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[sub][color=Silver][i]Garnia Train Station, August 26th - [b]Final Debrief[/b][/i][/color][/sub]
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[color=Silver]	The day had been bleak, very bleak indeed. Not a single crack in the cloudy sky revealed the sunlight they so deared for, and instead the consistency of last night's heavy rain had already taken its toll on the march back to Garnia. Being only around twenty minutes away from the rear-line of the Salient, there was a large field in which they had to cross. Most of the previous duckboards had sunk into the muddy depths of the ground and so it was an unsafe trek all the way back to the [i]safety[/i] of the town. It wasn't dangerous enough for people to lose their lives, though it was more to do with getting their uniform stained before an early inspection, but the journey itself was tiring and painful. The aftermath of said rainfall was simply aggravating and had caused a tonne of grogginess in the world around the 15th Atlantic Rifles, whom were down by two thirds now. Upon their travels, they passed several other regiments who were going to take over the breakthrough into the Salient. Jean had heard about it that early morning, after waking up as early as 4:00am to a distant sound of gunfire. The Fusiliers had apparently broken through the Imperial defences yet again and fully secured the hill to be within Federation territory, showing that the Salient was breaking apart into a more linear frontline. Jean didn't know whether or not to be happy with that consolidation of news.

	The regiment were quite clearly tired. Down to their last 200 or so able fighters, with an extra 50 or so being amongst the injured awaiting transportation back home, they were crippled greatly from the attack on Hill 58. It was obvious that the only solution was that a new wave of new soldiers, along with a few veteran transfers, were required. The night before had Middleton eagerly going around, writing letters and signing morse code to the command stations requesting a new batch of troops along the way to Amone. Approximately an extra 1000 were promised, but whether or not they could be fulfilled was another question entirely. Despite being reduced to merely the size of a single company, the regiment still held its official title and remained as a serviced collective within the fractured Federation Army. Middleton had been at his most tedious with the constant questioning towards his NCOs of their jobs throughout the night, even waking up some of them for five second conversations.

	Jean's eyes were hanging a strange and insufferable amount of bags between them. It was clear that the night had broken him. It had broken him a lot. Middleton had left that fateful letter on his desk for when he went to bed, and when he read it the emotion within him just shattered and fell apart. No longer was there any time to feel, consolidate nor express himself. He looked as if he had died in the Battle before. Jean found out that his parents had been killed four weeks ago.

	It was a measly letter to receive and held some irony with it. Usually the citizens back home received letters explaining the death of a relative on the frontline, much like Jean's own sister and her letter, but in this instance it was almost reversed in some sickly manner. Jean, a serviceman on the frontlines of the Great Europan War, received a tightly compact scripture of sorrow and tragedy. He cried throughout the night, especially when finding out that the war itself hadn't even been the cause of their death. Riots in their homes. Riots in their streets. Beaten to death by the many extremist fanatics that roamed the avenues of a place Jean once called a safe home. Was this truly a week to break Jean apart? It had been a single day, when he'd found out the news, since his first taste of horrific combat and now he had to find this out? Jean was angered, distressed and ultimately pained. He wouldn't have been surprised if those within his regiment had seen him scouting around the trench uneasily throughout the night, whispering to himself and clutching that dear letter like it meant everything to him. Officially, Jean had nothing left for him. Nothing was on the frontline. Nothing was waiting back home. What was he even fighting for anymore?

	Eventually, the dullness of the morning grew even more painful when the remainder of the regiment were told to form up outside the main station to Garnia. Already the town was something of a wreckage. Areas in which artillery shells previous shot from an Imperial-controlled Hill 58 a week before were showered in debris, the remains of homes and sometimes even the odd casualty that had yet to be moved into a grave. Very few civilians roamed the streets and many even gazed at the soldiers on their own side with glaring spite. Jean felt uncomfortable whenever one met their eyes with his and he hoped to simply drown his own view away in Kalisa's, Diana's or even the newcommer Reyna's own gazes. For once, he was simply clinging onto the factor of three perfect friends amongst his regiment for dear life, knowing that if they were to leave him behind and to let go of the hope he saw in them, all would be over for him.

	The formation was simple. Three ranks. Several clusters of three ranks were always the setup. No one was assigned any specific cluster and was simply awaiting for where they'd been allocated upon arrival. Before them all stood the NCOs, all in front of their clusters individuals, whereas Middleton took the Lieutenant's mantle and watched over them with a strange glare. The wind was silent for once. Not one man or woman amongst the crowd uttered a single word of calamity for the time they spent near Middleton's own ruthless presence. Before them all stood the grimness of the sky, an absolute grey without any redeeming colours to provide flavours of joy and hope for the masses. Other regiments who were on temporary R&R watched the lacklustre of manpower that was the 15th Atlantic Rifles. Some stared in woe or nudged the shoulders of their fellow comrades, eyeing at them with almost pitiful shakes of their heads. They would mutter their condolences towards the fallen only to themselves, knowing that the 15th Atlantic Rifles had been amongst a terrible loss of life. They were lucky, at the very least, not to have gone down the road as some of the regiments who found themselves encircled, wiped out or completely annihilated, like the 12th Coldwater Royal Guardsmen, infamous in the line of terrible military disasters of the Great Europan War.

