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[sub][color=Silver][i]The Siege of Amone, September 27th - [b]Woe for the Comrade[/b][/i][/color][/sub]

[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sUa4B-Wkm68&list=PLbZoYkHzfDbyNyPX-yg2BZaYyuqp4OzTL&index=21[/youtube]
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[color=Silver]	Luke and Victoria were ahead of their game, moving out towards the right flank for some sort of artillery piece. And after the shots were fired out, the tower began to crumble and fall. Jean's heart leapt in place, and his first regret sank in as he began to get up and crawl out of his confined piece of cover. Standing where Thomas had once stood, he turned his head towards the duo who'd succeeded in their task. They celebrated aloud and proudly announced their victory, seemingly laughing to one another. Was this how they viewed the skirmish they'd found themselves within? Jean stared with his eyes peeled open, deprived of all previous energy. The fatigue was getting to him, as a lack of sleep and stress of the battle had taken its toll. The crumbling sound of the church tower emphasised the true horror of this war, in which no religious or sacred house was free of its deathly jaws. Amongst the sounds of crumbling bricks and collapsing foundations, the appraisals of two Federation soldiers cheering became the only voice to sing out. They were...happy? Happy that they'd done something so death-defying yet fanatically infuriating. Jean raised a hand towards them, gesturing for them to make their way towards him again. After all, him and Inès were left with the now growing agony of their fallen comrade. Jean's hesitation in where he stood conflicted his mind. What was he supposed to do? He raised his voice again, trying to holler the pair back over to assist in their superior's well-being, but a dismissing retort spouted his way.

	That...bastard! Luke dismissed and left Thomas' safekeeping in the inexperienced hands of their comrades. Sure, the more aggressive and capable Darcsen beside Jean was indeed a worthy soldier, but she was no medic, likely as much as Jean was himself. That training was exclusive, completely segregated, over to the medical casualty divisions of the Federation Army. It reduced training time and ensured that the specialist roles could have the best training around. And yet, here? A man with a missing leg screamed and began to writhe in their upcoming anguish. Jean turned, yelling back to the pair as they seemed to start heading a completely different direction.[/color]

[color=Aqua][b]"H-hey! Luke! Victoria! G-Get back here and help, leave the bloody guy..."[/b][/color] [color=Silver]And as all luck would have it, the Federation warriors had departed before they'd acknowledged his order. As they left, a sinking sensation bled into Jean's heart. He turned, scrambling towards Thomas to accompany his fellow Darcsen in the unyielding treatment of his ally. Even to the naked eye, Thomas' situation was bleak and utterly devastating. A few metres away from them laid the severed half of his leg. Separated from the knee below, its shins and toes looked almost fresh and alive. Jean's eyes were left in a state of shock, where even his hands refused to move. Locking his gaze upon a real fleshy remain of his friend tortured his mind and punished his will to continue. Even Inès, who'd composed herself more to the situation, frantically moved around to try and find ways to stop the bleeding. Where single gunshot wounds were at least sometimes preventable, this was an entirely different situation. Mustering the courage to even place his bare hands upon the fleshy membrane left behind was extreme enough as it was. Jean saw Inès acting, finding pieces of cloth blown off of his uniform and trying her hardest to unprofessionally seal the river flow of life force draining from his leg. Jean placed a hand down beside Thomas, taking a knee to his flank and lifting his chin up to meet his eyes. As expected, the gritted teeth and terribly restraint attempt at withstanding the agony was all that greeted them back.[/color] [color=Aqua][b]"T-Thomas! I need you to tell us...what to do? You know what to do right?"[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	The hesitant and fanatic pressure of Thomas' own life forced Jean's voice into a state of trembling doubt. Begging and yielding to his lack of knowledge didn't give anyone the confidence necessary to potentially pull through, but Thomas himself tried to grant the tide of a jovial tone. However it was drowned out by the deafening illumination of his fleeting breath. His hands fumbled across Thomas' webbing, his pocketed chest and removed the strangely unfamiliar hat he was wearing, unlike his usual and more famous icon.[/color]

[color=5D7CFF][b]"Fuck if I know...I'm just a bloody farmer."[/b][/color] [color=Silver]A painful cough spluttered out the words he delivered, shaming the potential courage Jean could muster from the already bleak situation. Even the undertones of humour within his words were washed away by the stench of blood, and by the trickle that slipped from behind his dust-covered lips. Another small application of pressure was placed upon his leg, resulting in Thomas audibly yelling out at its unforgiving sensation. Inès resisted the urge to withdraw her unsuccessful pressure, trying any logical thing she could to prevent further loss of life. Jean took Thomas' hand as they began to visibly shake.[/color] [color=5D7CFF][b]"Agh...How bad does it look...y'young fuck?"[/b][/color]

[color=Aqua][b]"It's okay, right? Yeah, right! Thomas you're okay, just keep breathing, I think. We'll think of something, we'll get you up and running in no t-"[/b][/color] [color=silver]Thomas quickly interjected, interrupting Jean's false assurance with a second hand sandwiching Jean's. His body twitched and his eyes grew cold. A colourless deprivation of colour starved his skin as it paled in comparison to its predecessor. Jean's eyes flushed into a flurry of panic as Thomas spoke weakly.[/color]

