneath his helmet. Jean finally lifted his helmet off, trying to give some air to his Darcsen hair for the first time since the battle fully started. For a moment, he was stunned as to what words he should use. Jean's eyes were clearly taken aback by the sudden sentence, even so much as to garner a reaction from Kalisa. He quickly flashed between the two, but before he could even muster a word, the roughened voice of another male, still within their platoon and age range, cut her confession off.

Taken from the coldness of his tone, Jean couldn't help but be agonised by his voice. There was nothing really wrong with its sound of course, but as a Lance Corporal he couldn't help but worry about the respect suddenly shoved within his direction. Well, he would be lying if he considered it respect. Jean wholeheartedly understood the situation and stress of the others, and the distractions he had before him were simply something that took his mind off of the situation. However, Daniel, as he was identified as, was simply right in his own sense. They were amongst the fields of the dead, and Jean's mind suddenly fractured when the comrade of his reminded him of such trivial behaviour. Jean looked down towards the ground, his eyes widening as he brought his mind out of the colourful environment, before looking around at the murky tones of the world before him. Jean instantly felt himself fall victim to his words, and instantly looked straight into Daniel's eyes. Before he could leave, he made sure he would utter the words of someone who was expected to lead troops, which was still a position Jean was forgetting he held.

"I may be spineless, Private, but I can take what you say to heart. Your words have meaning, a meaning that I must...think and use. But I'm not forgetting that I have humanity down below me. If you have anything against this Platoon, I can change my ways if I must really lose myself in this battlefield. I guess that's all we have left now, isn't it, Private? Are we all required to lose our humanity to do an adequate job? You run along...Tell yourself you have the right mind to kill. At least let me remember what I was like before I had a rifle's stock in my shoulder, iron sights trailed on a living, breathing person and more than a dozen men, women and comrade's lives within my very word. Can you deny me of such small pleasures and desirables in this grim world?" Daniel wandered off, clearly troubled by his own words. It had downtrodden the mood, and even Diana fell to her knees in order to cry more and more. Once again, the temporary happiness he'd felt, for the first time since that fateful letter with the purple ribbons told him of his own kin's death.

Olivia?

Olivia.

Olivia...

The name stuck within his mind, floating around like a lost weather-balloon in the Summer storms, drifting with anguish and little retribution upon its cold, rubbery outer shell. Jean felt...broken again. It was a happiness that had only been temporary, but the realist reminder of Daniel's outburst did tell Jean something. It told him of the true meaning of the world; Jean was no more a man of the Federation. He was a soldier of his own honour, an honour that never existed in the first place. He had no one, as far as he was concerned. Mother and Father were still at home, or so he thought, waiting for his first letter to come back since he joined the frontlines, but Jean was never able to word the horrors before him. Olivia had given everyone the chance to benefit from doubt by writing about happiness, birds she saw soaring through the Spring trees, yet little did she ever mention the violence that took place. Jean was starting to understand. Jean was starting to realise. Jean was becoming the realist he didn't know he would become. And in that moment of silence, where neither Kalisa or Diana, for just a few seconds, said anything, Jean once again felt as empty as before. He left, silently, trudging through the mud without any knowledge of whether Diana or Kalisa were to follow him.

But he was a Lance Corporal. Lance Corporals were not allowed to cry. Lance Corporals were not allowed to show fear or spring a leak in their own security. Daniel was right, from what the Darcsen would figure. As much as the two beautiful angels before him were kind and considerate, even one of them had been broken by his cruel revelation. Lance Corporals were not allowed to cry. Lance Corporals were not allowed to show fear. Soldiers...Soldiers were not allowed to be human.



There was little but the smooth coarseness of his chin to move his fingers through. At times like these, he wished to hold a more...sophisticated collection of facial hair to accompany such muses. Only the odd one or two runners from the other regiments further down the line were reporting to him, and others had apparently stepped on several anti-personnel mines along the way. Even in the bitterness of war, however, Alexander felt little compassion for the faceless before him. If there was one thing that his brutish father had taught him, it was that to be a perfect soldier, he had to abandon that feeling of humanity. There was never a moment where a soldier could aim down the barrel of his gun and see a human. As a 1st Lieutenant, Alexander was a good soldier. They weren't human, to him. The Darcsens. The Imperials. Even members of the Federation proved his point. Was anyone here truly that human, or were they the perfect soldiers he was promised?

Every now and then, the almost childish giddy chants of victory spoiled from the lips of the greenhorns assigned beneath him. In reality, he was frustrated at the outcome of the charge. Whilst it was successful, and that in itself was a grand relief on his behalf, the losses weren't within his own ideal's favour. Alexander was dependent on his loyalists. Alexander was dependent on those who had dropped all their will to continue serving their nation with morality and lack of jingoism. Most of them were now gone.

Alexander had spent the first three years of this forsaken war creating his own unique collective of talented soldiers. Amongst the ranks of the 15th Atlantic Rifles, 7th Platoon, were fine specimens who had dedicated their life's work to adjusting to the conflict. Many of the Non-Commissioned Officers around him were hardened and even transferred from his original posting within Edinburgh Fusiliers. There was dedication in their words. However, the charge had not only been costly for his Platoon, and the other platoons who'd been under his command in that singular event, but it had also taken a huge toll on his commanding staff's strength. More than half of his NCOs, mostly compromising of Lance Corporals and Corporals, with several Sergeants, three Staff Sergeants and two Warrant Officers, had been wiped out. Machine-guns had a better advantage than he'd taken, but Alexander was simply glad that his actions had won them a victory. After all, it was about time that the Brass sent him a new wave of boots to be filled from the reserve lines, all from other Regiments awaiting physical assignment.

What frustrated him, however, was not that their deaths were swift and unnatural, but the fact that there was the need to replace them. Alexander had only ever gained a personal interest in two subordinates beneath him: Staff Sergeant Yuri Bonora...and Private Lucia Farris.

The former was his friend, one who actually stuck with him since his first recruitment. Whilst Yuri never intended on enlisting through the Officer corps, preferring to keep his closeness with his own soldiers on a personal level, the two were an instant icon from a young age. Alexander was glad to have a single friend, one who drew his attention away from that perfect soldier his father had painted into his mind and system. It gave him humanity, something to look forward to. But when she came along, almost stealing the youthful Staff Sergeant straight out of his grasp, both of them were murdered in cold blood by the Imperials. The only major friend he ever had was killed. Dead. Deceased. Gone. From that day, Alexander lost that personal touch with his soldiers almost instantly. He headed into solitary vigilance. He dismissed all contact with any former companions within the Regiment, and even transferred to the 15th Atlantic Rifles for such pain he felt. It was the last time he ever felt pain.

Nowadays there was nothing more lifeless than the common soldier. Alexander knew that to survive he had to abandon that feeling of compassion. Staff Sergeant Bonora was no longer with him because he'd associated with the wrong crowd, the lower classed and expendable infantrymen of the frontlines. Never again was he, as an aristocrat and the final atonement of his father's disciplinary wishes, to render himself as that friendly man, trying to protect each individual. When death came by, more and more, from artillery, bayonet, blade, stone and bullet, he grew further and further away from the sensation of human suffering. All that mattered to him was the war. The war was now his life. It was his soul. It would last forever if he could make it, giving him purpose and...life. Lucia had been someone he'd taken from the new recruits pile. There was something about her he absolutely despised. She never shared the same coloured hair as the Darcsen freak who allured poor Yuri from Alexander's safety, but her voice, kindness and face simply gave him the perfect image. She had to be converted into the perfect soldier too. Lucia was just a canvas awaiting Alexander's paint to adjust.

But suddenly, his mind was snapped from its place as yet another runner from the Fusiliers and Vinlander Volunteers approached him with a quick and rugged salute. He handed him a small piece of paper, holding several bits of code and small lettering only he could decipher from first glance. A grin sprung up on his face. Staff Sergeant Baker, one of the few who survived the charge, waltzed up and began to assess the situation at hand.

"Sir...We're awaiting the Sappers to complete their trail and move the artillery up. The men around us are fatigued and tired, but they will stand their posts when you order them to."

"As they should be expected to, Staff Sergeant. You don't need to remind me of how I run my Platoon now, do you?" A sly glare came from his darkened eyes, meeting William Baker's shortly before turning away. They diverted their tense glare, and he simply denied the clearly sarcastic quotation to his report. "By the time we're back on the rear-lines, Mr Baker, we are required to go through a few promotions. Greenhorns will have to fill the boots of those who were...unfortunately lost in the midst of battle. I'm low on commanding staff, so it is a necessity, don't you agree?"

Baker hesitated, shaking his head for a second only to be met with a sharp scold once more. He disagreed, thinking that they required more of the experienced to take that mantle, but even he knew deep down that they lacked such sufficient soldiers who met that quota. Middleton always got the last say on what his Platoon was in terms of composition, and to him it was simply a phase of trial and error. Unless their name was Lucia Farris, he would not make any major attempts to change them into that perfect soldier. She was his exception.

