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[sub][color=Silver][i]Garnian Salient: Front Line, August 25th - [b][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jH9y57GYAbQ]The Battle of Hill 58[/url][/b][/i][/color][/sub]
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[color=Silver]	It was a shock to see the first volley come so successful. Initially, the shocktroopers threw their ragnite bombs into the opposing trench quickly in large clusters. A few panicked shouts from Imperials notably noticing the approaching tools of explosive destruction filled the air. It was as if they had seen the legendary Valkyria on the battlefield, which in of itself was a myth that could never be relieved. A second volley was tossed, this time from those who weren't shocktroopers. It became a realisation, to Jean, that these were people suddenly switching in their human natures. They were almost programmed to act, and to kill, for their own sake. One, the notable sweetheart that had falsely complimented his facade of bravery, pulled the pins on an Imperial corpse before shoving it back inside the trench. And as the final few bombs landed within the trench, everyone covered their ears and heads from any falling debris. The explosion shuddered the foundations of Europa's soil, physically moving the small fragments of earth beneath their roughened boots. The once human shouts of realisation and panic were soon drowned out by the inevitable expansion of ear-piercing white noise. A ghostly shatter broke the once peaceful repertoire caused by the machine-gun's cannonade. The orchestration of automatic fire was temporarily ceased when the ignition of shrapnel and handheld discharge spilt blood from those still pestering within that quadrant of the trench. A sharp pain spun in Jean's inner-guts as he was brutally reminded that despite not acting upon the detonation, it was his idea to commit to such brutality. His eyes widened and his breath drew short. A heavy burden lay itself upon his shoulders with a wide reach, pampering him with self-loathing and discriminatory backlash.

	When the explosions were finished, the conclusion opened a window of opportunity for those committed to the war already. Some of the subjectively [i]braver[/i] companions within Jean's platoon were quick to take the mantle, rushing inside with their bayonets. One woman in particular bespoke of a ruined ritual that showed chaotic nightmares in her wake. Jean froze, not getting up in fear of what this woman was doing. She'd risen from the ashes of the explosions she'd set off and vowed revenge on some small individuals he did not know of. Her violent underlining terrified him, making him realise that within seconds people had the chance to lose their innate humanity for that of a barbarian.

	More and more were following in her footsteps and Jean could her the first few shots from the barrels of the Longfields. Those insane enough to make the first move were quick to jump in, leaving Jean and a few others to struggle as he tried to find his own courage. Eventually, Jean arose from his foxhole and slowly began to ascend the final few steps of the hill, watching over the trench around him. What laid within those trenches was far worse than what he'd ever experienced thus far.

	Men and women were engaged closely in hand to hand combat. Those with loaded and bolted shots at the ready quickly aimed and fired. Several soldiers were still injured from the explosions and stood no change from those like the madwoman who violently led the charge. He remembered the words that the crazy female had said, about how the only way out was through the mess. But before him laid more than hell and dirt, but instead the destabilisation of mankind's own intrinsic and virtuous ethical standards. Jean, a lowly Darcsen, felt as if he could look out in disgust at the race that had descended to such atrocity. Those who looked kind and sweet before were being forced to react, taking their sharpened bayonets and striking them deeply into the chests of their adversaries. Human life was being extinguished like the fires of nearby forests almost instantaneously. Around him [i]was[/i] war, but not in the way his homeland had portrayed it. Jean's instincts were to descend himself into the trench, making sure his comrades weren't alone in the struggles, but he soon realised how much of a mistake it was.

	Some were already struggling in the narrow corridors, but where Jean had landed placed him directly in front that of another Imperial, one who seemed to carry similar versions of his own native gear. A rifleman, most likely, judging by his gear. The two stared at each other in almost unified disbelief of the terror around them, but Jean was late to raise his rifle first. The Imperial, only about four metres before him, raised his gun and aimed it directly at Jean, slowing down the passage of time. Was he staring in death's own jaws? But where the bullet didn't eject instead came the unforgiving click of a jammed rifle. Jean was stunned as the Imperial looked back down at his rifle, realising the mistake of its muddy components. Jean raised his rifle without hesitation, for once, and quickly pulled the trigger.

	The rush. It was unbearable. The recoil felt almost nothing like it had during training. Almost throwing itself from his hand, Jean saw the muzzle flash signify where his hostile's end began. A spout of blood shot from his chest and almost exploded from the compartment that was hit. A gaping tear sprang through the Imperial's freshly made uniform, one that had been clean before the battle had started. Whatever he'd shot, it was effective in instantaneously ending his foe, one that he questioned. Jean's eyes widened as the foe dropped, letting him stand there amidst the chaos with shocked arms by his side. He couldn't reflect upon the moment for long before a large blunt object slammed into the rear of his helmet, knocking him down to the ground quickly.