[color=5D7CFF][b]"Don't lie, cunt...I can see the world getting...a bit..."[/b][/color] [color=Silver]Gasping for a final breath of air, Thomas' grip began to weaken and his hands almost flushed out of Jean's own. In the fleeting second of his life, he let slip the final word of his very existence.[/color] [color=5D7CFF][b]"Dark..."[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	And as he fell back, unconscious, the pair of untrained medical staff sat in awe, staring at the ceaseless emptiness of the husk they crowded. His head fell aside in a slump and his hands lost their last efforts, slipping back onto the moistened pavement, dampened by his own pool of blood now left behind. Silence encompassed the world around him. What could've been the passing of shock had only revealed to be the mortem of another faceless casualty. Amone had claimed yet another life. Jean's face dropped into an unending hang, where it loosely fell to the floor. Jean's spirit faded. It...not only faded: it extinguished in the humidity of the Autumn showers. A distant cackle of machine gun fire, elsewhere in or out of Amone, fluttered as the only accompaniment to the unforeseen passing of a beloved warrior, at least in Jean's own eyes. A wave of thoughts and emotions quickly shot through his mind, sprawling around like a disease or virus let loose. How could someone he personally knew fall before his very eyes? Was this real? He was a war hero, not a common soldier, surely he should be surviving every possible encounter? He'd been through worse, why was this situation a sudden stop to all that luck he'd had?! What would Freya think? What would the Squad think..? What would...Jean do without an icon to look up to? Jean's eyes watered with the tears of his own sorrow. Suddenly, grief and deranged spouts of genuine sadness started to barricade off words of expression. All that he could do was let slip almost painfully familiar emotion. They felt...melancholic, as if they were the very same emotions he felt the day Olivia was pronounced [b]K.I.A.[/b] How could he stay happy in that moment? Instead of previous breakdowns where his mind had gone into a frenzy of abnormal dejection, the depressing picture before his very eyes was simply enough to break his eyes. He slowly buried his face downwards into his hands, now stained with Thomas' drying blood. The rain pattered down atop of his helmet again and the minutes began to tick longer than they ever had before.

	Time felt like an amoral concept now. No longer did it pace itself quickly to flush away the images of loss before the survivor's eyes. Instead, it drew itself into a string of unending and agonising seconds. Every forced passage of time became a testament to the war's true colours. Horror. Fear. Death and destruction. All of these ruled the lives of those who joined the frontline. Those who did not fear it instead embraced it, finding their place into inflicting as much damage as humanly possible, to the point where they themselves were no longer human. For a while, he thought of his growing resentment for everything that had happened: Jean's hesitation to act, the lack of medical knowledge supposedly shared by the group, and Luke's efforts to scrounge up another kill. Alongside that, Vicky joined him in a sadist's march, pursuing the goals of only treasures stained in a man's blood.

	Eventually, their footsteps approached, closing in onto his position as they slowed down upon their sight. Jean stood up, not even letting his mind or body hesitate to grab his things. No eye contact was made. He didn't know if they'd seen Thomas' final resting spot yet or were still caught up in the excitement of their little child's adventure, but Jean made it clear that their words would not speak of such ignorance on everyone's behalf. A friend had been killed. An entire nation would likely mourn because they themselves were either focused on matters deemed unimportant to Thomas' life, or even through the fear and confusion of the rapid situation.[/color]

[color=Aqua][b]"We...fucked up...all of us."[/b][/color] [color=Silver]Jean quietly muttered to himself, slinging his rifle over his shoulders again and wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. A change in his tone was clearly damaged by the sights and sounds of this unworthy battle. He wanted to forget it. He wanted to go home. He wanted to leave everything behind and retreat from all forms of combat. And yet, there was nowhere to go from here. Everyone wanted to push forwards and left those who died behind. Jean had to supposedly leave the dead behind too, but not this time.[/color] [color=Aqua][b]"There's...nothing left for us here. Let's go back..."[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	Jean removed the now completely drenched cape from Thomas' corpse and began tying it around his severed limb, at least trying to catch the remainder of the pouring blood from seeping into his uniform. The last thing Jean wanted was the body and bloody of Thomas' vanquish to stain his clothing, let alone his mind, skin and dignity. Perhaps this was the last consequence for his unfortunate positioning as a Corporal. No one likely thought he deserved his leadership position, and this was but a testament to that query. Jean had fucked up. He hesitated. And even when there was nothing they could do, his reactions to the corpses of other dead soldiers left Thomas to lead the charge, leaving him open to the traps ahead. Jean could've been in that position instead. Jean could've been the one to die. And yet here he was, cheating that chance through incompetence and tragic luck. Once Thomas' mortal wound was now covered to a bare minimum, he nodded to Vicky halfheartedly to lift the body and struggled beneath the weight. It was a long walk home, but perhaps this was his punishment. It was only fair. No one here would blame themselves, would they? Blame the sniper, blame the man behind the gun. But in actuality, perhaps it was everyone's fault, and the war's, that took away a brilliant young man from them.

	An hour of staggering back left the world to its darkest hour. The morning didn't get any brighter, nor did the day that came closer. After a while, they reached the very same barricade that they'd left that morning. This time with one less breathing soldier with them. As their silhouettes came into the picture, Jean simply raised a rifle by its receiver, holding it sideways to show that they were indeed Federation soldiers upon approach. When granted entrance, all that was left for them to do was stare at the unfortunate body of a familiar face. A bloody...very bloody face. Struck with a falteringly pale expression and the emptiness of any other casualty, wherever Vicky would take him was up to her. For Jean, he silently began to return to his tent. He made no eye contact with anyone, even those who'd stalked and paid virtue to the shell crater a street's distance away. Jean didn't even think about it, and for the first time in a few days, he tucked himself away inside the linen frame of his temporary home. All he could do was prepare for the next day and dwell upon the events that had subsided. More than Thomas had died today, but never before had someone Jean been close to extinguished before his own weakened gaze.[/color]