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[sub][color=Silver][i]Garnian Salient: Post-Empire Trench Capture, August 25th - [b]Inhumane[/b][/i][/color][/sub]
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[color=Silver]	Kalisa, shining a slight breeze onto the situation with her almost...alluring composure, joked if he wanted her to be jealous. Jean hadn't felt discomfort like this ever in his life, yet it wasn't for any negative reasons. It was more discomfort for the pacing of the situation. Everything was happening so quickly and he seemingly had both a Darcsen mistress and a Edinburgh damsel either side of him, talking to him in very different manners. Jean loosened his collar slightly and tried to keep his calmness at stake. For once, it was the first sign of comfort on the desolate plains of human sacrifice. His mind had been fully detached from the previous suffering they'd endured just over an hour prior, and Jean wasn't too upset about that. Every now and then each person needed their breathing room of humanity, giving their soul a chance to simply let loose and show its true colours. Both of the girls around him seemingly knew that better than he did, and as a Lance Corporal he couldn't help but question whether it was okay to have such a [i]playful[/i] encounter with such a Darcsen. They were similar after all, so he honestly wasn't too bothered about who she was as a person, neither was he for Diana. But the reminder of his rank also allowed for him to recognise her almost patronising tease of his rank, clearly not knowing his name personally.

	Jean fumbled with his own sleeves and ceremonial cufflinks. Unsure of how to respond at first, he could feel himself brighten up as he finally composed his words. For the first time in a while, he managed to speak with clear and almost unhinged dialect. In all fairness, he was quite proud of the way it came out.[/color]

[color=Aqua][b]"I wouldn't know. Maybe you could tell me? And for the record, I prefer to be called Jean. Jean-Robin Charpentier. We're all destined to work alongside one another, some closer than others, so I'd rather be personally involved with all that the Platoon presented. Besides, everyone needs a guiding light amongst darkened paths, even Lance Corporals. Wouldn't you agree, [i]Private Larsen[/i], ma'am?"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]He returned the patronising language back to her, this time with a grin on his face. But soon after saying what he had to, Diana suddenly piped up with something almost unprecedented, even from her apparent straight-forwardness in behaviour.

	Jean was taken even further aback when suddenly, from the depths of naivety and confusion to her own wishes, Diana seemed to let loose an emotion that challenged the playful situation. His face froze for a second, creasing halfway up its left side as he was confused and unsure of how to react to the situation. It was...[i]different[/i]. No one had ever uttered such lustful words, especially in the now quiet battlefields once more. It was almost undeniably adorable, but at the same time it made him uncomfortable. A race of emotions shot from the bottom of his boots and to the top of the strands that spouted from his scalp, beneath his helmet. Jean finally lifted his helmet off, trying to give some air to his Darcsen hair for the first time since the battle fully started. For a moment, he was stunned as to what words he should use. Jean's eyes were clearly taken aback by the sudden sentence, even so much as to garner a reaction from Kalisa. He quickly flashed between the two, but before he could even muster a word, the roughened voice of another male, still within their platoon and age range, cut her confession off.

	Taken from the coldness of his tone, Jean couldn't help but be agonised by his voice. There was nothing really wrong with its sound of course, but as a Lance Corporal he couldn't help but worry about the respect suddenly shoved within his direction. Well, he would be lying if he considered it [i]respect[/i]. Jean wholeheartedly understood the situation and stress of the others, and the distractions he had before him were simply something that took his mind off of the situation. However, Daniel, as he was identified as, was simply right in his own sense. They were amongst the fields of the dead, and Jean's mind suddenly fractured when the [i]comrade[/i] of his reminded him of such trivial behaviour. Jean looked down towards the ground, his eyes widening as he brought his mind out of the colourful environment, before looking around at the murky tones of the world before him. Jean instantly felt himself fall victim to his words, and instantly looked straight into Daniel's eyes. Before he could leave, he made sure he would utter the words of someone who was expected to lead troops, which was still a position Jean was forgetting he held.[/color]

[color=Aqua][b]"I may be spineless, Private, but I can take what you say to heart. Your words have meaning, a meaning that I must...think and use. But I'm not forgetting that I have humanity down below me. If you have anything against this Platoon, I can change my ways if I must really lose myself in this battlefield. I guess that's all we have left now, isn't it, Private? Are we all required to lose our humanity to do an adequate job? You run along...Tell yourself you have the right mind to kill. At least let me remember what I was like before I had a rifle's stock in my shoulder, iron sights trailed on a living, breathing person and more than a dozen men, women and comrade's lives within my very word. Can you deny me of such small pleasures and desirables in this grim world?"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]Daniel wandered off, clearly troubled by his own words. It had downtrodden the mood, and even Diana fell to her knees in order to cry more and more. Once again, the temporary happiness he'd felt, for the first time since that fateful letter with the purple ribbons told him of his own kin's death.

