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[sub][color=Silver][i]Garnian Salient: Rear-Lines, August 25th - [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nZq_jeYsbTs][b]Flash of Reality[/b][/url][/i][/color][/sub]
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[color=Silver]	Before he knew it, more and more of the familiar and unfamiliar faces within Platoon 9 were retreating to their location. The 15th Atlantic Rifles as a whole seemed to have taken extreme damage and casualties on that fateful day, August 25th, 1914EC, where those who survived were to be branded with the mental images of the now-deceased. Jean didn't know if he should have felt safe, relieved or saddened by the few waves of incoming survivors returning to the frontline, but as some of them had returned, the distant sounds of gunfire had started once more. As expected, the Imperial counter-attack had begun, and it was only a matter of a few seconds in which the Fusiliers managed to reinforce the frontlines before they gained a chance to take the hill swiftly. The constant repetition of a machine gun's barrel kept him awake, but speechless. First came Michael, who praised the three in a melancholic fashion for being alive and well, if Jean could even consider himself well. Then came Isaac, who was another NCO of course. He'd been lugging around a huge amount of gunner gear, and so his later arrival made sense, but it was Franz's who got him the most.

	Jean stared at him in silence when he came with nothing more than a bloody report. It was one that spouted of names, names he didn't personally know nor realise how close he truly was to them. Private...Mila...Wagner? Shrapnel was her apparent death, and the sounds of it made Jean simply tremble with mixed emotions. He stared down at his hands, knowing that they were still covered in the blood of other Federation soldiers, ones who had lost their lives to the indefinite expulsion of human life. Once again, he looked to Kalisa and Diana for advice, but no words left his mouth at the time. Even when Diana called him a sweetheart, something that would usually send him into a bulky wave of flustering and emotional appreciation, he stared with nothing more than the fear in his eyes. Was this truly the war everyone had been indulging and suffering from for the past three years? Was this genocidal tendency of extreme calamity truly worth all that there was to gain? Was it the Empire who were at fault, or the Federation who gave in to the unnerving creation of slaughter? Why was this all happening now, in what was the young man's youth and day of supposed joy? Jean couldn't help but shake, shuddering to himself as he once again looked back down to those bloody hands of his.

	Turning his head towards the hill once more, where the smoke of gunfire was once again visible. The battle had continued again, and the faces of those who'd not partaken in the charge seemed almost unfazed, knowing that this constant cycle of silence, bombardment and gunfire was something of the normality. Humanity had dipped itself into the cold and miserable pits of hell, and had also evolved into something more dangerous than the bullets they were firing. It was almost tragically poetic, knowing that even in the silence of the war there was still nothing of value or happiness, minus the few moments of camaraderie and continuous support for one another. Jean knew that there were still things going on up on that hill, and suddenly he felt himself walking forward towards the firing step of the rear-lines once more. As he ascended, he turned back to the group who'd already retreated and simply nodded, muttering something in immense stressful pain and aggression.[/color]

[color=Aqua][b]"I'm going back, just to see if there's anyone else who needs help. Do not leave the trench...That's...That is a direct order."[/b][/color] [color=Silver]For once, there was a slight chivalry and authority in his tone, but now he'd already dictated that the forces behind where they'd just retreated from were still in dire need of inspection. The Lieutenant was not yet back, or visible as a matter of fact, and the confirmation had to be made by someone. Besides, he was but a lowly Lance Corporal. It was his first battle. No one would really know if he went missing in the dead of the battle's noon. And so, he ascended, quickly beginning to run back up the hill.

	As he ran, he [i]felt[/i] as if there were bullets still flying towards him, much like the previous ascendance of the hill. However, there was nothing of the sort. All that remained on the hill were the craters, bodies that had yet to be cleaned from the original charge and the fresh new faces of Fusiliers and Mortar teams dragging their equipment up for the next defence. It was a second stage of the battle that Jean and the Atlantic Rifles would not partake in whatsoever, yet Jean still found himself running towards to see what there was to see. A strange rope had already coiled around his body and began to reel him in towards the madness, as if he were forcing himself to see the desolation of life and peace once more. The second clamber up the hill was not nearly as long as the first, especially without the obstructions in the way, but the closer sounds of Federation guns shooting down the opposite slope of the hill kept him in a state of paranoia and nauseating worry.

	Finally. He reached that surface of hell once more. Before him, now cleared by the departing of smoke and debris, were the bodies of those who remained. Some were legless, others armless or headless altogether. Some were strewn up in tightly compact renditions of the human body whilst others were simply open, spilling all they had inside out. Most were simply being stepped over by the Fusiliers who reinforced the frontline. Constantly, they were shooting downwards towards what could only be the newly made Imperial frontline, having an advantage that outranked all that the Imperials had to offer in that moment. Jean stood on the trench's edge, not wandering back inside for the fear of tainting himself with their innocent blood once more. Yet it didn't matter...

