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[sub][color=Silver][i]The Siege of Amone, September 26th - [b]T'was a long way to go...[/b][/i][/color][/sub]
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[color=Silver]	Eager to get things done, Freya tried her hardest to keep the biggest smile she could upon her face. It was an agonising tendency. Parts of her mind and heart were scattered all across the floor. Many nights of strange emotions, hearing things that may have perhaps been best to remain hidden. It was impossible to shrug off what her and Inès shared in that hopeful day. Yet, part of her mind would never want to go back to it. Out of respect for her own past and the things she'd lost, it would've been irregular for Freya to [i]not[/i] pursue a life with the Francian, but she knew that it was not for the betterment of her own future nor anyone else's. The world was not ready for the two to coexist, not without Naomi it was. Careless whispers broke free around her and the names of loved ones back home were the talk of the morning. Unnamed soldiers that had never crossed paths with the Oceanic spoke of their differing experiences on the frontlines of Europa. Some talked of their charges across fields in the North, whilst others exclaimed the resonating dissonance of artillery creeping around their foxholes and dugouts on a daily basis. No matter how many variations there were in the individual's story, there were almost always the same differences. Death. Slaughter. Fear. Anxiety. Corruption in the hierarchy...All of this was a common aspect of the Great War. Mankind had devolved into a shadow of its former self, though it hadn't exactly done great things beforehand. Freya had felt a part of everything they said. From the fields of gunfire to the endless barrages of Imperial bodies rushing towards her static defensive position, bayonets brandished, the four years of war she'd gone through were a travesty in and of themselves. The world was not ready for such devastation, and she hoped that perhaps someday they were never going to stray too far into the abyss again. The [i]war to end all wars[/i], as a common phrase: so demolishing that no man would ever try to fight again. It was a concept of learning from past experiences, the a-priori terror forcing mankind to change its ways and to stray no further into the pit of execution.

	Freya at least upheld that upbeat thought. Most of those who surrounded her felt a same idealistic value to justify the worth to fight and potentially die for the futility of the conflict. If those learnt of what the future would hold, many of them would've placed the barrel of their guns to their skulls and press the trigger without question. But now? Well, Freya was had kept herself quiet for the past few hours, sitting on the edge of a makeshift stretcher-bed under the cover of a cold tent roofing. Officers were the first to get placements inside surviving buildings whereas the rest of the army had to almost fight for the warmth. Freya couldn't be bothered. It wasn't in her interests to be comfortable, not anymore. She'd already had enough comfort to justify the cruelty of the cold tent.

	Upon her face was a now crooked smile. Whilst she smiled at all the lovely men and women who passed by her tent, coming in to rest temporarily and talking up a storm with them of their past lives and homes, she really just wanted to sleep for a while. But...she was scared to. Every night, from the inn onward, she would dwell in sights that she regretted imagining. As if in reverse, the memories started at the end of Operation Breaching Gates and continued to traverse rearwards until it came closer to the start, the day she and Naomi fell in love for the first time. Those were painful memories now. There was nothing sweet about their bitter conclusion, knowing full well that the story was only to be concluded with a horrific postlude. Hell, thinking about those thoughts now brought a tear to her eyes. Halfway through a conversation with a randomised Iberon girl, who loved to talk about the Siestas back home and the brilliance of its warm weather, Freya excused herself and returned to the bedding, crawling into it with a strange shake in her muscles whilst she wrapped her arms around Naomi's jacket. It was still there. It still had a scent of her. It didn't really, but the psychological torture of her death made it impossible to forget such an illusion. Freya felt that it was almost like her mark had been made in her heart already. It...had already been made, through hell and back.[/color]
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[centre][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B9qrglK6S44[/youtube][/centre]
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[color=Orange][b]"One minute to landfall!"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]Deep within the crowded cabin of the [url=https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/battlefield/images/a/af/Y-Lighter_Codex_Entry.png/revision/latest?cb=20170906160744]Y-Lighter Landing Craft[/url], Freya clutched onto Thomas' shoulder to stabilise herself. Even now, having paid the devil a visit several times already, she felt fear and anxiety ripple throughout her veins. Each heartbeat was met with a sense of dread. For unlike the rest of the war, the Southern Frontier was to be unlike any other. Hundreds of undisturbed landscapes, spanning across mountainous rocks, sandy dunes and great plains were yet to be ridiculed by the absolute travesty of human warfare, and yet it still felt entirely different. No longer was this the Maren Defence, or the Haloval Coast battle, as now they were to deploy from the sea unto the land. Truly, this was a time of unfathomable modernisation in warfare. Latched onto the sides of the craft were two heavily emplacements, ready to suppress the opposition who dared to dispose of the lives making their mark on the beaches that day. There were at least thirty or forty tightly packed soldiers all crowded amongst one another, rifles and tools held closely to their chests to make room for more able bodies.

	Soaring above their heads were the streamlined squeals of naval batteries bombarding the shorelines for an easier insertion. All of those abound to the critical mission were informed of the lack of cover on the beach, unlike that of a rocky field or trench-layered forest, and so movement was of the imperative. Shocktroopers were mostly fine with such an order as movement fell under their speciality, but those who relied on heavier portable automatic firearms were left with a lump lodged in their throat. If they were lucky, the emotional distress was all that would be lodged in their throat, save for the eventual shrapnel. Earlier on the grandeur of landing craft that dared to make their way towards the shoreline, some of the Edinburgh soldiers vomited on the watery floor, or over the edges of the vessels themselves. A mixture of Edinburgh, Francian, Iberon, Asseni, Wessel and even Gallian troops supported the largest Oceanic force ever devised in history. Whilst the Europan combat records were a testament to the ability of the Oceanic Expeditionary Force, this Southern Frontier was to be led and manned by them in the flocked masses. With Oceania being somewhat open to a direct line of supply, the influx of troops could be inherently ingenious, if this opening objective was secured as fluently as predicted.