Olivia?[/color]

[color=Gray]Olivia.[/color]

[color=Black]Olivia...[/color]

[color=Silver]	The name stuck within his mind, floating around like a lost weather-balloon in the Summer storms, drifting with anguish and little retribution upon its cold, rubbery outer shell. Jean felt...broken again. It was a happiness that had only been temporary, but the realist reminder of Daniel's outburst did tell Jean something. It told him of the true meaning of the world; Jean was no more a man of the Federation. He was a soldier of his own honour, an honour that never existed in the first place. He had no one, as far as he was concerned. Mother and Father were still at home, or so he thought, waiting for his first letter to come back since he joined the frontlines, but Jean was never able to word the horrors before him. Olivia had given everyone the chance to benefit from doubt by writing about happiness, birds she saw soaring through the Spring trees, yet little did she ever mention the violence that took place. Jean was starting to understand. Jean was starting to realise. Jean was becoming the realist he didn't know he would become. And in that moment of silence, where neither Kalisa or Diana, for just a few seconds, said anything, Jean once again felt as empty as before. He left, silently, trudging through the mud without any knowledge of whether Diana or Kalisa were to follow him.

	But he was a Lance Corporal. Lance Corporals were not allowed to cry. Lance Corporals were not allowed to show fear or spring a leak in their own security. Daniel was right, from what the Darcsen would figure. As much as the two beautiful angels before him were kind and considerate, even one of them had been broken by his cruel revelation. Lance Corporals were not allowed to cry. Lance Corporals were not allowed to show fear. Soldiers...Soldiers were not allowed to be human.[/color]

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[sub][color=Silver][i]Garnian Salient: Post-Empire Trench Capture, August 25th - [b]Cruel Realisation[/b][/i][/color][/sub]
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[color=Silver]	There was little but the smooth coarseness of his chin to move his fingers through. At times like these, he wished to hold a more...[i]sophisticated[/i] collection of facial hair to accompany such muses. Only the odd one or two runners from the other regiments further down the line were reporting to him, and others had apparently stepped on several anti-personnel mines along the way. Even in the bitterness of war, however, Alexander felt little compassion for the faceless before him. If there was one thing that his brutish father had taught him, it was that to be a perfect soldier, he had to abandon that feeling of humanity. There was never a moment where a soldier could aim down the barrel of his gun and see a human. As a 1st Lieutenant, Alexander was a good soldier. They weren't human, to him. The Darcsens. The Imperials. Even members of the Federation proved his point. Was anyone here truly that human, or were they the perfect soldiers he was promised?

	Every now and then, the almost childish giddy chants of victory spoiled from the lips of the greenhorns assigned beneath him. In reality, he was frustrated at the outcome of the charge. Whilst it was successful, and that in itself was a grand relief on his behalf, the losses weren't within his own ideal's favour. Alexander was dependent on his loyalists. Alexander was dependent on those who had dropped all their will to continue serving their nation with morality and lack of jingoism. Most of them were now gone.

	Alexander had spent the first three years of this forsaken war creating his own unique collective of talented soldiers. Amongst the ranks of the 15th Atlantic Rifles, 7th Platoon, were fine specimens who had dedicated their life's work to adjusting to the conflict. Many of the Non-Commissioned Officers around him were hardened and even transferred from his original posting within Edinburgh Fusiliers. There was dedication in their words. However, the charge had not only been costly for his Platoon, and the other platoons who'd been under his command in that singular event, but it had also taken a huge toll on his commanding staff's strength. More than half of his NCOs, mostly compromising of Lance Corporals and Corporals, with several Sergeants, three Staff Sergeants and two Warrant Officers, had been wiped out. Machine-guns had a better advantage than he'd taken, but Alexander was simply glad that his actions had won them a victory. After all, it was about time that the Brass sent him a new wave of boots to be filled from the reserve lines, all from other Regiments awaiting physical assignment.

	What frustrated him, however, was not that their deaths were swift and unnatural, but the fact that there was the need to replace them. Alexander had only ever gained a personal interest in two subordinates beneath him: Staff Sergeant Yuri Bonora...and Private Lucia Farris.