	Jean's face collided with the bloody dirt, blending that maroon substance with the pale and tainted face he carried upon his weakened shoulders. The concussion wasn't enough to keep him stunned for too long as he rolled onto his back, seeing the figure that had attacked him. Another Imperial, this time dressed in the plates of iron worn by shocktroopers, lifted a fist to slam into Jean's face. It was a quick punch, one that brought a lot of pain to the Darcsen man. He could hear the Imperial shout as he landed the first fist onto his cheeks.[/color]

[color=Red][b]"Darcsen scum! It'll be days before we off you all!"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]A second fist rammed into Jean's head, causing him to become woozy and almost lost in place. A large boot slammed into the side of his thighs and rolled him against the walls of the trench, the man seemingly toying with him. It was a terrifying situation to be within, but Jean was determined to try and survive the hellhole for some strange reason. Previously, all hope had been lost, but that wild and feral intention of survival began to kick in. Jean lifted his knees up and kicked the man back, throwing him against the opposite trench wall. It gave him a small window of opportunity to create some distance, allowing the weakened Lance Corporal to leap up and run further down the trench, unfortunately further away from the squad he'd entered with. He'd only managed to muster a few more metres when a shot went zooming past his face, scraping his cheek gently.

	Jean fell. Whilst it hadn't dug into his skin, the opening of his of blood, like a cut from a sharp razor, suddenly caught him of guard and caused him to stumble against the wall before him. Two hands grabbed onto his shoulders from behind, this time from a different soldier, and threw him against yet another set of duckboards. Two were now acting as his hunter, one standing above his head whilst the other at his feet. They held all of his limbs in place for a second, as if he were confined to a bloody stretcher, and tried to draw their own blades. The imperial at his feet had to remove one of his hands in order to reach for his sharpened tool, giving Jean the freedom to kick once more. As he slammed the steel-toecaps of his left boot into the man's throat, aiming to take him away from the action for a few seconds, the once aggressive and toying imperial shocktrooper looked at his friend in surprise. This hesitation, much like the one Jean was accustomed too, gave the Darcsen another opportunity to strike. He freed one of his wrists and suddenly grabbed whatever he could to hsi side. The groggy fingers wrapped tightly around a rock, one sharpened by its natural carvings in the hill, as he threw his arm upwards. The stone harshly slammed against his captors head, throwing him off once and for all.

	Without a moment's rest, Jean got the upper hand, shouting to himself in a faint war-cry of fear and agony. One by one, he began to lower the rock again and again. The man's face began to bludgeon and crack beneath the constant pressure of Jean's assault. Even though he was likely dead from the fourth hit, adrenaline still wounded Jean's mind as he continued to slam. Blood began to stain both of their uniforms. And around the seventh hit, Jean stopped, looking down at his second kill of his life. He froze, started to shake and threw himself off of the body, crawling away backwards against the walls of the trench once more. What had he done? How had he done such a horrible thing?

	During his panic, the man he'd kicked before rose up once more, and was preparing to strike again, when the sudden noise of a clean slice suddenly forced Jean to turn. And like many parts of the battle, he regretted facing it once more. With one single swipe, a large ceremonial sabre had cleanly torn the head of the last aggressor from the shoulders and laid it onto the floor, not too far from Jean's crumbled body. Before him stood...him. And with a strange smug grin, one that was quite surprising to the very least, he began to talk down to the fallen Lance Corporal.[/color]

[color=0AB100][b]"You're supposed to be leading by example, Dark-Hair. Can't have a rag-tag bunch-of-greenhorns messing up the plans now, can we?"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]Jean was still in shock from his beating and the head that Middleton had cleanly swiped from its previous body. There was still life in its facial features yet it was clearly dead. Jean was simply blown away in fear by the terrific presentation of war Middleton had bestowed upon him.[/color] [color=0AB100][b]"Liven up, you coward. They're retreating down the opposite end of the hill. Time to call it some quits whilst our boys shoot them in the back as they run. If you can't handle a simple scuffle like that, Darcsen, then you ain't fit to fight here."[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	The last few imperials who were unable to get out of the trench were quickly ganged up on by the forcing natures of the Federation wave. Those who'd survived the climb and the battle in the trench were eager to sit down, but many were being reported to the opposite end of the trench to inspect the artillery pieces they were called up to claim. Many of the trenches systems were open areas were the large cannons laid, but the tightly weaved segments connected them all together. Now most of them were filled with either corpses or tired Federation soldiers.

	Middleton wandered off, aiming his revolver down and shooting it at a struggling Imperial who was begging for redemption. His departure temporarily left Jean alone, alone long enough to feel the tears pour from his eyes. He started to cry. Jean was crying silently to himself, begging for someone to rescue him from this darkened depression.[/color]

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