	A new combatant entered the scene. No longer were the cannonades of the naval ships behind them occupying the orchestration of musical war-like instruments, but the whizzing of bullets and pattering of water colliding with the approaching hellfire began to pique the interest of every soldier aboard. Some began to murmur and curse under their breaths, whilst others kissed the symbolic religious insignia of their Yggdist faith in the hopes that the souls of the Valkyrur would protect them. Freya kept her hands tightly wrapped onto Thomas as she let a few of the worst clamber out herself. If it weren't for the fact that Naomi was sentenced to an entirely separate landing craft Freya could've collected herself and her surroundings just as easily as anyone else could've imagined.[/color]

[color=Orange][b]"Thirty seconds, Chaps!"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]The Edinburgh sailor behind the wheel of the compact vessel called out from the gap in his metal defensive shield, hoping to stop any incoming bullets from penetrating his heart. As the informal nickname for the crew came out, the guns of hell were unleashed all around and the distant sound of machine guns, rifles, field guns and artillery began to act as their fanfare welcome. An ensemble of treacherous fiends, they were, calling out for the deaths of many to come.[/color] [color=Orange][b]"Remember the plan, get off m'ship so I can try and sail back!"[/b][/color]

[color=Yellow][b]"E-Easy for you to say, you're tucked up in a fuckin' lil' box whilst we ain't got shit to keep us!"[/b][/color]

[color=Orange][b]"You have spacin' and movement! Just go for it lads, you've got it!"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]Whereas the unfamiliarity of the sailor didn't resonate well with the nerves of the others, Thomas began to bark out familiar words that helped set their focuses on the prize ahead. Above all the noise and ambience of gunfire, it was hard to imagine that anyone could've actually heard his call, yet here the were.[/color]

[color=5D7CFF][b]"Let's give 'em something to remember, guys! These cunts ain't gonna know what hit them today. Move as independently as you can and find a way into the forward trenches. Secure us a good one, maybe with a tea-kettle!"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]Despite having her arms wrapped effortlessly around Thomas's body, she couldn't help but muster the same smile that many shared in his humour. No matter the situation, Thomas tried his best to lighten the mood to preserve what little morale everyone faced. But even his words were not enough. Freya felt the nerve of many embellishing the ship's interior, even from Thomas himself. And so, he muttered grimly:[/color] [color=5D7CFF][b]"May someone pray for us all..."[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	And just as things felt like they were going to drag on forever, the shuddering halt of the ship threw some of the able bodies forwards, bumping into one another at the blasted halt. Without any explanation, the ship had seemingly ceased in its advance before it was due to. Freya turned around, raising her head above the many steel helmets of the crewmen inside. Before long, her eyes met the sailor in charge, who seemed to be furiously tugging at the controls. Judging by the look of his expression things were far from okay or their initial plan. Instead, he began to bark out orders of his own, trying to make sense of the situation.[/color]

[color=Orange][b]"We're fack'n stuck on something! Gonna drop the ramp, get ready!"[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	Those at the front were the most nervous, hearing a shuddering sound of bullets scraping past the metallic and wooden exterior of the ship. Someone had clearly taken advantage of their dismay, and intended to use it as justification for their target. Who could blame them. Thirty or forty odd bodies, attempting to charge and secure the beach from this tiny boat alone, amongst a fleet of other landing craft and rowing boats, made it ingloriously fearful for the comrades Freya was surrounded by. She gave another tightened grip onto Thomas before slipping her hands back by her side, gently clutching onto the rifle she was dearly dependent on for survival. And without warning once more, the sound of chains unwinding began to remind everyone that this was indeed it: the calm before the storm was over. Before them all slid down the metal ramp, and the forward facing troops were now exposed for all they had. No hestiation was required. The first bodies charged out of the boat, sinking into the waist-high water beneath them as the scramble began. Many took a slight incline to their left or right to heighten the chances of a bullet not accidentally striking their skull, but those who didn't deviate were as desperate to seek a quicker exit from the open beach and its oppressive defenders. Freya was still trying to push past the ones who didn't rush forward, and instead found a body flinging itself backwards onto her. Both the uniformed body and herself slipped onto the floor of the boat, where more and more began to pile up from the rear of the group. Those who were still waiting to exit panicked, screaming for those in front to hurry or attempted to scale the sides of the ship, wanting the quickest exit they could. Anyone inside was still a fish in its barrel, slaughtering oneself over and over by the concentrated fire.

	Freya didn't scream, nor did she make any noise. Her shock was all that controlled her as instincts taught the Oceanic how to react. She shoved the corpse from her chest and began to crawl for the exit of the boat, only to feel the roughened grip of Thomas latch onto her shoulder and pull her aside into the water. And as he came, the remainder of the crew behind Freya's previous position were tormented by the reign of Imperial bloodshed. And in that moment, she knew that the war was never going to be the same. For some reason, she never screamed like before. Instead, it was a turning point, one where Freya knew she would never see death in the same anxious way every again. It was still scary, but nothing ever became as scary as seeing so many led into the fray. Across the beachhead, hundreds of soldiers began to run across, many dropping down seemingly effortlessly as each gunshot blared out. It was...it was hell. It was hell all over again.[/color]