"Soldiers are soldiers, Mr Baker. Nothing more, nothing less. We do not treat them any more than they are, because that would be false. The Imperials are likely to attack us soon, and yet half of them aren't preparing their own defences. The weak die, Mr Baker. The weak die and they do nothing more. I must've judged wrongly if my previous Staff had been killed. Strong men, strong women and strong children survive because they are born, coded and shown such ways. My father did that. Your sister, Mr Baker, seems to be taking quite the roadtrip through emotions. I suggest that if you want to continue being a part of my platoon, and to prove to the Imperials that you are indeed strong, then you must dispose of her feelings. Either she reminds herself that deep down she is to be my husk, my soldier and my loyal warrior, much like the entire Platoon is, or she herself will soon face the mud, the blood and the soil that she stands upon. Wouldn't that be tragic?"

"Y...Yes it would, Sir. I'll...I'll go right away and talk to her, Sir. Just remember that we only have another hour or so left here before we are due to leave. High Command still wants us to Siege out Amone and we'll-." He quickly was cut off, yet again, by the voice of his booming superior.

"Mr Baker...You have a job to do. Go do it. I'll devise my own preparations, like I always do. And whilst you're at it, please tell Private Lucia Farris to join me in the Officer's cabin of the train ride to Amone. She only just came out of training, and as her first battle, I assume she'll need my...expertise to guide her once more. After all...Soldiers do not feel. Soldiers do not whine. Soldiers, Mr Baker, are not human, and can never be such creatures."

Alot goes on in a short amount of time. That's for damn sure.

Isaac was not aware of the fact that Jean had gone off to hear from Middleton, or knew when he'd gotten back. All that had happened in another section, while he was essentially trying to help Private Lucia regain some of her sanity. This was day one, certainly, but day one was alot more for some, than others. For Isaac, day one had been when his country turned on him by forcing him into the service. Day one had been when they took him from his family, his friends, and his responsibilities in order to transform him into a killing machine. Day one was when he began to hate his country, and when he was done defending it from Imperial bullets, he was going to tell it how much of a coward it was for telling a farmer to go fight when other more-willing people were obviously out there, all of whom have to EAT. Alot of people were gonna be put in their place when he was done. That's what was getting his ire up, and that's why he didn't have the same shock as other people. He'd already been stunned on some levels, so he'd been able to power through the rest to get this far.

There was alot of difference between him and Lucia. Anyone could see that. He didn't know her story at all, but clearly their induction into this hellhole wasn't the same. She'd been put through training, possibly with the growing fear of war ever-present in her mind, and then while ffacing the same tension as the rest of them all, in comes Middleton, who gives her an unthinkable command. Isaac didn't know why the Lieutenant would do that to anyone. It was completely unnecessary, since anyone who's been through training would've been told the penalty for desertion and treason. Namely, that you either hung or shot, dependent upon whether they want to spare the bullets or not. They won't knife you. That's too personal. Well...maybe Middleton would manage it. He was cold as ice. He'd ordered a girl even younger than he was to execute people who were afraid, who might come back even though they might only be throwing themselves at bullets uselessly otherwise. No one should have to do that. If there was anyone who had less of a reason to be in this war than him, it was Lucia Farris.

You could really argue that with alot of people, but then this was day one and Isaac didn't really know everyone else's story, to be fair. They'd all been through a charge with each other. That's it. They hadn't had time to bond much, although the Lance already felt a certain protective instinct for these people. He wasn't going to judge how much they deserved to be here against his own problems. For all he knew, the 15th Atlantic Rifles were a motley crew of unwilling people recruited into a great mess of a war and flung full-force at the Imperial threat without care. That was why he needed to care. They just wanted an attack wolf, but they didn't understand what rearing a wolf was like. You have to address ALL of the instincts, understand the camaraderie that goes with it. They need unification, caring for one another, and they needed outlets for aggression that was something other than fighting for their lives. And whatever that outlet is has to be cared for so that it doesn't break, especially if it turned out to be a person. You don't want a pack omega in a wartime situation, but if it happens, you have to build that person up so they don't feel that way. The tension-breaker probably had to shift, and that's why...

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Isaac wasn't aware that he was drifting off as he started thinking up ways to handle the group so that their people wouldn't break. Not long after Lucia succumbed to sleep, trying not to dream of the girl she'd had to kill or the Lieutenant who'd ordered her so - like he was right there and she was being ordered to execute her on the spot, and that the girl was herself - the Lance-Corporal also ran out of energy, which was kind of why time passed him over a bit. Michael had gone to help Franz and Mila - or Mimi - the crazy lady had frozen at the sight of him. He wasn't aware of Jean's girl trouble or that Daniel was chastizing people. That was all stuff that happened under the observation of Britta.

The female Gunner had been patrolling as she'd been asked to, namely to give people the chance to do what they were doing: Recovering from the shock of battle and trying to piece together their senses. She had seen Jean heading off and she had seen Isaac helping Lucia, and she had seen things developing in the former Imperial trench where people had penetrated. Things being the way they were, she kind of wanted to bring other Lance-Corporal to help sort out things with Jean, but as she had been watching things unfold herself, it might've been better if she did so herself. Really, Jean's words were to be taken to heart. They should appreciate what it's like to think and act like normal human beings in the face of the uglier side of things. It warmed the heart to hear him say so. The Gunner stepped on over as Daniel left.

"I appreciate you saying that, Jean, and I agree that we should all hold onto whatever humanity we have."

She remembered now how she saw even the toughened Isaac showed some of his true self on the way here, the way he was now using that humanity to reach out to Lucia and let her know that it was alright to be human, that they should strive for that as they look after one another.

"If you want, I can see about talking a little sense into him. It was a human being worrying about others that got us up this hill, not the whistle and a man shouting 'Go'."

Britta wasn't sure if she'd really get through to Daniel, exactly, but the words that this squad lived by AS a squad and not just as a loose collection of fighting soldiers dictated that she try to reach him. She just wanted Jean's opinion on whether it was better to let him stew for a while before confronting him, or doing it now while it was still fresh in mind.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Isaac awoke with a start. It wasn't because of anything he'd been dreaming. His dream had been of the Atlantic Rifles getting wolves to imprint upon them as he and his whole family all helped them. You could say that he really thought of those creatures too much, but you don't raise them without them raising you, a bit. You get attached and you become influenced by it. Nothing can make you appreciate nature more than someone who lives with it always, and that's what they were.

And I guess that's why I fell asleep in this trench. I can sleep almost anywhere, really.

He looked around. Everyone had moved off. There wasn't any explosion or fighting - might've been some shouting, but he didn't hear it - or anything like that. What'd startled him into the waking world so suddenly was a physical jolt. It was Lucia, right next to him. Honestly, he was just planning to let her rest, keep an eye on her or let somebody else do so while he was busy being a Corporal, but he'd fallen asleep and he'd been stationary human contact. He imagined nobody wanted to disturb them because it would disrupt the recovery that was going on. What Isaac didn't know was that he had introduced a foreign element into the so-called experiment that Middleton had engaged in. He was completely unaware off what the Lieutenant was trying to do, of course, but he'd done it: He'd instilled the notion that people could care for and take care of each other in war, that people are not meat puppets to be sacrificed to the bullet, as it was to the sword in days of old. This would undoubtedly alter things in a way that he did not like.

What a shame that Isaac was unaware...

He'd probably do it more if he DID know, though. Let's be perfectly honest there. Now, the Lance-Corporal moved to get up, but as he tried...well...there was a whimper and he felt his arm get caught. Hoo boy... This was gonna take some explaining. Isaac pulled out his machine gun - NO, NOT WHAT YOU'RE THINKING, GOD DAMMIT! - and held it up so he could wave it around, trying to flag someone down.

"Hello? Anyone there? I kinda' dozed off and I don't know what's going on now."

---

"I got lucky. But yeah, I made it. I'm Michael. Michael Daunte." Michael briefly looked up at the Darcsen before him before looking back down on his chest wound. Yeah, he made it. Physically unscathed fortunately. Mentally though, he wasn't sure. He wondered when that luck would run out for him, but he probably should not care about it now. In front of him is a wounded man, and he was not going to be bothered by his own concerns to not help this fellow.

He managed to rip through the layer of uniform to get to the wound itself. He was right. It was fairly a clean cut. But still, closing the wound isn't that simple. He really wondered what sort of bullet ripped through a chest in one straight line like that. Michael would normally be in reliefs if it struck the arm or leg, but chest is a different story. It's more complicated and if any vital arteries are hit, then this wound shouldn't only be treated like it's just a tear in your shirt.

Nevertheless, it wasn't as easy as he would have thought. He didn't know where to start. While basic medical training was given to him back during his days, he wasn't even an amateur. But someone else knew though. He looked to the left to see it was that blonde guy he knew just before - the guy that tried to take the equipment from him earlier. Michael wasn't sure how to approach this guy, but he nevertheless approached both of them first, carrying a medical pack and offering to help the Darcsen with what he said to be civilian First Aid skill. Great. Right when he asked for it.

Michael silently stood up from the Darcsen, as his hand politely gestured Archibald to have it his way. It did seem like he was true to his words. His handling of the wound was proficient, at least to Michael's eyes. He was somewhat glad that Archibald was here though. Personally, he may be at odds right now, but at least in terms of skills, he is a life saver right now. Watching him mend this wounded man before his eyes was somewhat a relieving sight. The sort of kindness shown to him right now was enough to make him question the nature of our actions ourselves. After all, he is a Darcsen, and they did not obviously fall into favor with history.

