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[sub][color=Silver][i]Garnian Salient: Front Line, August 25th - [b]The Battle of Hill 58[/b][/i][/color][/sub]
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[color=Silver]	Once his feet began to move in full motion, the grogginess of the exterior world had started to take its largest effect. A twisted sinkhole or two could be seen breaking down the advances of some of the central ranks, ones in which left them vulnerable to a wall of steel and iron. The pits of mud were rather well concealed and seemed to offer little chance of survival. One group of three, who still seemed to be advancing together as a collective of friends and long-time allies, were unfortunate enough to fall into one of those deep muddy pits, where the soil sunk up to their knees and instantly halted their quickened advance. They looked panicked and scared as to the trap they'd fallen to, and within seconds their bodies were littered with the bullets of the Imperials, dropping their bodies down into the mud permanently. Jean tried his hardest to not let the sight get to him, but a strain in his head and the ringing within his ears suggested otherwise. Dirt was thrown into the air as small arm explosives were detonated from the top of the hill downwards. Either they were fragmentation bombs chucked from atop of the defensive positions or they were mines buried into the less soggy areas of the hill, however Jean couldn't care any less about their specific identity and instead focused on trying to avoid being caught within a blast radius.

	The right seemed to have only a small relief of pressure on its side as the mainline machine guns were not as volatile towards that direction. Whilst the odd burst or two from the tip of a stationary HMG did bring down those who chose the path, it was mostly the singular bolts of rifles that were accurately putting down the soldiers who ran blindly up that way. It was hideous and awful to admit that the only tactic provided was to reach the hill's peak. 58 metres of soil, debris and gunfire was asking far too much without a solid strategy, though it seemed clear that there weren't many they could use.

	Jean continued to run, keeping his head low and his right hand atop of his loosened helmet. Keeping up with the group who chose to follow him was quite a difficult task, and it was clear that most of them were relying on reaching the piece of broken debris located halfway up the hill. They were the scarce remains of what used to be a place of worship and community, a church of sorts, but had now been reduced to a few high piles of bricks and the odd half a pillar that remained standing. It was only a few metres before him and yet Jean could still feel a bullet or two slapping against the splattering mud only inches away from his legs and body. Coming so close to the face of death was terrifying on all accounts, and Jean knew that the relief of this cover would only be so temporary. And so, he dove towards the cover and compressed his body into a cowering stance as he hoped to have landed behind it safely, to which he had. Within the few seconds he had of arriving there, those he'd met before that had chosen to follow him and the waves of other fresh faces soon joined him, hoping to catch some relief and guidance as well. Jean looked up, turning around to see who'd joined him.[/color]

[color=Aqua][b]"W-Where's a Sergeant? Or anyone with Chevrons?"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]The mutter he made to himself was a valid question but only provided the darkest of answers. Everyone before him were in the same shoes as him, except without the unprivileged rank of Lance Corporal and instead that of a lowly Private. There was no senior NCO or officer in sight, and those who'd joined him from behind one of the few pieces of cover soon let him register that they all had the same mindset as he: to find a plan of action. Jean realised that he, being one of a few Lance Corporals, was in charge of assorting the sortie with whatever means he could come up with. A great deal of instantaneous pressure weighed itself down upon his gut and forced him to shudder on the inside.[/color]

[color=Orange][b]"There 'e is, Lance...Face first in th'mud!"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]One random face clearly had heard his quizzing and intrigue and pointed towards the destination of the fallen target. It was barely recognisable, the corpse, as the contrast of blood agains this uniform was far too little. All that remained was the somewhat exaggerated additional pieces to his combat gear, including the ceremonial sabre that was strapped to his waist and the triple chevrons of the Sergeant's insignia. Jean looked upon him in horror and sorrow, noticing that even those who presented a strong attitude were deemed unworthy of survival. Jean looked from his men and women towards the body again, then slightly above the cover they all resided behind. The distance and details above of their enemy defences were far too blinded by the distance and exaggeration of the erupted battlefield, meaning he couldn't effectively function without the proper ordering equipment. It was a strange coincidence to see, but the Sergeant's fresh body seemed a likely candidate to holding those tools he deemed necessary. Jean gulped, and looked towards those with their eyes upon him.[/color]

[color=Aqua][b]"U-uhh...Hold here. Don't...Don't move unless you need to but don't stay here for too long. I...I don't know if they have artillery on our position, and they might do s-soon. Just...I'll be a second, if..."[/b][/color] [color=Silver]Jean didn't want to admit that his instinctive response to the situation was to put himself before those around him. There was something deep within him that kicked harshly at his heart and soul for what he was about to do, one that made him consider why he was putting so many before himself. And thus, he quickly ran forward into the wake of the open gunfire, towards the corpse of the Sergeant. Without hesitating, he quickly began to rummage around the body, feeling the wisp of bullets fly and crackle above his head narrowly. It was an almost idiotic move, but what else could he do to make a difference? Within a few seconds he had looted the poor body of its binoculars, before he started to drag it towards the cover everyone was behind. A few soldiers he'd been standing with were yelling at him, but were drowned out by the unrelenting tone of gunfire. And as he nearly got towards them, he suddenly felt it hit his head.

	The pressure and sudden force threw him onto his side, beside the corpse. From an outsider's perspective, and judging by the sparks and furious noise it had made, anyone would have expected the bullet to have gone through his head and end him right there. Jean was stunned and bewildered, laying somewhat still for a few seconds as he collected what had just happened. He didn't blame anyone for thinking he'd just been killed, but as the bullet had struck his helmet at such an angle that he'd seen it rebound there was still life within him. After a minute of laying in the cold mud, collecting his place, he began to move once more and rekindle those who may have been worried about his demise. He finished the job, pulling the Sergeant's corpse into the cover and laying it down against the wall.

	Jean's breath was uncontrollable, sporadic and truly amongst the messes of the battle. He could barely hold himself straight after the experiences of sight, sound and touch the battle had given him so far. All around them, more and more soldiers were still moving to scale the hill, and a vast majority of them were still being shot as they went. Jean was able to see a few on their way to the top, some getting very close to the objective but halting themselves at the close encounters of the machine guns. From there, he whipped out the binoculars he'd scavenged to gain a better insight of what they were heading up. Once more, he saw nothing more than a scarce landscape of mud and treachery towards Mother Nature, but now the advantageous mind of his own creativity began to sink in. Training within boot-camp taught him a few ways to utilise different forces, and the first few days he spent on the rear line allowed him to talk to other experienced soldiers for tactics. A basic, yet possibly effective, plan was constructed within his mind. Jean stared back at the others, his hands shaking violently from the shock of a bullet narrowly missing his head completely. The mark in where the bullet scraped by was still visible atop of his steel pot. In reality, Jean needed the soft touch or comforting of a fellow beauty to soothe his mind, but he simply sat there, trying to formulate a plan for their benefit, not his.[/color]

[color=Aqua][b]"I...I see potential pushing lines. Gunners, you can...you can suppress them from behind this cover, use the bipods and just keep their heads down. If you kill 'em, that's a bonus, but just try to relieve the stress off of us. Everyone else push forward. Once we are about to hit the top, there are several f-foxholes for us to jump in. Shocktroopers can throw bombs into the trenches to try and distract or clear out the front part, then we prepare for close quarters combat and clear out the trench at the top. U-Understood?"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]And despite his anxiety and panic, Jean began to take charge of the situation.[/color]