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Poetry. Lance Corporal Charpentier, or Jean as he would like to be called, was writing Poetry. Britta didn't know much about poetry, if anything at all. She wasn't educated very much, even her writing and reading skills were something that was taught and learnt by her own efforts from her friends back in Westershelde. She made that known to him. [b][color=F52713]"I don't know much about poetry. Maybe even nothing at all. I grew up in a farm. Poetry is not something people do around there."[/color][/b] Brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face, Britta nodded. 

[b][color=F52713]"Hmmm..Jean it is then."[/color][/b] The other Lance Corporal also followed suit, and requested her to call him by his first name as well, and she simply gave a nod to that. Jean and Isaac. It was always good to know the names of your leaders. Britta nodded in response when he pointed out the fact that she was a gunner as well. Both of them would be the squad gunners and their comrades would be depending on them, as far as fire support is concerned. Two was always better than one. Plenty of fire support was never a bad thing for an infantry squad to have.

The dark skinned lad with the dark hair introduced himself as Jonnie, and slowly but surely, Britta was starting to get to know the rest of her squad. The more names she knew the better. She most probably would remember them all now, but it was still worth trying anyway right? Jonnie also mentioned that he could help them carrying extra ammunition if they needed, and that earned him a thumbs up from her. That would always be good. These guns tend to eat up plenty of ammo, and who knows how much ammunition they'll need before the battle ends. 

The crowd was beginning to get bigger as each minute passed. The newest one to join them was a pretty blonde by the name of Paloma Violetta. She even gave them a salute and all. Fancy. Thought they only saluted officers though. She did a mental shrug at the thought. Seems like Paloma knew something about Poetry unlike her. Britta would remain silent as the more educated folks began the talk about poetry. Not long after, another newcomer approached. Judging by the weapon he carried and his introduction, this one was a marksman. A sniper. Mikael.