"My beliefs don't allow me to abandon a dying man when I see him." He replied, almost whisperingly, as he stared up the dull and depressing grey blanket of clouds. It's just a messed up fact. History is nothing but fanfictions. Very rarely could an event be portrayed in the way that it really is. Until the lions have their own historian, what is written down will always glorify the hunters. And an even sadder and more disturbing fact is that they had been indulged by generations of mindless folks who believed everything the people next door say to you because they are nice.

"Besides, all that Darcsen shaming that is happening right now. While the media says yes, I just slowly say no."

Just because his entire world do one thing would Michael follow the flock. One at a time is all it takes for each steps.

But before he could say anything else, a sense of presence awoken him to his senses. It was from where he had emerged from. And there was the giant girl whom he had made remarks over her just a while ago. And it just did prove his point, although she looked rather...afraid, than hatred. But nevertheless, considering the fact that he may need some proper treatment than just a simple bandage, Michael waved her closer to the group. He was half-expecting her not to, but he remained hopeful if she could come to term with that oddness to the Darcsens that she just openly expressed.
@CFProxy@Letter Bee

Archibald Andrews - Sapper

Archibald looked at Franz as he cleaned, disinfected, and bandaged the Darscen's wounds before saying, "Because people are judged by what they do and the strength of their character, not the color of their eyes and hair. And your actions and words are that of a good person." Also, you're cute, but I have a girlfriend. A pause. "My name is Archibald Andrews, by the way; I am from Vinland."

Every instinct in him still said to stay away from Franz, that he was a potential opponent; but he can always leave later. Like it or not, the other young man needed his help and Archibald had already committed himself to giving it.

Then the 'Candy Lady' arrived; Wagner, her name was? Why was she freezing up? Was she some sort of Darscen-hater or something? Archibald blinked, then spoke, "What's the matter, Ms. Wagner? We're just taking care of our own."

If only I didn't already have a girlfriend, he thought once more. As he finished taking care of Franz's wounds, he instinctively patted the Darscen's black hair, before remarking, "It's fluffy. Encrusted with dirt, blood, and sweat, but it's fluffy."

He turned to Mila once more. "Oh, by the way, my name is Archibald Andrews; I am from VInland. What's your full name? Our other Sapper already gave his'," He meant Michael, whom he had yet to apologize to. Once Michael responded to his presence, Archibald would respond, "You're right on both counts, Mr. Daunte. As I said, people are to be judged by what they do and their strength of character; not their race. And the media should be held accountable when they spread slander and false news."

A smile at that. "War is cruel, yet the purpose of all war is ultimately peace. It is a paradox." Another pause as the smile turned into a frown. "I'm a Cruxian, by the way; another reason I don't believe in Yggdism and its demonization of Darscens."

Move. Move. Move. Mimi clenched her teeth, unable to do anything but to fidget, even though she was directly called out by another sapper who was tending the wounded Darcsen. How did he know her name? It didn't matter. She could feel the stares, and as if an egged viper, she steeled herself. Big sis Mimi would never show weakness if she could help it.

Isaac's speech however, brought her a window of opportunity, something she could do to show she wasn't completely useless. "Just one of our Darcsen troopers wounded, Lance Corporal. They're patching him up". She solemnly said, trying her best not to wake up the dozing Lucia. Poor creature needed sleep more than she needed breathing. Still, Mila Wagner was not finished. The fires were stoked once more, when he saw the other sapper spouting holier than thou crap.

"What a load of bullshit." Mimi snarled, as she stomped towards Archibald. "Are you taking care of our wounded, or are you taking care of your beatiful fantasy, you two-bit preacher. You want to know the reason why I reel when I see Darcsen? How could I not, as they would see me for an Imperial tormentor. People aren't as naive as you think, sapper." Mimi was now levelled against the sapper, staring him down with a piercing gaze as her hand reached for his collar.

"Spare me the drivel. It's all a fucking lie. We invented religion because we wanted to be better than beasts. But the difference between being -rational- and rabid animals, as you can see... is paper thin. It's kill or be killed." Mila said, as she released Archibald from her grasp."Even the little girl in the trench is a murderer... and we have to play pretend she will be fine and that she will be loved."

Archibald Andrews - Sapper

"I apologize," Archibald said upon hearing Mimi/Mila's words about how she did not want to be seen as a tormentor. "I didn't know."

Time to mull this over. Was he being a hypocrite who was living out a fantasy of being a compassionate person while not being one at heart? Was he someone who had failed to live up to the faith he was touting? But at the same time, he cannot just let Mila's arguments slide. So he said,"Sometimes, the paper-thin difference between rational and rabid is all we have, all that keeps us sane. Love and Hope, Faith and Peace, we keep dreaming of them, lies or not, because if we don't strive for them, we are animals."

He breathed out, "We're all murderers, but without the game of pretend, we're nothing." Another pause. "But I don't want us to fight; I don't want to be your enemy or the enemy of anyone else here. I want everyone to be loved, even if everything won't be all right. And I am stumbling over how to make it so."

The Sapper knew he may have angered Mila/Mimi further. He knew he might have said inane words. But what else could he have had to say? What other words could he have spoken?

You could have let go and not spoken at all, his mind spoke.

It is not in my nature, his heart replied.

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

---

”Jean. Jean-Robin Charpentier.”

Diana caught onto the name, while Jean was speaking to Kalisa. She had a definitely obvious smile on her lips, even though she was nervous still. Her whole heartbeat was going a bit fast, which was also a bit equal to the whole thing. ”J-Jean has a wonderful name. It’s nice I finally got to hear it.” Diana thought to herself, with a bit of a distracted look to her.

“Nice to meet you to, Diana.”

Diana was highly nervous still but she smiled kindly towards Kalisa, which responded to her. She had relaxed a bit, which was a bit better. To the whole thing, which was going on around her. She sighs in relief a bit. ”S-She’s really nice.” Diana thought to herself. She heard Kalisa say the guy’s name, which made her a wreck, however. She felt a bit useless in how she feels about the entire ordeal, but she was crying and rocking back and forth too much.

"Don't mind him too much. I'm sure he doesn't entirely mean everything he said. Or maybe he was the one who was jealous?"

Diana heard what Kalisa asked her and she shakes her head and was still a bit worried. She did know that most people were a bit unique in somethings. Her eyes was crying, but she did look up at Kalisa, however. ”I-I g-guess. D-Daniel’s still mean, though… He didn’t have to yell at me and Jean.” Diana said, with her eyes a bit red from crying so much. She noticed Jean decided to walk ahead without them since he was a bit depressed. Her entire body was shaking and stood up very slowly from her rocking position even though she wanted to go back to her mom, badly. She, however, noticed something in her pocket it was a piece of candy, she must’ve missed getting that from the Candy Lady. She sighed a bit kinda regretting missing the candy’s lady name since she did ask for the name in the first place.

She opened the piece of candy and put it in her mouth but put the bloody wrapper back into her pocket. Diana had many things on her mind but didn’t want to be left behind. ”W-We should g-get going Kalisa… I do like this candy from the candy lady though,” Diana said to Kalisa. Her mouth was in heaven even though her soul is hurting from being yelled by Daniel. She kept her head down since she was hurting a bit bad. She didn’t really hear what Jean had said to Daniel since she was gone from the onset, in terms certain things.

She walked behind Jean slightly solemnly but quiet. Her feet was trudging through the trench and felt really bad at being yelled at by Daniel and other such things. She had never really liked being yelled at since that’s what her sisters did. She usually cried much at that. ”... I still love Jean though. D-Daniel’s outbursts really ruined my mood and I kinda hate him for it.” Diana thought to herself. She did start before Kalisa behind Jean, which makes her happy to say the least. She kinda wanted to stay in front of Kalisa, however.

---

Michael witnessed all the two of the parties involved, as the grappled onto one another in rage. One held up the belief of a man should be judged for their actions than for what their ancestors do, and the other one someone dwelling on what their ancestors also did. Two each having their valid points and bullshits. Two had their extremely simplistic views of the world around them. But most of the flaks from the woman stood him less than his fellow Cruxian. Perhaps he was being a little biased around, but still.

"So do you prefer to be a beast then? Or do you know the difference between beasts and human?" Michael said just as the tall girl released Archibald. Yeah, Lucia killed one person, one of the friendlies. But does that make her a beast? Every one of the survivors of the charge would very likely have killed one of the Imperial soldiers. Would that make them beasts? The answer to that was nothing of the sort. Nothing of a simple yes or no.

"Do you mourn those people you've killed?" He left the two of them a question, and perhaps three if Franz would pay attention, "I'll be with Isaac." before he walked away from the scene, returning back to Lucia and Isaac, who appeared to have awoken from his slumber. If they had answered that question, then he'd be willing to continue the conversation with them. They could hate him if they wanted. He didn't care.

Once he walked back to Isaac next to the peacefully sleeping Lucia, a man suddenly appeared at the entrance to the trench. A man that far superseded his power and control, but his demeanor was nothing different from an ordinary soldier. He was like Jean, but probably more standing in terms of confidence. But nevertheless his expression was of someone who wasn't here. Who shouldn't be here.

"Ah, there she is." The man breathed in relief. It seemed like he was desperately looking for her. "Excuse me lads. Lieutenant Middleton is summoning the presence of Private Lucia Farris."