	As promised, Jean saw the Lieutenant finally rise from the trench's depths and confirm that he was indeed the last one to leave. In his arms was [i]her[/i], Private Lucia Farris. He seemed to have her tightly clutched, as if protecting her, yet Jean truly didn't now the reasons behind it. Her head seemed to be slightly bruised with a small litter of scratches and blood drifting across it. She was alive, nonetheless, but heavily intoxicated by her fear to the point of having passed out. Jean didn't know whether or not to commend the Lieutenant for supposedly saving this girl, but then he remembered that this was the same man who was forcing her to kill those who retreated earlier on. These conflicting emotions once again left Jean teary in the eye.[/color]

[color=0AB100][b]"Lance Corporal! What the fuck are you still doing here? Didn't I tell your Darcsen-arse to get back down to the rear-lines?"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]Nothing was clearly different with the aristocratic beast. Once again, his gun-barrel was smoked with the vapour of recent shots having spurt from it. Even through the oppressive tone he held, there was still a sense of calmness, making Jean truly question how much shit this man had been through to get this fractured.[/color] [color=0AB100][b]"If the Imps had taken this trench already, and I were dead, you'd have been shot on sight, you fucking muppet!"[/b][/color]

[color=Aqua][b]"S-Sir, I'm...I'm sorry. I escorted as many as I could from the Platoon and Regiment back down to the lines and was just...just..."[/b][/color]

[color=0AB100][b]"You came to see if you could help, but instead found a trench full of your dead brothers and sisters in arms. How tragic..."[/b][/color] [color=Silver]He'd clearly heard it all before. Jean wasn't a unique soldier of cowardice and fear to this Lieutenant. It seemed that apart from his rank, Jean could have always been just a number, if it weren't for his slight authority over the rest and his surviving position within the unit.[/color] [color=0AB100][b]"Look, if you don't control those emotions of yours and start thinking with that dark-head of yours, someone will blow it out before you can even say: Blighty. Feel lucky that there weren't any Imperials, yet, to do that. Now help me get the damn Private back down the hill. There's no one else left for us to evacuate, so we'll head back and call it a day."[/b][/color]

[color=Aqua][b]"C-Call it a day, Sir?"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]Jean was truly unsure of how to react to the statement. He'd just been through hell and back without any rest, and he simply was told to rest it off and prepare for their new [i]assignment[/i] Middleton had previously teased about.[/color]

[color=0AB100][b]"Yes, you absolute tosser...This is war. Dwell on something, even defeat, for too long and someone'll have your head. We'll get to the trenches, get to the rear lines, have a cuppa or two, rest it off in the dugouts and then prepare for a final register tomorrow before we leave by train. Do I make myself clear?"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]Jean's head dropped down to another defeated look. He watched and drifted his eyes back down to the rear-lines he'd just ran back up from, seeing the silhouettes of his newfound friends and comrades. How long was it going to be until they were ripped from his clutches? The sudden confidence of Isaac? The sincerity of Michael? The experience and hardened outlook of Franz? The beautiful faces of both Kalisa and Diana? All of these individuals were under the same constant threat as the victims, like Mila, were: imminent and unprecedented death. However, it was what the Lieutenant said on their way down as Jean helped carry the poor Lucia down. Even in this crippled state, her body felt soothing and warm even to the touch, her smooth skin having rested upon Jean and the Lieutenant's for a few minutes as they helped bring her down. Jean listened to Middleton's words, pondering in sadness over what he truly meant about it.[/color] [color=0AB100][b]"Trust me, Lance Corporal...I know what it is like to lose everything in war. Reality is a bitch. Let it get to you, and you'll only turn into me."[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	The two returned to the trench and placed Lucia down beside Michael, Franz and Isaac, before Middleton swore under his breath to Jean not to utter a word about the final sentence he'd said to him. Jean complied to his harsh orders and simply kept quiet, his eyes watering up once more. Without meeting the eyes of anyone within his newfound group of friends, Jean simply uttered a few words before turning to retreat.[/color]

[color=Aqua][b]"Rest easy. Take care of Lucia. She passed out. She's scared. Nurture her to good health. That's...that's all. I'll be back later. When you're ready, go lie down in the bunks in the rear line. Tomorrow we wake up early. Train departure."[/b][/color] [color=Silver]Everything about what he said was shrouded in a tremble, as the thought of sadness and the flow of hidden tears became apparent to those closest to him. Jean moved away quickly, making sure to disappear from the group as they gathered restlessly in the retreating trench. Jean moved quickly. Turning corners, over and over again, he bypassed the communications trench to lose himself from the harsh reality he'd experienced on that fateful day. Jean was crying, broken in his mind towards what everything had thrown onto him and the Platoon. And thus, when he reached the rear lines of the sappers, reserves and those who did not partake in the charge, he sat down in the darkest, wettest and murkiest of corners in that more solemn trench and stared into the abyss before him.[/color]

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