[hider=A Familiar Front]

[center][i][b]"Schießen sie! Schießen!"[/b][/i]

[i][color=8493ca]The words have rung out in Gercke's mind every night. With every trigger pulling back, with every pin piercing, with white-gray powder filling the air, he is brought back to Wörth where the man had watched so many of his brothers in arms collapse to the ground only to never pull themselves back up. The smell of copper and sulfur permeated the air. It would infest his nasal passages and expand into a consuming cloud that filled his lungs and made it hard to breathe. Nobody could see, at least he was sure he could not. Gercke's finger gently trembles as he motions to pull the trigger.[/color]

BANG!

[color=8493ca]A French soldier crashes through the hellscape's mist and falls lifeless ahead of him. The young Prussian conscript is stunned and horrified but one of his comrades shoves him to break his fixation. Only a moment later, hundreds of shots would erupt from an enemy formation beyond view and shred the defensive perimeter. The one who had just come to his rescue was quickly riddled with lead. The panic sets in, he cannot bring himself to his feet as the attackers move inward. The sounds of their boots echo throughout Gercke's mind and send him into a frenzy.

He begins to scream as he finds himself overwhelmed on all cognitive fronts and cannot manage to pull himself together. The Bavarian boy can only think of his own demise as the formation quickly advances on him. Their lumbering shadows project into the foggy battlefield only illuminated by the shots of his allied forces using hit and run tactics in the nearby trees. The French cannot stand up to this but hold their ground. As one spots Gercke through the haze, he breaks rank to pursue his enemy. The tip of the bayonette glints in the low light and he cannot bring himself but to obsess in a slowing moment of clarity but to focus on it and embrace the coming death. However, this is cut short by a popping sound overhead. Blazing shrapnel rains overtop the canopy and seeds each of the French and Gercke with vicious strips of metal before the scene finally fades to black.[/color][/i][/center]
[/hider]

Guilhartz is jolted awake into a cold sweat. His pupils dilated while his heart races, he poses a simple question that he suspects he already knows the answer to [i]"will I be able to run far enough?"[/i]

Now on the other side of the world in a country where nobody knew his name but, for the most part, he could blend in rather well, he definitely considers himself better off than back home. There is a long pause while the man blankly stares at a small black scorpion shining in the light that peeks through the window. It meanders back and forth while drawing his gaze, but he never once truly registers the event as occurring. Within moments, the traveling deserter rubs his eyes and stands up.

It is not much here. This, 'land of the free, home of the brave,' was exactly that. He found himself spinning in circles with so many places to go and so many things that need to be done, but Guilhartz never had a skillset beyond his fondness for reading and his linguistic skills. Maybe someday he could change the world, but if he were to even take the first step on that journey, it would be prudent to come into some money. That could not be done renting himself out as indentured for a place to stay.

He would tie his hair up and struggle to view his reflection in the dusty, murky glass panes on the slightly leaning window frame and sigh. There were numerous issues with his appearance, in his opinion, but he was sure he would at least blend in with the rest of the settlers out here.

The door opens as he sidles his way out onto the walk above the saloon where he would look down to the patrons he had been residing alongside for the past couple days and then to his empty pockets. He would sigh, and feel a great unease at a few immodest women with no concerns for their dress. Some spoke to men nearby, and others would eye the Bavarian like he was a piece of exotic luxury that they had to get their hands on. This would shame him into lowering the brim of his cap as he walked past. A man must never indulge without reason.

Patrons weren't roaring between one another today like they usually had been. After descending into the saloon itself, Guilhartz would soon hear hushed words about the Jefferson massacre. The idea that this land is still just as brutal as the one he had fled horrifies him and he begins to reminisce about the escalating European conflicts... but not for too long. Within moments, the man was sitting alone in the furthest corner of the room so that he could keep an eye on all around him. It was a challenge for him to be able to read English but with its similarities to German, he manages to survive. Strange American words, however, consistently catch him off-guard. He is not familiar with the standards and customs of the saloon, much less any people in North America, so he surveys his pool of options until he can find something to his liking.

However, when a woman with the striking visage of a cardinal bursts through the doors, he watches.

Even more peculiar, a man who appeared quite beleaguered approaches her to gossip, he can read the room. The two draw more looks and interest than any of the other brown or gray coats in here. With one glance towards the piano adjacent to him, Guilhartz freezes for a moment then plays it safe. He rises from the corner and wanders his way towards the bar. However, with no money, he wouldn't be able to make an order. Even worse, he was aware that if no destination was found on his way up there that he would not be able to remain incognito. Regardless, he would move to the front of the establishment and endeavor to peer through the window into the street with the hope of learning something new in spite of his communicative shortcomings.