'That guy again...' Michael gritted his teeth silently. His eyes slowly found its way to Lucia. Her chest moved up and down as gently as the wave, and her lips looked soft like cotton, sometimes making a small opening as she breathe out lightly. An angel in pain trying to regain her grace for now. He didn't want to wake her up right now. She was having a well-deserved rest. But still, before him was a Staff Sergeant, a rank higher than him, carrying an order from a 1st Lieutenant, the rank that could order a court martial to him right here right now if he showed any evidence of disobedience to him.

"One moment, if you don't mind." He turned to the Staff Sergeant. The man simply nodded his head. Luckily enough, and perhaps a good thing for the squad, is that this man seemed to be a normal human being, with a common sense to work with.

Michael immediately turned over to Lucia, kneeling right beside her universally small but just as large as his body, his hand gently shook her shoulder. Slowly, her eyes opened. Back to the cruel world of reality.

Her eyes were as heavy as a sandbag. Around her was still darkness. And then, she could feel again. That metallic smell of blood and mud. That she was still lying in the trenches where she had laid off to sleep just a while ago. She felt something pressuring on her shoulder, as it swayed her torso a little back and forth. Slowly, her eyelid opened like a window blind. Turning her body around, she saw the sapper just before, the one who she was still quite unsure if he was a child or a small man, the one who went through all the trouble to find her a clean empty and quiet trench for her to rest. He was right beside her, his expressions shouted of concern and sympathy.

"W-What is it?" She meekly and shyly shot him a question

"This Staff Sergeant..." Michael turned back to the man, silently conveying the question. And the man could understand it as perfectly, as he moved his lips just as gently. "...Baker is asking for you. Lieutenant Middleton wants you right now."

The name shook her to her core.

"...No..."

No...no...no...no. Why would he...She had done her duty already...She didn't want to...didn't want to...

He couldn't see an end in her eyes. They became wet, as it was about to break.

"We won't be leaving you by yourself. Even if you're not with us." He had another hand on her shoulder. "We'll still be with you."

He knew his words could sound empty to someone else, but he had to make sure it does not for her. She was still on the verge of tears, however. It appeared as nothing would be able to stop it. She was going back to Middleton, that ignoble man who had little regards for a human being. He couldn't imagine a single day being with him, let alone for a period of time like Lucia. Nevertheless, he found himself wrapping his arms around her shoulders, even if briefly, as he gave her a hug.

"Remember that."

With that, he let her go. And slowly, Lucia rose up to the Staff Sergeant, who was patiently waiting for her to regain herself. Would she be tormented just like she was at the start of the charge again? Would it be just as cruel, or would it be a living hell for her? But at least she knew she had a pillar now.

@Letter Bee@AtomicNut@LetMeDoStuff

At first, his boots sank into a small patch of mud before he retrieved them and placed them upon the duckboards that were still intact. He had to hand it to the Imperial sappers, they'd done a really good job with building up the trench's infrastructure and foundation, so much so that the majority of it had survived the incursion. There was credit always to be handed out when it was due. Even some of the Officers in the Federation hadn't lied during their training days. Jean always remembered his Drill Sergeant going on and on about how the Federation soldiers had to use their might, mettle and mind to break down the superior technological advancements of the Imperial war machine. It was a scary thought at first, but now that it was here in practice he couldn't help but thank them for surviving the Federation bombardment prior to the charge. Behind him were Kalisa and Diana, obviously the latter being closer to him after her strange and yet strangely warming confession. He still didn't know how to react to it, as in reality Jean had eyes on both of the lasses in a way that he could not yet decide who truly would catch his heart. However, Jean was still in an awkward silence from the lashing out of Daniel, one that forced him to return with a horrifying realisation of their situation. His mood had collapsed before them all, and for Diana it definitely seemed like it was taking an affect on her.

He dwelt upon the thoughts that Middleton had forced into his system. Their mission was technically a success yet none of the official objectives were completed. Not a single piece of metallic trombones, ones that instead of shooting out the sweet symphonies of baritone brass they unleashed waves of destructive projectile dysfunction towards an adversary, had been found. There was nothing. No one was left alive to fully tell Middleton of where their artillery had gone, but it was clear that there were still some traces of the Imperial bombardment plans still left behind. None of them seemed to be in date, and some were simply scribbles of artillery bombarding the mountain, to which Staff Sergeant Baker imagined it was a memoir of the Federation cannonade only a day or two ago. A strange wisp and silence was left hanging in the air, wind now making the only accompaniment to the sharpish sludges of mud beneath Jean's boots and duckboards.

Jean quietly turned his head towards Kalisa and Diana, signing heavily before regaining his composition to speak once more. He felt bad for leaving the two beauties on a bad note from Jean's own retribution, and so he tried to make it up to them with his own words.

"I really must apologise. A...About what Daniel said, I think you should just ignore it and not dwell upon such tedious remarks as I, myself, will. Having you two suffer could be the single worst things this shitty Lance Corporal has to deal with." He pointed to himself with a sheepish thumb, half-smiling yet still feeling the damage of the realist's words. The Darcsen was taking his two new escorts towards Middleton's general direction, simply out of pure curiosity and lack of any decided route. It was a case of randomised walking, but to where they reached the midpoint of the trench, something strange caught Jean's ears and eyes off guard.

It was as if there was a...a shift, one that altered time, space and reality all around them. It was an instinct that let him feel slightly woozy at first, one that he could not fully explain just from its initial effect. He stumbled, falling back into Kalisa and Diana gently in a stagger. He didn't lose his footing nor did he fall over, but he froze in position, standing still with a concentrated face of worry and anxiety. From what his ears could pick up, there was nothing more than the whispers of the morning winds, slowly caressing themselves across the faces of all the soldiers and trench lines. A coarse underlining of the gale spoke in hoarse tongues, gruffly mentioning a name he could not know. In the thinnest distance, far from their reach, the gently tap of what could've been a bass drum kicked up. Once. Twice. Thrice. Bang. Bang. Bang. All the distant thumps were so gentle and light that there were barely noticeable to anyone who hadn't payed attention. Not even the soldiers around them, many of which who were still trying to calm their nerves or rest their aching arms and legs, seemed to notice these strange crescendos, ones that never made it apparent they were there. He wasn't surprised if Diana or Kalisa could hear it, or if anyone else he'd met so far could, but Jean knew for certain that he was hearing something.

Were they the war drums of a charging battalion, preparing to reclaim the hill they'd simply lost not too long ago? The thought of such an approaching incursion and skirmish left Jean gently unslinging the Longfield rifle from off of his shoulder and into his hands. His face was worried, almost traumatised. There was no telling if Diana nor the Darcsen could fully comprehend his action, but his preparation could've seemed worrying and almost pathetic to the outsider's view. There was no telling if he was simply traumatised from the previous engagement and charge, but he was certain something was up. Was it an orchestration of drums? Could it be? Or was it something else...something far more sinister?

Several more patters of beats could be heard in the distance, and then it came. For a few seconds, he heard it when his eyes and ears looked up into the damp and drizzling sky. A whistle, unlike any other, began to quickly crescendo. It held a high pitch, one higher than the wind itself, as it started to screech out loud. His eyes awoke quickly, and the unnamed soldiers around him suddenly noticed the squeal too. Jean was quick to act, quickly turning around as the incoming screech continued to squawk in immeasurable decibels. His eyes showed nothing more than the fear it had seen once before as his superstitions began to come alive. Those bumps, beats and thunderous claps of the unknown were now rendering themselves as the barrels of distant cannons, unleashing all that they had upon the recently captured hill. And the whistles that were descending and approaching from above? Why...they were the payload, returning the favour of the Federation taking their prize hill.

With hesitant eyes, Jean lunged forward, tackling both Kalisa and Diana to the floor without any gentle behaviour. Like before with the dead Sergeant's corpse, he reacted with instinct and sudden compassion for those around him as he pushed them into the mud, dragging him with them until they all hit the floor. With his arms, he held on to the top of their helmets, covering their faces with his forearm's sleeves and tucking them closely to conserve space. As they fell into the soil, he yelled out the worst uttering he had to since the war had taken its toll on him:

"S-Shit! Artillery, dig yourselves in!" When the three landed together onto the floor, the first impact suddenly went off not too far from their left. Its first collision came with a heavy thunderous screech before an eruption of electrifying noise and desolation suddenly shook the very foundations of the earth beneath them. Already, those who weren't quick enough to react to Jean's call to aid were caught in a state of panic. Jean had buried his two subordinates' heads into under his sleeves, but the only thing he had to cover his own vision was the rim of his helmet, to which it still left him vulnerable to the elements of destruction. Not too far to their left, only ten metres from where they'd previous argued with Daniel, a large shell slammed into the ground and blasted hundreds of small fragmentation all over. Those who were stood next to it, soldiers Jean hadn't seen or talked to before, were either flung into the sky with their limbs and blood flying all over the land or simply evaporated into the thinness of the air and sky. Their screams were shrouded with a thick smog and smoke that left after its landing, but that second shell didn't repent. Soon, more and more began to descend upon the Federation's position. Shell after shell, all landing in a slightly different place from the last, starting to cover the entire area in large vapour. Jean clenches his fists, tightening his grip on Kalisa and Diana's helmets upon their heads to almost tuck them in more. A body landed several feet away from them, thudding with their blood spraying out upon the cowering trio.

