[center][h3]Fina[/h3][/center]

Fina felt she could die of embarassment, tears swelling in her eyes. Although the paternal smile of the sergeant did manage to settle her mood a bit. She straightened the best she could, and saluted upon receiving the orders, before hurriedly going her assigned bunk, and doing some minor adjustments and combing to her face. The sergeant had told them to clean themselves, but she wasn't that dirty. Sighing audiblely, she then began browsing her knapsack, trying to make mental note of what she would really need in her trip. Being a daughter of a peddler, she wasn't half bad when it came to the inventory and organizing knapsacks. [i]I still have no clue about the whole thing.[/i] She ghastly remembered of her lateness. Sure, she had seen the papers, but that didn't match personal briefing.

Well, she would have to improvise. Or she could ask the sergeant? Maybe, without prying eyes, words would come out. Yes, that wasn't a half bad idea, actually. But first, the food. Fina bit her lip. A lot of other recruits would be stockpiling, since an operation was inbound. The dirty looks, the insults, the shoves, they all would be there. 

But if she didn't dive in headfirst, she couldn't fight as militia. And she probably wouldn't find her family. She took a deep breath and set her sight straight, a frown forming in her face. She was determined. She was aloof. She flinched upon seeing others staring at her gait.

[b]"Aaaaa..."[/b] She let a weak wail before assuming her usual stare into the ground and she began stockpiling food. Hurriedly and trembling, but efficiently. And then, she was gone, before the people could ever actually ask or wonder who she was. The ammunitions were a similar thing, really. She had surprised one or two recruits when she appeared to procure ammo without making a single warning or noise of her presence, other than a muffled [i]Sorry[/i] apology. 

And then, she headed toward Sergeant's Harald bunkhouse. She stood idlely in the entrance, fighting an internal battle of entering and talking to him, or fleeing and hiding under the blankets of her bunk in embarassment. The fight was decided for her when someone accidentally bumped into her, sending her inside, and face first into the ground of the Sergeant's tent. [i]"Stupid spaced out darkhair."[/i] She could hear someone muttering at her back before resuming its walk.

Fina didn't even bother moving from her awkward position. [b]"Umm...sergeant." [/b]She said. [b]"I have some quesquesquesquesquestions...sorry."[/b] She added, hesitatingly.

[hr]
[center][h3]Sig[/h3][/center]


[b]"What am I now? A horse?"[/b] Sig muttered under his breath as he shifted gears and restarted the march upon Lieutenant Beirmann's kick in the shoulders. Sigismund sighed as he switched gears and moved the steering system, his full attention on the course at hand. He was no fool, a slower and heavier tank did not mean an easy driving, like many novices would think. In fact, driving lighter models was [i]easier[/i] as you could always make minor shifts in trajectory to compensate. But for a superheavy tank, it was a different story altogether. He had to minimise the movement, and take in account parameters like the probable movements of the enemy forces, the rough terrain, and not expose the back of the engine, because the precious seconds needed to turn the tank could be exploited by lancers with lethal efficiency. 

The old veteran shrugged upon assessing the enemy forces. [i]Poor bastards. This is like a partridge hunting ground.[/i] he assessed mentally, feeling a tingue for sympathy towards the ill-prepared Gallians. Still, his past allegiances were in the past. He now had to fight and help the 655 massacre them. [i]Wow, you guys got the short stick.[/i] Sig finished positioning the tank, taking care not to expose the weaker parts of the armor to the highest concentrations of enemy firepower, while at the same time allowing his gunner to have an steady aim. He also kept on guard, ready to rev up to continue its movement.[i]Haha, as if. This kind of tank is endure or die. There's no evasive maneuver. Still, I'm confident in its armor.[/i] He added bitterly in his mind.

[b]"Sing, baby sing! I want pretty explosions!" [/b]He cheered upon the tank's firepower.