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Britta felt herself getting pulled up, and jerked her head towards the offending source only to get an eyeful of rugged snarling sergeant. Turning into another direction only earned her another death glare from none other than Lieutenant Middleton himself. If glares could kill, this one could definitely have killed her before any enemy bullets did up above the trench. She forced herself up proper and got ready her weapon, cradling the barrel of her machine gun as she lined up with the others and got ready for the inevitable to happen. Thankfully, she wouldn't be among the first to charge, that would fall upon the ranks of the shock troopers and the rank and file riflemen. As she gazed towards Jean, she thought that she'd seen him glancing towards her way, but their eyes didn't meet as his were turned away by the time hers landed upon him. 

Britta wondered how the poem-loving lance corporal would do in the upcoming battle. How would fate deal with him? Would he be dealt a severe blow and die the moment he rushed up top? Or would he live towards the end as he brought the rest of the platoon to victory? These thoughts were not going to be answered anytime soon and by no one in particular. She simply had to wait and see. If she even had the luxury to afford to do so. Perhaps she may even not have the chance to do so. She tried to keep her spirits up thinking of how many Imperials soldiers she could kill later on. While the other soldiers began to fix the bayonets to their rifles, Britta tried her best to remain as stoic as ever, giving her best attempt to keep the fear away from her face. Despite that, her heart was thumping rather loudly in her chest. 

She reckoned that it was a mixture of anxiety, fear and trepidation that made it ever so loud, like beating drums echoing in her ears. Machine guns weren't calibrated to be fixed with bayonets like all other heavy weapons and her best bet was to keep her distance as far away from the enemy as possible, hopefully mowing down enough so that they didn't have the chance to get close. If that happened, all she had was her trench knife. Hell, why didn't they even had a sidearm, a pistol? Britta unsheathed her knife, taking a quick look at its recently sharpened blade and sheathed it back once more. She hoped she didn't need to use it just yet. It was supposed to be a weapon of last resort.

To deter any of the soldiers from thinking of retreating, the Lieutenant had picked a young innocent looking girl (who looked way too young to even be on the battlefield) and gave her the orders to shoot anyone returning from the front lines that wasn't an officer. Such equality they had there. So officers were allow to retreat then? He probably officers like him were too valuable to kill if they were the retreating type. Britta stifled a snort just as it was emerging, turning it into a half-snort instead. Turning grim and serious again once more, she hoped that she would not find herself in a situation where the younger girl would have to shoot her. Their target was Hill 58, and that alone was quite a challenge to get there before they could even contest it. There was quite a bit of open land where swaths of gunfire would be ready to mow them down, and even as inexperienced as she was, Britta knew that plenty of them would die before the outcome of the Battle of Hill 58 would be decided.

The moment finally arrived as Britta heard the loud squeal of the officer's whistle. Shouts and yells filled the air as the men and women began climbing up the trenches as they charged into the battlefield. It wouldn't take very long at all before the first casualties of the battle began racking up. Some didn't even had a chance to take more than a foot onto the war-torn land, struck by the wave of bullets that flew through the air. Eventually it came to her turn to go up the ladder, and with her heart still thumping ever so loudly, she hefted her weapon and charged into war.