Jean felt the soldier's life spread and soak into his uniform. The blood was warm, still so very warm, and could be easily distinguished upon the cold and wet moist of the rainy day. His mind couldn't focus on such tragic rainclouds before more shells continued to pound the land. Again. And again. One. Two. Three. Four. Shouts and panicked screams continued again, this time somehow even more terrified than the charge had initially brought. Jean knew why. This time, there was not even a chance to fight back. These were already fired shells, raining upon them in a hellish demonstration of power, iron death and explosive compassion. Dirt and mud threw themselves high into the sky with every impact, creating almost artificial clouds shaped like devilish and poisonous toad stools. Unfamiliar voices were being cut off as a shell would land near them, peppering certain bodies with fire or fragmentation. It was quick, ruthless and brutal. No one stood a chance, it seemed, yet the lucky ones who'd dug themselves in particular spots seemed to detract the attention from the projectiles. Jean, Kalisa and Diana were all huddled together, held tightly by Jean's embrace of safety and almost paternal desire for protection. As each shell fell, he hoped that none of the bodies near them, nor the soldiers who were still alive, were those who'd been assaulted or shared conversation with Jean only moments before. It was hellish to think that everyone, including himself, had the chance to simply die here and now. There would be no pain. It would be instantaneous. No one would ever be able to say goodbye to him. Jean felt tears stream down his face once more as he grit his teeth in mental agony.

And then...The final shell fell. It landed just beyond the trench, towards the rear side. Jean was unlucky enough to lift his head out of the mud when the single shell fell, reminding him of the death it could cause as three separate men were all tossed into different directions, one of which without a head to even scream from. The gore and slaughter of the rain left him quiet, shivering whilst caught in the embrace of his protective intention. He wasn't sure if Kalisa nor Diana were even alive nor welcoming to his almost engulfing cover, or whether or not they'd been struck by some fragmentation themselves.

He raised his head up slightly more, watching the smoke still clearing from the trenches. There were screams of those who were still alive, likely without limbs or fully enclosed intestines within their stomachs, whilst others were simply coughing from the influx of smoke. It wasn't poisonous, this ridiculous air luckily, however it was definitely enough to force the wind out of their pipes and lungs. Jean looked in fear at the supposed soldier that had sprayed his blood upon the triage of cowering souls. His face was empty, colourless and devoid of life. It seemed that the artillery strike caught him so off guard he hadn't the second to even panic or discover he was breathing his final breaths. He slightly loosened his grip of Kalisa and Diana, knowing that if they wanted to move they could at least wriggle around to adjust their position after the rough landing in the mud.

Despite this, a suddenly few boosteps came from the smoke behind Jean, facing the two female's feet. They seemed heavy, clinking alongside the patronising noise of a ceremonial belt that had recently been scuffled by the remarks and bites of war. What a spoiling way to ruin such a glorious rendition of death and agony for Jean's mind, his arrival was. Middleton was not stood straight as such, and there was almost a combat ready stance to his posture, but he wasn't drawing any weapons of his own. He grabbed Diana and lifted her, simply leaving the two Darcsens to do so themselves, before letting her go to stand for herself without any needed support. There was slight urgency to his tone, one that showed that he too was somewhat caught off guard by the bombardment that shook the foundations of the platoon. He spoke in a course voice.

"Up and at them, lads. Get on your feet. We're returning to the rear lines back down the hill immediately. No hesitation. Move. That's an order. Lance Corporal, when you get to the bottom, wait for my arrival and I'll strike up a casualty count. I'll be the last one to leave this fucking trench, and you better bet that this platoon will not be gone for all I know. Now haul yourselves. Quickly!" And so, he left the two Darcsens to slowly crawl up to their feet. Once Diana, Jean and Kalisa were all arisen, Jean suddenly felt himself lunge forward again, this time however without any intention to push them over. With a strange sting in his fragile eyes once more, the Darcsen Lance Corporal wrapped his arms around both Kalisa and Diana, hugging them tightly as he suddenly breathed heavily with pressure and agony still seething from his lips. There was nothing more than mental stress upon his moralistic mind. Stress in itself was enough to break the poor fellow.

"T-Thank...thank the stars....we're...you two are okay. We're...we're alive." Jean wasn't sure if they'd even have appreciated his attempt at saving them, or whether or not they saw it as a useless attempt that changed no fate of theirs, but he was determined to share his gratitude with them being near for him to simply embrace in cold panic. His voice became frail once more as the wind had completely exited his lungs during the bombardment. He hadn't fully mustered a single respiratory inhale before he finally brought out those words, showing the two that for some strange reason he felt compassionate enough to announce his happiness for their survival. Although they were alive and breathing, Jean was still in complete shock and awe at the bodies nearby, trying his hardest to shield the two's eyes from the situation. Before long, he quickly turned around sporadically, unsure of what to do, before grabbing them both by the arms and hustling them forward through the trenches, through the thickened and bloody smoke, with the intentions of simply escaping. They had an order and this time it was one to finally run from the frontline. New troops were entering the trench and evacuating the dead and injured, whilst many new riflemen, machine gunners, mortars and sappers were reinforcing the frontline and preparing for what would be an apparent counter-attack if the Imperials committed to such an advancement. Jean was hopeful to get all three back, suddenly feeling a lust to not be left alone and cold in the miserable smother of the rain and blood upon their uniforms. His mind hoped for everyone, from Daniel to Michael, Isaac to Mimi, Lucia to even Britta...All of his mettle had shattered in false prayer that his comrades were alive, especially because they were on the path to becoming the greatest of allies. Once the trio scaled the trench walls and began to jog, or rather more of a staggered run, down the hill towards the safety of where they'd started that day off, he looked back at the two he'd dragged with him and almost imperishably called out for their reminders. "W-We're nearly there. Don't stop...we never stop. No one ever stops...Not Kalisa. Not Diana. Not me. We never stop. If we stop, we're as dead as our souls have already become!"

---

Would it be the last time he met Lucia? She'd probably be safe in Middleton's hand. Not necessarily sane, in fact he'd rather see her on the battlefield rather than in that man's grasp, but she would probably be behind the lines, far away from the guns and bombs. On the while, he and so many others were under the constant threat of having their brain shot out, their limbs torn apart by artillery or mines, their guts may be punched through at any given moment. Who knows, maybe an artillery shell could hit right at his spot right now, just like how they fall at the front so commonly back during the days when he could hear them from the rear line.

'Wait...'

What did Middleton say about this Hill earlier in his speech? God, he couldn't remember so accurately, due to how aggravating it was trying to dig through the cringy propaganda. What is it about being important? The position? Well, obviously. But what else did he say?

'Artillery shells...'

That's right! He was talking about how the artillery has been bombarding them for days. But why hasn't Michael found any artillery emplacement? Was it located elsewhere in the hill that he didn't have the chance to cross by? No, that couldn't be right. There couldn't be only one or two guns. He would have to see one. Then...

THUNK!

A beat in his chest.

THUNK!

A bang in his eardrum

THUNK!

A sound in the distance...

Instinct brought his eyes up in the dull sky. It was in that very moment that his vision and hearings all coordinated and pointed at the very same thing. In his vision, he saw multiple black dots, looking like harmless birds flying in the sky, but they were definitely unlike birds. Unlike those harmless creatures who just lived freely and uncaring about the pointless and bloody struggles of what we call highly intelligent species as they soar through the sky freely, these things were darting right towards us. And in his hearings, a screech tore through his drums. The dots began to enlarge themselves. When his minds actually process the whole thing...

'Oh God Almighty...'

He was standing where those bishop faced wanted him to!

"Artillery have us zeroed! Take cover!"

This trench couldn't possibly hold if it got hit. Tales of people getting literally buried alive in their own trenches, with some actually dying to it, did not go unheard for a man like Michael. He had to find a stronger ones. Michael dashed right out of the trenches, and instantly, as if a gift, he found the place he needed. A wood planked trench. It definitely wasn't a life insurance, but it'd at least give him slightly better protection than a normal trench. And in a place and time when luck was a major role in whether or not you'd make it back or not, where even an inch of difference could mean life or death, he'd take any chances he can get.

He leapt right into the trench just as the first shell landed. BOOM! Its distance was too far to do any damage to him, but unbeknownst to Michael, it blasted two of the soldiers into limbless hulks. During the very short interval, Michael slammed his back onto the wooden plank of the trench as he crumpled himself into a ball, his hand holding onto his helmet. Then the second shell landed. Then third. Fourth. Fifth. Sixth? He couldn't even count anymore. Screams amidst the explosions would cut his minds short. Dirt and mud would sometimes slam into his helmet and his body, with probably someone's remains mixed in between. Smells of immeasurable mixtures rushed up his nose, as the sapper struggled to have a breathe to pray so that a shell would not blow him to pieces right now, or that a shell's fragments would not pin itself onto his chest.

Four minutes of eternity, it was short yet Michael could feel it. His hands gripping on his chest as an unknown force shook them as if they had inner earthquakes. Would this be the end of the journey? Would he never be able to see mother again? Would he die to a violent flame of hell rather than being shot at by a fellow human being? He could still feel his hands though. His breathe still found its way, even though the smoke filled air had invaded his lungs. He still lives. 'Please...don't take me away just yet.' He silently prayed. The hand gripping the chest gently made a small cross. He still had someone to return to. He had his family, his friends, his college, his church. He'd lived well. He didn't want to die just yet.

