The NAAFI was little more than a small diner with a handful of chairs scattered around, but to the exhausted militiamen it was downright homely. As the rest of the squad settled in around the room, Harald approached the counter and the little old man behind it. [b]'... You kids seen some action then? You're lucky we're still open; normally shut by twelve.'[/b] His voice was gruff but not unkind. As Harald set about ordering a series of simple meals, the old man reached back to turn on the building's heaters and rouse the other staff. With nowhere else for the soldiers to go, they were kind enough to let them sleep there for the night. As they settled down to eat their meals and get some sleep, Harald cast a surreptitious eye over them to gauge their mental states. Tired, he decided, but not overwhelmed. [b]'Yeah, that's it lass. Breda's safe.'[/b] Watching the two girls drift off peacefully was comforting, but at the same time a deeply saddening sight. None of them had any way of knowing what the next day would bring, but their war had only just begun. And it would get worse before it ended. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- [u] 1100 March 23nd 1935 EC Parade Square, Fort Breda, Gallia[/u] [b]'Parade, attention!'[/b] Standing in line with the rest of Squad Four, Private Alonso Bons fought to keep his expression professional as the remnants of the 12th Company braced up for inspection. From a total of twelve squads raised in Rinneheim, only seven remained; three had been completely wiped out and the rest folded into the remainder. Bons had only been with Squad One for a matter of hours and their deaths still didn't feel [i]real,[/i] as if what little time they had spent together was only a dream. There were other new faces in the squad he realised, both the survivors they had picked up on the rout from Rinneheim and other recruits poached from the latest troop trains. But there had been losses even here; several of Squad Four's initial members had washed out, some through injury or shell shock, others transferred to where their skills required more. Corporal Helfer's transfer was a heavy blow, especially to the young Darcsen Sergeant. Without a reliable and experienced 2iC, he would find it difficult to earn the squad's respect. Bons himself had reserved judgement so far; despite his inherent distrust of Imperials, he had found himself traitorously impressed with Helfer and the Captain. Perhaps Harald would surprise him too. Three officers paced slowly along the line of soldiers, inspecting their newly issued equipment and conversing in low voices. Meulemann was there too, he noticed, clearly the junior of the three despite his age. When the three stopped in front of him, Bons felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up as he realised that he would be the only man on the square with an Imperial weapon. Their stolen APC had carried a small cache of rifles and lances, so he had taken his pick - with the Captain's permission of course. Whether it would pass muster with the higher-ups was another matter. From his position at the end of the line and one step forward, Harald watched the proceedings out of the corner of his eye. Private Bons' unorthodox choice of equipment caused a minor argument, but the officers soon moved on without rancour. The rest of the inspection passed slowly and without incident, until finally the Captain stood alone in front of his men. [b]'... Soldiers. We are all new to one another and many of us, to the Militia. You are young, but... many of you now know the true face and realities of warfare. I will not lie; this is only the beginning. Every moment of suffering and fear you felt in Rinneheim will be relived a thousand times before this war is concluded. But Gallia demands that every man and woman do their duty. A minute's silence then, in honour of those who yesterday did theirs and made the ultimate sacrifice for their country.'[/b] Standing stock still at attention, the Captain drew his sword and lowered in a slow salute. While he hadn't lost anyone under his command, Harald nevertheless held a crisp salute for the longest sixty seconds of his life, staring into the fluttering flag of Gallia at half mast on the other side of the square. Across the entire base silence reigned for that minute as every soldier paid tribute to their fallen comrades... except around one building to one side, emblazoned with the words Enlisted Quarters. The Sergeant had heard of the Gallian Army's contempt for Militia forces, but had yet to experience it first hand. It wasn't easy to ignore the sounds of laughter and loud conversation floating over on the wind. [b]'... Squad leaders, see to your men and report to my tent at 1900. Parade, dismissed!'[/b] As the Captain marched off the square with his adjutant in tow, Harald and the other Sergeants stepped forward to marshal their squads. [b]'Ahem. First off, I would like to welcome our new members to Squad Four. I'm Sergeant Harald and until we are assigned a new Corporal, we shall have no second in command. That said, Lance Corporals White and Meyers will temporarily be taking over as section leaders. Come to them or myself if you need anything.'[/b] Fidgeting in his badly fitting armour, Harald decided to have a second go at getting the squad to socialise. [b]'Now I've seen your files, but I don't know fuck all about you. So... introductions, where you came from, what you do etc. Starting from... you.'[/b] He pointed at a random squad member, hoping to get some momentum going.