	The former was his friend, one who actually stuck with him since his first recruitment. Whilst Yuri never intended on enlisting through the Officer corps, preferring to keep his closeness with his own soldiers on a personal level, the two were an instant icon from a young age. Alexander was glad to have a single friend, one who drew his attention away from that perfect soldier his father had painted into his mind and system. It gave him humanity, something to look forward to. But when [i]she[/i] came along, almost stealing the youthful Staff Sergeant straight out of his grasp, both of them were murdered in cold blood by the Imperials. The only major friend he ever had was killed. Dead. Deceased. Gone. From that day, Alexander lost that personal touch with his soldiers almost instantly. He headed into solitary vigilance. He dismissed all contact with any former companions within the Regiment, and even transferred to the 15th Atlantic Rifles for such pain he felt. It was the last time he ever felt pain.

	Nowadays there was nothing more lifeless than the common soldier. Alexander knew that to survive he had to abandon that feeling of compassion. Staff Sergeant Bonora was no longer with him because he'd associated with the wrong crowd, the lower classed and expendable infantrymen of the frontlines. Never again was he, as an aristocrat and the final atonement of his father's disciplinary wishes, to render himself as that friendly man, trying to protect each individual. When death came by, more and more, from artillery, bayonet, blade, stone and bullet, he grew further and further away from the sensation of human suffering. All that mattered to him was the war. The war was now his life. It was his soul. It would last forever if he could make it, giving him purpose and...life. Lucia had been someone he'd taken from the new recruits pile. There was something about her he absolutely despised. She never shared the same coloured hair as the Darcsen freak who allured poor Yuri from Alexander's safety, but her voice, kindness and face simply gave him the perfect image. She had to be converted into the perfect soldier too. Lucia was just a canvas awaiting Alexander's paint to adjust.

	But suddenly, his mind was snapped from its place as yet another runner from the Fusiliers and Vinlander Volunteers approached him with a quick and rugged salute. He handed him a small piece of paper, holding several bits of code and small lettering only he could decipher from first glance. A grin sprung up on his face. Staff Sergeant Baker, one of the few who survived the charge, waltzed up and began to assess the situation at hand.[/color]

[color=Orange][b]"Sir...We're awaiting the Sappers to complete their trail and move the artillery up. The men around us are fatigued and tired, but they will stand their posts when you order them to."[/b][/color]

[color=0AB100][b]"As they should be expected to, Staff Sergeant. You don't need to remind me of how I run my Platoon now, do you?"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]A sly glare came from his darkened eyes, meeting William Baker's shortly before turning away. They diverted their tense glare, and he simply denied the clearly sarcastic quotation to his report.[/color] [color=0AB100][b]"By the time we're back on the rear-lines, Mr Baker, we are required to go through a few promotions. Greenhorns will have to fill the boots of those who were...[i]unfortunately[/i] lost in the midst of battle. I'm low on commanding staff, so it is a necessity, don't you agree?"[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	Baker hesitated, shaking his head for a second only to be met with a sharp scold once more. He disagreed, thinking that they required more of the experienced to take that mantle, but even he knew deep down that they lacked such sufficient soldiers who met that quota. Middleton always got the last say on what his Platoon was in terms of composition, and to him it was simply a phase of trial and error. Unless their name was Lucia Farris, he would not make any major attempts to change them into that perfect soldier. She was his [i]exception[/i].[/color]

[color=0AB100][b]"Soldiers are soldiers, Mr Baker. Nothing more, nothing less. We do not treat them any more than they are, because that would be false. The Imperials are likely to attack us soon, and yet half of them aren't preparing their own defences. The weak die, Mr Baker. The weak die and they do nothing more. I must've judged wrongly if my previous Staff had been killed. Strong men, strong women and strong children survive because they are born, coded and shown such ways. My father did that. Your sister, Mr Baker, seems to be taking quite the roadtrip through emotions. I suggest that if you want to continue being a part of my platoon, and to prove to the Imperials that you are indeed strong, then you must dispose of her feelings. Either she reminds herself that deep down she is to be my husk, my soldier and my loyal warrior, much like the entire Platoon is, or she herself will soon face the mud, the blood and the soil that she stands upon. Wouldn't that be [i]tragic?"[/i][/b][/color]

[color=Orange][b]"Y...Yes it would, Sir. I'll...I'll go right away and talk to her, Sir. Just remember that we only have another hour or so left here before we are due to leave. High Command still wants us to Siege out Amone and we'll-."[/b][/color] [color=Silver]He quickly was cut off, yet again, by the voice of his booming superior.[/color]

[color=0AB100][b]"Mr Baker...You have a job to do. Go do it. I'll devise my own preparations, like I always do. And whilst you're at it, please tell Private Lucia Farris to join me in the Officer's cabin of the train ride to Amone. She only just came out of training, and as her first battle, I assume she'll need my...expertise to guide her once more. After all...Soldiers do not feel. Soldiers do not whine. Soldiers, Mr Baker, are not human, and can never be such creatures."[/b][/color]

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