But then it somehow...came through. After a certain sound, there was nothing. Even the sound of the soldiers screaming for their severed legs couldn't be heard. Was everybody dead? Or maybe he should ask himself instead. Did he die and go to hell already?

When he got up, it was indeed a scene from hell. Bodies were mangled up everywhere, up and down No Man's Land. Some people didn't even have the chance to express the horror or peace before their demise. That metallic sense once again snuck up his nose along with the smoke from the shells that also obscured his visions. His mind feared the worst. He looked among the bodies, hoping that none of them resembled anyone he knew. So far, they were all strangers. But that doesn't mean they are all alive. With destruction like this, can anybody say it with confidence without concrete evidence?

Michael immediately got out of the trench as he headed down the pathway to where the Lance Corporal once stood. What he found wasn't him though, nor his corpse. He probably had escaped. What he found instead was Middleton. He didn't look as if he was expecting this to happen, but the moment he saw the young sapper and his squad insignia, he repeated the order, knowing fully well that he was not present when he said it the first time. So they're leaving this hill? Didn't seem like it though. Waves of fresh faces with clean and uptight uniforms began to flood in. It seemed like his squad had ran out of usefulness in this sector for now - being the pawns in a grand scheme.

He had no intention to disobey him, not out of fear but through agreement instead. He wouldn't do any good in a squad outside of his own. And he wouldn't want to stay in this hellhole any longer. And so with his rifle on his left elbow joint, he descended the hill, quickly but he avoided running in general, as much as he wanted to leave this hill. He was carrying a rifle with bayonet, and dozens of equipment, some of which pretty dangerous. He wouldn't want to roll down the hill with them on his body.

As he was going down the hill, he saw the man that he was looking for. Jean, the Darcsen Lance Corporal, along with the girl that accompanied him halfway up the hill, also with another one with the same hair color, and presumably the same race, as Jean, whom he hadn't met just yet. He now turned his way toward them, as they arrived at the trench that they had ran up in that same day.

"You guys..." He said as soon as he made his way right next to them, still catching breathes from the descent. It was quick but did not necessarily equate to non-tiring. "You made it through."

Three people in his squad wasn't bad.
@Landaus Five-One@LetMeDoStuff@SMS

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

---

Diana is walking still through the trench behind Jean. The body language, which she was emitting was pretty easily able to find out. Diana eyed Jean, who was walking in front of her, she had a smile on her face. She couldn’t really hope to understand what was going through Daniel for yelling at Jean and her. ”I know what my mother would say. Don’t cry Diana, be stronger than the people who do yell at you. It’s how I lived through life or something like that is what she would say. But mom… I am not strong like you.” Diana lost in thought, which made her go into what her mom’s usually sayings are. She gave out a regretful sigh at the whole situation.

Diana looked up right before Jean turned around, which made her stop. She wondered what was on his mind anyway. What he said exactly made her saddened at what was said. She moved her left hand towards her chest as her eyes was looking at Jean. ”J-Jean… I have to agree with you. It shouldn’t have gotten me down so much of what Daniel yelled at me. But you don’t need to put yourself down for doing your job as Lance Corporal. We are humans everyone feels, fear and have their own feelings.” Diana said, with delighted smile on her face. She followed Jean while he was taking Kalisa and her somewhere, probably to the high ranked officer in the military. Her senses of sight and sound was being a bit bombarded with noise in the air and she could see something in the distance.

She was a bit in shock when Jean staggered towards her. This entire thing didn’t feel right a Lance Corporal wouldn’t stagger unless there was something terribly wrong. Her heartbeat was pacing a bit faster since she was similarly listening to the area. She heard something in the distance, which sounded terrifying to her. It didn’t sound ordinary, it sounded mechanical in the distance as if the enemy was doing something unorthodox but she wasn’t here during the artillery barrage. ”W-What the…? I hope that doesn’t mean something bad is going to happen.” Diana thought with a bit of a mixed feeling of what’s exactly going on. Her body was shaking in fear, it was alike when they charged the hill but this was different in comparison.

Diana saw Jean move his head up into the air, and heard a loud whistle and was feeling like panicking. However, something caught her off guard, when Jean tackled Kalisa and her on the ground. She was crying because of what was happening, which was terrifying to her. Her entire heartbeat was rushing, when Jean was defending her eyes from seeing what was happening around them. In her eyes Jean is a savior, great guy and a commanding officer for his humanity. ”O-Oh, T-This is terrifying. J-Jean saved me from doing something stupid. Panicking… that is.” Diana thought to herself, with her heartbeat rushing.

She could feel Jean tightening his grip on her helmet to protect her even further. It made her somewhat feel safe, even though what was happening around her was explosions. She could feel something land on her uniform, which was very warm. It made her panic a little bit but she didn’t know what it was since Jean was covering her eyes still. She could hear multiple explosions hit the ground, until the very last one hit. ”I-Is it over?” Diana thought in her head, hopeful it was over. Her body was shaking about this whole thing. She could feel Jean’s grip lessen on her, where she can move. Her body wiggled to see what happened, even though her mind didn’t want to see. She breathed a sigh of relief, that Jean, Kalisa and her were safe. ”I-I…” Diana said, with tears in her eyes. Her eyes were staring mainly at Jean.

She felt someone drag her up where she was at, and she looked at the person who was dragging her. It is the guy, who ordered everyone to charge up the hill probably and saw his rank as Lieutenant and a bit terrified of him. When he let her go, she looked at Kalisa and Jean with a bit of sadness in her eyes, and wondered why the Lieutenant didn’t help them up. She moved a bit and saw everything including the blood on her uniform. Her body language definitely showed she was freaking out a bit about what happened since she could see everything. What caught her off guard was what the Lt had said to them, which was basically retreating from the hill and returning back to the rear lines. ”Y-Yes sir” Diana said, towards the Lieutenant.

Diana was caught off guard again, when Jean hugged Kalisa and her tightly. She hugged Jean back equally since she was happy that they are all alive and well. Her emotions are at an all time high, which made her love Jean even more than she originally said. When he spoke about thanking the stars, she wholeheartedly agreed. ”Y-Yeah, I’m grateful you saved me. J-Jean, you are a sweetie.” Diana said, with a nervousness to her voice. Her heartbeat and her breathing was going back to normal. She was hopeful everyone was alright from the platoon, while she was thinking on things while hugging Jean. All she knew was Jean, Kalisa and her was alright. ”E-Everything feels like a dream. And stopping is definitely not an option now. I’m highly hurting from what happened… killing my first person in the war felt not right.” She responded to Jean, while starting to cry. Her soul was hurting from doing what she had to do in this awful battle of the war.

Her mind was on other things though, however. It was mostly about Jean’s birthday, when it is, Therefore, she can give him something for her gratitude and everything he has done for her especially saving her life. However, she heard a voice that made her get out of her thoughts, which was a very familiar one. The male who helped her get to the church, so she didn’t have to die on the awful no-man’s land. She didn’t know his name though. ”O-Oh nice you’re alive. I-I didn’t quite catch your name?” Diana asked, towards Micheal, which she didn't know his name and who was talking to them. Her smile was much happier when she realized another person of her squad was alive, which means probably more are alive too. She couldn't stop hugging Jean since he's a sweet guy.

@Conscripts @LetMeDoStuff @SMS

Isaac hadn't really gotten any luck trying to flag anyone down for a bit of help, at least not until Michael returned, along with a Staff Sergeant. It wasn't good news. Apparently, Middleton wanted Lucia back at his side. Was it because they were both Assani? Somehow, it didn't seem likely that there was really any loyalty to your people going on here, except maybe to the Atlantic Federation itself. It was a bit hard to place Middleton, except as sort of an asshole of a commanding officer, a man with reputation and duty before common sense and decency in his head. To return Lucia to him was...a little too much. Hell, when Michael woke her and she was told herself, she too objected. However, orders...were orders. Middleton would only get cross and shoot someone, perhaps, and then he'd repeat the order. How did Isaac know he'd do that? Because he'd made this girl shoot someone herself. With a heavy heart, Isaac allowed her to go, allowing Michael to reassure her as best he could and adding...

"You're one of us now, Lucia. Don't forget that."

Hopefully, that would help her in dealing with what lay ahead, be it the war with the Imperials or her war with the Lieutenant. She didn't have one pillar. She had many. That was, sadly, the last nice thing that Isaac was going to see for a while. It was a calm respite after having to Holy Shit his way across a battlefield and nearly get shot all-throughout. Whoever made it through this war, he was buying the damn drinks! He came back to the group with the others - Jean, Kalisa, Diana, etc. - as Jean was still talking with them, berrating himself for some other perceived failing.

"Jean, at some point, you're going to have to accept that it's your first day and that you're doing okay. We're here, we're alive, we're..."

POW!

Oh no...

POW!

Oh shit... How could he have forgotten that?

POW!

Isaac's eyes widened as he suddenly realized in the forebrain what he'd been seeing and forgetting to remind himself. Artillery! There was no artillery here! He'd assumed that the reason it stopped and that they had the machine guns to deal with was that they had problems, like they were actually out of shells and needed to re-supply, or someone had been incompetent with them, or something! He didn't even think about them as he got here! Did any of them? Did anyone think 'Hey, there aren't really any cannons here...'. No, they didn't, because the cold and unforgiving war sat right in the middle of their minds, drawing them from the rather important details. Now, what was that shout they taught him in basic training? Oh yes.

