[img=http://www.computerspiele.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/11/Valkyria-Chronicles-Logo.jpg] [u]0700 March 21st, 1935 EC 12 Miles East of Rinneheim, Gallia[/u] Silence ruled the crisp air of an early spring morn, broken only by a chorus of lilting birdsong. Only the keenest of observers would note the movement of armoured figures amidst the bocage, the silhouette of tanks lying in wait. A regiment of the Emperor's finest was slowly tracking westward across the fields and hedgerows, drawing ever closer to the town of Rinneheim and its unsuspecting defenders... --- [u]1100 March 21st, 1935 EC Central Square, Rinneheim, Gallia[/u] One hundred men and women stood to attention across the town square, each sporting an armband emblazoned with the words [i]9/12 Militia.[/i] Some had already seen action, clad in the iconic blue uniform of Gallia, while many more were still wearing civilian clothes. One young man toward near the back of the formation was dressed in what appeared to be a police uniform, while another nearby wore a butcher's apron. At the front of the square had been erected a stage replete with Gallian heraldry, upon which a lone officer stood, his gaze drifting slowly across the assembled multitudes. After a long silence, the man stepped forward. [b]'Good morning. Allow me to be the first to welcome you to the 9th Regiment of the Gallian Militia, 12th Company. I am your commanding officer, Captain Tarquin H Meulemann.'[/b] The Captain had a strong Imperial accent and carried himself with a air of nobility. If his monocle and handle-bar moustache were not enough to gauge his personality, he wore an elegant sabre at his waist, which showed every sign of having been used recently. [b]'I am not a man for speeches, so I shall endeavour to make this quick. As soldiers in Her Majesty's armed forces, you are now bound by a code of honour and loyalty, of comradeship and respect.'[/b] Meulemann's expression hardened. [b]'Whoever you were before you joined my company, I do not care. You will follow your orders and achieve your objectives for the glory of House Randgriz and the good of all Gallia. Parade! Dismissed!'[/b] The abrupt end of the Captain's speech took many by surprise and the company milled about in confusion before the more experienced soldiers herded the others out of the square. From his position atop the stage, Meulemann sighed deeply. [i]Valkyrur help us all...[/i] --- A few minutes later, outside a pub in the main square a young man was rifling through his conscription paperwork. Despite his dark hair, the landlord had begrudgingly served the militiaman an ale, though he was sure it hadn't been the quality stuff. He sighed deeply as he leafed through another page. [i]Sergeant Harald, #55236972, 9/12/4 Squad Leader...[/i] Serial numbers, insurance numbers, dates, facts, figures... Deciding that the details could be dealt with later, he pulled out a specific sheet that outlined his subordinates. Naturally it was little more than a list of names, no pictures or descriptions to speak of but he was still expected to assemble them before the afternoon's march to Randgriz. Nearby, another sergeant had decided to bite the bullet and was shouting for each of his squadmates at the top of his lungs. Occasionally a soldier would materialise from the aimless throng of recruits, glad to have some direction at last. Other sergeants had their own methods ranging from banners with a list of names to simply demanding the identity of every recruit they could find. Harald sighed again as he sparked up a cigarette, unsure of how to proceed; even with his superior rank he doubted that he could get away with demanding anything of anyone. He was a [i]Darcsen[/i] after all; it had been enough of a shock to find himself above Private, let alone in charge of a whole squad. In the end he just sat back with his ale and played the card he had refined during his years as a constable; if you sit in a pub and wave enough people over, some fucker will eventually know who you are after.