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The sapper had a short conversation with the man of color, shortly as the ranks began to cram into the narrow short and disgusting trench. Before he was silenced by the Sergeant passing by the lads, he learnt that this guy's name was Jovan, or Jonnie that he would like to be called. And then, all became void. Nothing was said, nothing was done. It was like everything had gone dead. Everybody. Artilleries stopped, guns ceased - for a while that is. The only thing keeping people from going insane from the silence was the constant drips of water coming from the heavens. Michael did not know it was blessings or curses. He was inclined to the latter, as he was sure the trenches would be dripping in mud, and the battlefield would be too wet and slippery to move properly. 

In any minutes now, he would be standing on No Man's Land. And any seconds after that, he may either be inside the enemy's trenches, or lying face-first in the mud. Michael tried not to drift his eyes to the front. Silently, his hand found its way onto a rosary inside his pocket. He was told to put all personal belongings into a bucket, and would be able to later get it back if he survived another day, but he did not put this one. It was the only thing keeping him in check and giving him just a little bit of faith in face of this predicament. His hand fiddled with the rosary, whilst the other ones placed on his forehead. Then on his belly. And then finally on his two shoulders. [i][color=bf00ff]'May God have mercy on our souls.'[/color][/i] He silently prayed. 

[color=gray]"Are you religious, by any means?"[/color] 

A whisper suddenly broke the silence. Looking right over to his right, he saw a young girl, seemingly only barely enough to legitimately be here, or maybe even younger, with brown braided hair hanging on her shoulder, asking him directly, her eyes looking right at his hand that just made the cross. She looked genuinely curious, but not without a smile on her face. Reminded Michael of all the country girls back in Tyrelia: nice, diligent and cute. At the time he had the dream of marrying one of them, but they were just an arrow whizzing through his mind at the time. Michael did not speak, but he did return her with a nod, to which the girl smiled bigger before tapping his shoulder.

[color=gray]"Don't worry, if we do our job then he will take care of us all."[/color] She said. 'He' huh? She must have shared the same belief. Yet her eyes did not hold fear. It seemed as if she could pierce through the walls to hell in any heat of a second now. Michael couldn't help but admire that, but he wondered how long could that mentality keep up. She'd probably never been shot at ever before, nor had she shot anyone dead. But at least, Michael should try and cling onto that now. Yeah, he'll get us through this. Just do the job right.

Michael was about to ask her for her name, but before he could, the Lieutenant from before came into the trench, holding a large sabre as he delivered a speech to the entire squad. How it drips with propaganda. Just typical stuff of glorifying the Federation's act while demonizing the Imperial Alliances. Not being a fascist here, the Imperials did shut down a lot of citizen's freedom and rights, but their ideology in itself was not demonic in any way, and a more important face is that they kept millions of people fed everyday, years to years, and the Federation was the one shutting that down. He'd been there. He knew it. That all of this romantic arousal was all bullshit.

But he had a point that Hill 58 was an important strategic position. It was high ground, so whoever holds that can dominate the area. But also because of that same aspect that made this battle an 'uphill' one. The Imperials had the high ground, so that meant they had the advantage here. But this seemed to be the only chance to take the hill, the only one in months. So he was seeing it from the horizon that Middleton would bestow the Pawn policy upon the soldiers - of not one step back. But he didn't see this coming. A little girl. This Private Lucia Farris. She was bestowed upon a task that Michael couldn't say whether she was lucky or not. She was to shoot her OWN comrades, if they retreat without orders. Just...what in the bloody hell was that? Not some cold-hard ass veteran, but a girl barely even reached the age of twenty told to shoot her own teammates. A boil of anger rose inside the sapper as he saw the girl's tears running down her own cheeks. She was too young. This wasn't war. This was a crime. Uncivilized crime. But what could he do? Shoot him? Then he'd be shot himself. Tell him otherwise? He wouldn't listen, judging from his tone. Furthermore he was way above the chain of command. He was the army's rook or knight while Michael was just a puny pawn. So he had no choice, but to silently look forward and begged that no one was broken enough to run away. 

When the command was called, he reached for his bayonet and twisted it into the muzzle. His heartbeat hounded his consciousness, yet he only blinked. He knew he was scared, but this was not the time. It would affect him, and it would also affect the girl next to him, everybody around. For now, until then, he'd have to keep this up. Like one of his Lance Corporals and the girl said, remember the training, do the job and pray that a bullet does not find its way to the head.

It was time.

The whistle couldn't come any better. Loud and clear, the order was given. War cries were shouted, and the ranks began to charge forward. For a moment, it was like a tidal wave. And for that split second, Michael thought that if he could ride on this wave, he could actually stand a chance. But how naïve was that in a moment thought...

The braided girl was among the first row to charge forward. Michael was right behind her. He grabbed the ladder tightly, step by step, he ascended to the Earth, to the line of fire. But as he finally turned his eyes to the front, to look at the enemy straight, what he saw wasn't that. It was somebody's back. Particularly, that girl he just talked to. She fell right on top of him, pushing him off the ladder and back onto the muddy trenches. 

[color=bf00ff]"Argh."[/color] He at first didn't realize what just happened. His eyes were up at the sky, and that everybody was running past him. And as he looked up, the girl was on top of him, motionless. Quickly realizing he was back in the trenches, he slapped the girl's back as he said.

[color=bf00ff]"Come on, get up, we have to-"[/color] 

And that moment, his hand was soaked. Not from the rain, not from mud...but blood. That red juicy liquid. Oozing out of the girl like a stream. He immediately feared the worst. He turned to lift the girl's head and shoulders up. She was still twitching, but nothing came out of her eyes anymore. Nothing. Just seconds ago, her eyes were so lively. She was talking to him. The smile was bright, her skin was colorful. Yet now it was all gone. Skin paled, eyes lost all energy. She is dead...

[color=bf00ff]"I..."[/color]

He wanted to say something, but the thousand words that was built up inside his vocal chord was clogged. Nothing came. And so was the same for his eyes. Nothing came. The few things that came next were all automatic. He pushed her body out of the way, with the help of a kind soldier. He searched for the weapon that he dropped in the fall as he heard a Sergeant that just climbed the ladder yelling at him to come up or he'll shoot. He heard it, but he didn't even flinch. He made his way to the ladder anyway, this time without anyone falling on him. There he finally got to see No Man's Land for the first time. It uncovered right before his eyes. He thought he was dead and had gone to hell. Bullets were everywhere, mixed across with the drops of rain, tears and blood. No second passed without a man falling dead, just within a small area of a few hundred yards. But like Middleton said, no turning back. A sure death if he turned back now. 

And with that, the sapper made his way up the hill. In the hail of gunfire, over the muddy field and piles of dead soldiers, he pushed forward.