"INCOMING!!"

His warning came in at about the same time as Jean and Michael shouted. They had only two choices run, exposed to the world with no cover at all and hope that nothing hit and nobody could shoot you...or take cover and hope that the trenches do the job that they were most certainly intended to. Everyone dropped or dove for somewhere to use as protection as the shells plummetted loudly and destructively. One had been a little too close to Isaac's spot in the trenches. It'd been around the bend, not too far from where he and Lucia had been asleep, but the bend had prevented him from taking any shrapnel.

The blast had knocked him senseless, though, or near enough.

It was the concussion, really. A blast around a corner doesn't lose ALL of its force because it hits the corner, just a considerable amount. If you're close enough, you will still be affected, and that was why Isaac was suddenly holding his head, hearing nothing but a whine as he'd felt something thump his entire body. He'd never been near an explosion before, and to those of you who still have never been around one...he wouldn't recommend it. Someone pulled him back so, so he wouldn't suffer anything like that again. The world started to come into focus on...

"Britta?"

She was saying something witty, but he couldn't hear her at the moment. For those whose senses were still about them right now, she said "And a nice day to you too.", putting on a smile, though she'd obviously been winged by something and was trying to put on a good face about it. She was also making a comment about how hard it was to dive properly when they weigh you down with all these bullets for this machine gun. Isaac would've agreed if he could hear her properly. When the last shell struck, his hearing was starting to return...as was his sense of pain...which gave him a headache.

"Agh..."

_{"That bad, is it?"}

"What? ...yeah."

They got up. Isaac had to remind himself that his team looked after him too, as Britta went to tell the others that the two of them were alright-ish. Hmmm. He hadn't been paying close attention before, but did it seem like Diana was a little attached to Jean now? Well, ties will be formed, he guessed. This all seemed normal to him. He was pretty sure that nothing strange would come about from that... Then, rather unexpectedly, Middleton was here to direct them to get back down the hill, and that he was apparently staying up here to make sure everybody else got back down. That was fine with him, but it didn't seem right that he was STILL talking down to Jean. Well, maybe he'd talk down to him later, too. Couldn't be sure. It DID seem like the Lieutenant hated them all, somehow. Still, they were leaving now, presumably before the cannons - which they must've sent further back in the Imperial lines - were reloaded.

"Alright, we're moving! Michael, Daniel, Kalisa, Britta, Diana - Everybody! Out, out, out!"

He was mostly naming names of people he's actually learned the names of, hoping that everybody just caught on and got out like they were ordered. Everyone started moving out of Hill 58 and back down the way that they came, advancing now back to the lines they started in. Because he was still a Gunner, he fell in to be the support for everyone, in case something happened, right alongside Britta.

"Now, what were you saying before? Because I couldn't hear."

"I was pointing out how hard it was to get around with these heavy packs and guns we have to lug around."

"Yeah, I'm starting to notice that, just now."

But they would make it back. He just hoped that enough of them made it...

Before he knew it, more and more of the familiar and unfamiliar faces within Platoon 9 were retreating to their location. The 15th Atlantic Rifles as a whole seemed to have taken extreme damage and casualties on that fateful day, August 25th, 1914EC, where those who survived were to be branded with the mental images of the now-deceased. Jean didn't know if he should have felt safe, relieved or saddened by the few waves of incoming survivors returning to the frontline, but as some of them had returned, the distant sounds of gunfire had started once more. As expected, the Imperial counter-attack had begun, and it was only a matter of a few seconds in which the Fusiliers managed to reinforce the frontlines before they gained a chance to take the hill swiftly. The constant repetition of a machine gun's barrel kept him awake, but speechless. First came Michael, who praised the three in a melancholic fashion for being alive and well, if Jean could even consider himself well. Then came Isaac, who was another NCO of course. He'd been lugging around a huge amount of gunner gear, and so his later arrival made sense, but it was Franz's who got him the most.

Jean stared at him in silence when he came with nothing more than a bloody report. It was one that spouted of names, names he didn't personally know nor realise how close he truly was to them. Private...Mila...Wagner? Shrapnel was her apparent death, and the sounds of it made Jean simply tremble with mixed emotions. He stared down at his hands, knowing that they were still covered in the blood of other Federation soldiers, ones who had lost their lives to the indefinite expulsion of human life. Once again, he looked to Kalisa and Diana for advice, but no words left his mouth at the time. Even when Diana called him a sweetheart, something that would usually send him into a bulky wave of flustering and emotional appreciation, he stared with nothing more than the fear in his eyes. Was this truly the war everyone had been indulging and suffering from for the past three years? Was this genocidal tendency of extreme calamity truly worth all that there was to gain? Was it the Empire who were at fault, or the Federation who gave in to the unnerving creation of slaughter? Why was this all happening now, in what was the young man's youth and day of supposed joy? Jean couldn't help but shake, shuddering to himself as he once again looked back down to those bloody hands of his.

Turning his head towards the hill once more, where the smoke of gunfire was once again visible. The battle had continued again, and the faces of those who'd not partaken in the charge seemed almost unfazed, knowing that this constant cycle of silence, bombardment and gunfire was something of the normality. Humanity had dipped itself into the cold and miserable pits of hell, and had also evolved into something more dangerous than the bullets they were firing. It was almost tragically poetic, knowing that even in the silence of the war there was still nothing of value or happiness, minus the few moments of camaraderie and continuous support for one another. Jean knew that there were still things going on up on that hill, and suddenly he felt himself walking forward towards the firing step of the rear-lines once more. As he ascended, he turned back to the group who'd already retreated and simply nodded, muttering something in immense stressful pain and aggression.

"I'm going back, just to see if there's anyone else who needs help. Do not leave the trench...That's...That is a direct order." For once, there was a slight chivalry and authority in his tone, but now he'd already dictated that the forces behind where they'd just retreated from were still in dire need of inspection. The Lieutenant was not yet back, or visible as a matter of fact, and the confirmation had to be made by someone. Besides, he was but a lowly Lance Corporal. It was his first battle. No one would really know if he went missing in the dead of the battle's noon. And so, he ascended, quickly beginning to run back up the hill.

As he ran, he felt as if there were bullets still flying towards him, much like the previous ascendance of the hill. However, there was nothing of the sort. All that remained on the hill were the craters, bodies that had yet to be cleaned from the original charge and the fresh new faces of Fusiliers and Mortar teams dragging their equipment up for the next defence. It was a second stage of the battle that Jean and the Atlantic Rifles would not partake in whatsoever, yet Jean still found himself running towards to see what there was to see. A strange rope had already coiled around his body and began to reel him in towards the madness, as if he were forcing himself to see the desolation of life and peace once more. The second clamber up the hill was not nearly as long as the first, especially without the obstructions in the way, but the closer sounds of Federation guns shooting down the opposite slope of the hill kept him in a state of paranoia and nauseating worry.

Finally. He reached that surface of hell once more. Before him, now cleared by the departing of smoke and debris, were the bodies of those who remained. Some were legless, others armless or headless altogether. Some were strewn up in tightly compact renditions of the human body whilst others were simply open, spilling all they had inside out. Most were simply being stepped over by the Fusiliers who reinforced the frontline. Constantly, they were shooting downwards towards what could only be the newly made Imperial frontline, having an advantage that outranked all that the Imperials had to offer in that moment. Jean stood on the trench's edge, not wandering back inside for the fear of tainting himself with their innocent blood once more. Yet it didn't matter...

As promised, Jean saw the Lieutenant finally rise from the trench's depths and confirm that he was indeed the last one to leave. In his arms was her, Private Lucia Farris. He seemed to have her tightly clutched, as if protecting her, yet Jean truly didn't now the reasons behind it. Her head seemed to be slightly bruised with a small litter of scratches and blood drifting across it. She was alive, nonetheless, but heavily intoxicated by her fear to the point of having passed out. Jean didn't know whether or not to commend the Lieutenant for supposedly saving this girl, but then he remembered that this was the same man who was forcing her to kill those who retreated earlier on. These conflicting emotions once again left Jean teary in the eye.

"Lance Corporal! What the fuck are you still doing here? Didn't I tell your Darcsen-arse to get back down to the rear-lines?" Nothing was clearly different with the aristocratic beast. Once again, his gun-barrel was smoked with the vapour of recent shots having spurt from it. Even through the oppressive tone he held, there was still a sense of calmness, making Jean truly question how much shit this man had been through to get this fractured. "If the Imps had taken this trench already, and I were dead, you'd have been shot on sight, you fucking muppet!"

"S-Sir, I'm...I'm sorry. I escorted as many as I could from the Platoon and Regiment back down to the lines and was just...just..."

"You came to see if you could help, but instead found a trench full of your dead brothers and sisters in arms. How tragic..." He'd clearly heard it all before. Jean wasn't a unique soldier of cowardice and fear to this Lieutenant. It seemed that apart from his rank, Jean could have always been just a number, if it weren't for his slight authority over the rest and his surviving position within the unit. "Look, if you don't control those emotions of yours and start thinking with that dark-head of yours, someone will blow it out before you can even say: Blighty. Feel lucky that there weren't any Imperials, yet, to do that. Now help me get the damn Private back down the hill. There's no one else left for us to evacuate, so we'll head back and call it a day."