	Jean's head was snapped back into the reality of the world as he heard the booming voice of Staff Sergeant Baker blast throughout the morning dew. It echoed throughout the streets and those nearby calmed their voices. Only the sound of the great nearby locomotive letting off steam could be heard. Jean forgot about the train. For some reason, it made him nervous once more.[/color]

[color=Orange][b]"Regiment, regiment-shun!"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]Baker's words made the nearby soldiers feet stamp in unison, as their ceremonial drill had taught them before their deployment into the frontlines. There was a brief silence, with the leading Staff Sergeant saluting Middleton as he arrived to assume his position before dismissing him to the side, where the Staff Sergeant awaited for his further calling. And thus, 1st Lieutenant Middleton had something different about him. There was a strange aura around what he was addressing them as, and soon his first words spoke truly of what he was so glad about.[/color]

[color=0AB100][b]"Regiment, stand at ease!"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]They complied with strict discipline, even though most of them didn't want to show him the respect he apparently deserved.[/color] [color=0AB100][b]"Before we board this train, there is something we must go over. The brass requires for us to go over these details and quite frankly, I am sure we're all to do so. I'd like to start things off on a more [i]positive[/i] note. Because of our valiant efforts yesterday, we've received recognition from the brass to assign certain promotions to our soldiers to commemorate them for their efforts in the face of evil, tyranny and devoted anger. I am now able to choose and assign these promotions myself. You will all refer to me as [i]Captain[/i] from now on."[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	Jean's throat closed up as he found it hard to breathe from the sudden truth. Of course he had to look smug. Someone had the idiotic plan to give this almost inhumane piece of shit the power he really shouldn't be trusted with. Now he had jurisdiction over operations entirely, as well as several companies within a regiment if he so pleased. A shudder came within his own skull, and Jean was more than certain that the fellow soldiers behind him truly felt quite hurt by the decision to promote the apparent demon of the 15th Atlantic Rifles. Jean was quite unsure of how he felt, having seen a side of the Captain the previous day that no one else seemed to have. There was some humanity and pain in his mind and he was entirely reluctant to share such dire details with someone as lowly as a Darcsen. It hurt in itself to think like that, but Jean knew it was the truth. Why converse with a sub-species when he could bottle it up and use it as fuel to fight a war?

	Suddenly, the now-Captain began to continue his opening speech, staring at the groups in large numbers. Before him, clutched tightly in his smartly gloved fingers, was a clipboard with a lot of small scribbles and lists written down upon it. Jean was curious as to what it meant, but soon enough the answer came through.[/color]

[color=0AB100][b]"And so, I am now within my right to promote the following soldiers."[/b][/color] [color=Silver]He started going through the list of names, many of which he didn't know. Most of them were previous NCOs who were already taking a step up into the next stage in their newfound wartime careers, but some were names of strange Privates he'd never heard or seen before, moving up to the same level as Jean and Isaac were in that moment of time. But it was the last two names that suddenly stuck out in Jean's head. They were painful names, after all.[/color] [color=0AB100][b]"Lance Corporal Jean-Robin Charpentier. Promoted to Corporal. Private Daniel Blazek. Promoted to Lance Corporal."[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	Jean silently saluted, with a painful look in his eyes. One of the Staff Sergeants approached him and handed him the new rank slides, which were quickly slotted into his epilates without much hesitation. Jean instantly felt the weight of further responsibility dribble down onto his shoulders. Yesterday was his first day ever taking command of anything that mattered, and now he was being entrusted with more lives. How many had he already lost? How many were to also lose their lives? Jean felt tears barely holding back behind his eyelids as he knew that this was going to be a position of pain, agony and mental torture throughout the remainder of the war, or until his death came about. It further solidified the truth that Jean was simply a tool to protect the privates he spoke about before. Now, without a home or family to go home to, Jean was destined to put his life to its end in the field of battle, with no love or light to guide him into the brighter future he so desired. On top of that, Daniel, the Private who he clashed with the day before, had also received a promotion. Maybe it'd be a kick of reality, or another chance of a power trip, but it was now another testament to the cruelty of the Federation Army.

	And thus, after a brief cheer from the soldiers around them, who were not a part of the parade departing onto the train, Captain Alexander-John Middleton began to finish off the debrief with some words of genuine meaning.[/color]

[color=0AB100][b]"With that out of the way, I must address the elephant in the room. Yesterday we lost over 700 of our comrades. That was 700 men and women, fighters and martyrs, honourable and cowards, all in the same day. That was from our regiment alone. We are not being granted rest or recovery from the brass as we are being transferred to a new frontline. From now on, all letters back home will be delayed to prevent any information getting out, but a full scale assault on the much-needed city of Amone is a requirement. The Federation command saw our breakthrough at this Salient as reasons for us to participate in this upcoming Siege, but the journey there will take several days or possibly a week. Along the way we will be picking up all our replacements and transfers straight out of training. Make them feel welcome. Remind them of my rules. Do not let them become cowards. Now get on the train. Sleep well, and know that the brass, though not me, are proud of you for your achievements here in the early stages of your fighting lives. Private Farris, please report to my cabin as soon as the train departs, and the rest of you will find some comfort in the train's common cabins for you. Enjoy the time of peace. You'll need it for what's about to come. Regiment, an Officer on Parade...Dismissed!"[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	And so, with a somewhat hesitant salute, the Regiment fell out of their ranks and began to shuffle towards the train carriages. It was true, the inside had some warmth to it, but there was nothing as exciting or homely as the hotels, inns or homes they'd all came from. Jean simply took himself to the quietest and most solitary room on the train. Each of the seats were divided by a cabin room, fit with its own walls and doors to add group privacy. Because the regiment was so down on numbers, there were many cabins left empty or plenty of seats to fill. Jean simply turned himself to a private room, one that had six available seats, and shut the door without locking it. With everyone being on the train, it began to set off slowly, and Jean had no clue whether or not his solitary vigilance of sadness was soon to be broken. Whilst he sat, all oblivious to the future before him, a tear dribbled down his freshly promoted face.[/color]

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