"C-Call it a day, Sir?" Jean was truly unsure of how to react to the statement. He'd just been through hell and back without any rest, and he simply was told to rest it off and prepare for their new assignment Middleton had previously teased about.

"Yes, you absolute tosser...This is war. Dwell on something, even defeat, for too long and someone'll have your head. We'll get to the trenches, get to the rear lines, have a cuppa or two, rest it off in the dugouts and then prepare for a final register tomorrow before we leave by train. Do I make myself clear?" Jean's head dropped down to another defeated look. He watched and drifted his eyes back down to the rear-lines he'd just ran back up from, seeing the silhouettes of his newfound friends and comrades. How long was it going to be until they were ripped from his clutches? The sudden confidence of Isaac? The sincerity of Michael? The experience and hardened outlook of Franz? The beautiful faces of both Kalisa and Diana? All of these individuals were under the same constant threat as the victims, like Mila, were: imminent and unprecedented death. However, it was what the Lieutenant said on their way down as Jean helped carry the poor Lucia down. Even in this crippled state, her body felt soothing and warm even to the touch, her smooth skin having rested upon Jean and the Lieutenant's for a few minutes as they helped bring her down. Jean listened to Middleton's words, pondering in sadness over what he truly meant about it. "Trust me, Lance Corporal...I know what it is like to lose everything in war. Reality is a bitch. Let it get to you, and you'll only turn into me."

The two returned to the trench and placed Lucia down beside Michael, Franz and Isaac, before Middleton swore under his breath to Jean not to utter a word about the final sentence he'd said to him. Jean complied to his harsh orders and simply kept quiet, his eyes watering up once more. Without meeting the eyes of anyone within his newfound group of friends, Jean simply uttered a few words before turning to retreat.

"Rest easy. Take care of Lucia. She passed out. She's scared. Nurture her to good health. That's...that's all. I'll be back later. When you're ready, go lie down in the bunks in the rear line. Tomorrow we wake up early. Train departure." Everything about what he said was shrouded in a tremble, as the thought of sadness and the flow of hidden tears became apparent to those closest to him. Jean moved away quickly, making sure to disappear from the group as they gathered restlessly in the retreating trench. Jean moved quickly. Turning corners, over and over again, he bypassed the communications trench to lose himself from the harsh reality he'd experienced on that fateful day. Jean was crying, broken in his mind towards what everything had thrown onto him and the Platoon. And thus, when he reached the rear lines of the sappers, reserves and those who did not partake in the charge, he sat down in the darkest, wettest and murkiest of corners in that more solemn trench and stared into the abyss before him.

---

Among the three of them, the other person who is not a Darcsen was the first to respond. Upon closer recognition, Michael realized she was the one whom he had helped up just hours ago as they both ascended the hill, separated during the final charge into the melee. That smile of hers as she spoke. It was the feeling of relief; he could hear it in the stress of her voice. Yeah, after all that destruction, that death and terror he, no they, had to go through, he wouldn't be any higher or lower than her right now. Though seeing her so clingy to Jean while smiling like that was a little...weird. Or maybe this was a common thing? He didn't dig deep into this aspect.

"Oh yes. I didn't have the opportunity to introduce properly." Michael changed his posture, straightening up while he pulled his shirts a little bit. It didn't help that it was filled with mud and blood from the fighting, but in this world full of filth, it would be a little nice to appear more civilized as he could. "I'm Michael. Michael Daunte. I'm from the city of Tyrelia, Edinburgh." He had his hand forward as a polite gesture. Now that he noticed, she was also the one who repeatedly said he was a child. He wasn't sure if he wanted to bring that up again. Probably not now. He would look rude, and honestly salty, to everyone. And to be frank, he probably wouldn't resonate as a child as soon as people hear him speak. His voice was deep, a little cloggy after going through hell but still clear enough to hear, and he seemed to know things that no child would be able to know unless they are some sort of genius. It's just that biology somehow puts a boundary on his physical growth. He liked to comfort himself by saying that 'he' did so so that he could grow mentally, but that would just be dishonest to the unknown truth.

The moment of light-hearted fun quickly ended. War just had the habit of getting in the way of things like that. After Isaac and Britta, who came down pretty much without anything to say to the group, the other person was someone he knew personally. It was the same Darcsen that he had tried to treat earlier. The same one that waved goodbyes to him when he left him right before artillery hits. Now...he was a different man from before. The man that was so calm under fire, so chilled out that he even asked for a cigarette after he had a hole in his chest. Now he was as stiff and emotionless as what he could have expected from any person being thrown into the hellfire of warfare, but not from a person like Franz. He was about to wonder what happened when...

---

---

Mila Wagner?

He did hear her name a few times. Rumor was a thing to be feared in its spread. Back then during the boot camp training, Michael would occasionally hear some of his fellow comrades, most of them females, talking about a tall blonde girl who liked to help new recruits through the grueling session, often giving them emotional support and such. Was it the girl he met earlier up the hill? The one who grabbed that Vinland sapper by the collar? The one who said herself to be filthy? And now she's dead? He'd like to think that she's not, that maybe she was just a case of similar looking description, but the truth that he did not know exactly was that she was otherwise. The girl that young girls love, devote themselves to and so aspire to become was now laying dead in the mud. Didn't care if she had Imperial blood, fighting for the Federation, being a kind and loving sister that nobody think she deserved such a fate. War made everybody equal.

But despite not being a close friend, or perhaps because she wasn't that close of a friend, Michael felt as if the ground before him was fleeing from him. It was transparent. That feeling when you are falling and you are not. When would news like this be over? When those he had gotten to know of, those who were just his age, filled with potentials, with talents and ambitions, being ripped of it forever and be sent into hell-on-Earth, only to emerge a motionless and colorless corpse. When would that be his turn? Would he be able to get used to such a thing? And nonetheless...how many more must Michael HIMSELF send over? He shuddered to even look at his hand right now. He didn't want to kill, but he didn't want to die either. But they are mutually exclusive, and he was forced, every time, to pick one of it.

Jean was also heavily shaken. Visibly so. It didn't take a genius for Michael to see it on his face. As he ordered the squad to remain where it was, Michael suddenly found himself walking away from the group for a little bit. Where was he going? What could his conscious mind say but 'I don't know', or 'Just wandering around'. Wandering around may be a convincing argument, but why would it be wandering around when he was only going back and forth through one particular trench in the entire line? The place wasn't even that far away from the 15th Atlantic Rifle's gathering point in fact, one could go there in a few seconds. It overlooked the entire hill where he just ascended up and down in a single day, a hill now hauntingly silent from the sheer amount of souls lost in a single day.

This was the place.

This was the place where a few hours ago, a few thousand people would still be alive. And Michael would be standing...somewhere over here. He would be waiting for the fateful charge, and a few minutes following that he would be ascending the ladder, only to fell down here. On by her. But now she's gone. He didn't even know if this was her blood or not. The rain had gushed everything together into a mess, and anything left of it would be a product of impurity. Had she been buried already? Where would she be now? The thought never ceased as Michael went across the trench once, twice then thrice, often glancing up the hill or the other way. Could she be here, or here?

But it was no use. He didn't know her name, or anyone that she knew. In his fragile self right now, she only appeared to him as a cute petite girl - though still taller than him, only five foot five in height, with a pair of innocent and pure sky blue eyes and hair as natural as the pine oak tree near his house that was tied neatly into a single and simple braid hanging on her shoulder. Nothing else. He lost her in the charge, and now he couldn't find her again, even just for a final wish of rest in peace.

'...'

He placed a hand on his lips, paying no attention to the dry blood and filth on it. Now everybody is the same. His eyes began to blink. Quite slowly at first, then sped up like an accelerating car. Until he hit the ceiling, that was when he stopped. But that was it. He thought it would yield something, but nothing came. Nothing came...It was no use. He couldn't be like Jean or Lucia even if he wanted to.

After a few minutes going around in vain, Michael returned to his squad. Just in time when Jean returned...with Lucia? She was placed right near him, as Jean ordered everyone to house her nicely. His statement that she was still alive lifted the nails off his shoulders. Scared? True though. Even a person like Michael was freaking out to the point that he had to draw a cross on his chest up there, not to mention a girl like Lucia.

He knelt over Lucia once more. She looked just as when she was asleep: beautiful and innocent. He had his hand gently placed on her wrist, his eyes glancing at her chest briefly, whilst the other hand near her nose before glossing over her forehead. Jean was right. It seemed like nothing serious happened to her. She was just scared and fatigued from the stress of having to kill a friendly. She didn't need much treatment really. He just need to get her to the rear line to rest.

Michael gently threw his gun around his left shoulders before placing his hands below Lucia's body, one letting her back rest on and the other one behind her knees, as he slowly straighten his legs up, thus lifting the small girl up. One may find it an odd and surprising sight, to witness a man as small and unimpressive as Michael being able to lift up a girl just about the same size, but Michael only turned to the squad once.

"I'll take her to the rear line." So that they know where he would be. If nobody had objected, Michael would gradually find his way back to the rear, after turning a few corners and asking a few soldiers directions, and a bunk for Lucia to rest on. And too he would sit on the opposite side. For once, he could breathe the air that did not wreak of tension.
@LetMeDoStuff@Landaus Five-One