[centre][hr][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/210316/f70116145ba8f5993f421b47091784c8.png[/img]
[color=Silver][sub]December 30th - Frontline Trench[/sub][/color]

[sub]Conversing with: The Platoon[/sub]

[hr]
[/centre]

[color=Silver]	The sky soon fell back to its whitened palette. The drain of colour was frantic as little snowflakes began to fall from the sky. Their amount was miniscule, but it was enough of a warning for Jean. The time was now. He pulled himself away from Senja and Luba, albeit a little reluctantly, and he made his way toward the step ahead of the rest of his group. The fog of war formed before his eyes as he exhaled up a storm. Of course he was nervous. Only those who accepted that they were dead held still their breathes as if absolution was to come. But Jean had been taught to have some hope. And it was a crux to the poet, and to the soldier, for hope gave the false notion that there was light at the end of the tunnel, and that he had something that could be taken away from him at the crack of a rifle's shot. Luckily, he was not aboard the group lurching into the enemy trenches, in the deadened winter's dew, and he counted the blessings to not be trusted with something so hastily. Of course, in hindsight, Jean would've pled for himself to refuse if he were to know how mere minutes apart their mission was from the opening act of the New Year's orchestra.

	Captain Middleton made steady pace toward the two groups, separated by tens of metres down trench lanes and bodies. A few sentries were left perched on their firing steps, watching the icy prairies carefully. The fog had grown rather tremendously, but they could still make out the distant edge of the Imperial frontline, mostly made up of layers upon layers of barbed wire. Their voices were to remain hushed at the hour, for the quietest frontlines had the most eager ears.[/color]

[color=0AB100][b]"Alright, don't linger for too long,"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]the Captain addressed the wire-layers,[/color] [color=0AB100][b]"and patch it up as quick as you can. You know the rules: stay low, stay quiet, and stay alert. As soon as you're done, pull back. If the trench raiders take too long, don't wait for them. They'll make it back on their own accord. And most importantly,"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]his eyes fell upon Lucia, who's back was laboured by the weight of her wire pack,[/color] [color=0AB100][b]"get back safe. It'd be bad enough to have to write out a third of a platoon's worth of letters home."[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	He moved onward, more or less giving the same message to the trench-raiders. Their rules were articulated very differently: get in, grab one or three Imperials, and get out. Be fast. Be swift. Be merciless. Hesitation was their enemy. It seemed odd to a few as to why both tasks were happening simultaneously, but the growing paranoia of a Winter offensive was still fresh on the minds of every officer and soldier. There were some hopeful of a quiet snowfall, like that of 1911, but the strain and attrition each side had taken forced many to play their cards without mercy.

	Jean had listened to the whispers of the men and women in Trebin and beyond. The words were no longer that of [i]'It'll be over when the snow falls'[/i] but they new that sooner rather than later, one side would break under the pressure, if not both entirely. The death toll was in the millions. Several generations had been shaken dry by the robbers of life. And if it were like such in the Atlantic Federation, then it too would've been the same in the Empire. Vinland had arrived, yes, but their Europan allies were reaching a breaking point. How far would their officers, their generals and leaders push themselves to defeat an enemy? He saw it in the cynicism of the Captain. He no longer spouted of glory like the young officers of yesteryear. He remained bitter. Jean didn't like him still, for the man had his prejudices, but at the very least Jean had the faintest idea of how tired all men were for the crimes they'd been drowned in.

	So he snapped himself out of his thoughtless trance. There was a mission ahead. Lubna had told him to remain normal, or as normal as one could be, and he buckled up his webbing tighter than ever. He looked at Lucia, who's nerves showed in their own small way. Then again, there was a fire in her eyes. And Jean had heard things about her, back in Amone, back before they were introduced to one another, and before the 15th Atlantic Rifles.[/color]

[color=24D7D4][b]"Alright, you know what's happening."[/b][/color] [color=Silver]He murmured aloud to his selected group. Whether he liked it or not, he still held rank over all but one woman, who's senior was only displaced by what little time she'd spent with that platoon.[/color] [color=24D7D4][b]"Isaac, Britta, set up whatever positions you can that give us the best arc of fire. Make ready, but hold unless we're fired upon - or if instructed. Lucia has the main wire set, but I need a volunteer to help wind it through the fence posting. Other than that, everyone do what you can to unwind broken bits of wire, clear out any shrapnel and reinforce any fencing if need be. On your way over the top, grab a small log each."[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	By his feet, a small basket of wooden logs, stripped of their bark, were piled together. They were sharpened at one end for burying into the icy earth. And with what broke the fence in the first place - artillery fire and cannonades - the chances of repairing the fence itself were all but inevitable.[/color]

[color=24D7D4][b]"If you're not doing something, stay low and keep rifles at the ready. We'll clear it up as quick as we can. The last thing we need is for the trench raid to alert our position and have us caught in the open. Are we all good?"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]He looked over to the nearest Sergeant, who was looking at his watch eagerly. He turned back to Jean and nodded. The affirmation was clear. There was no chance to revert back to the warm yet dilapidated room he'd sheltered himself in the night before. Any soldier's worst fear had arrived: not the bombing of artillery shells or the charging cry of the enemy, but setting foot beyond their trench walls and out into a land meant for slaughter. Jean grabbed a log for himself, and moved halfway up the ladder.[/color] [color=24D7D4][b]"Alright, stay close, voices low, and let's move."[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	Jean ascended the ladder first. The pressure to do what he was asked of laid upon his shoulders immensely. So much judgement would come from his cock-ups and little would go towards his successes. He didn't care though in that moment. There was a job to do and as much as it pained him, he had to do it long enough to make it back alive. He lurked in a squat just at the top of the trench, whispering and holding a hand out for those who clambered up behind him: Cienie, Romijnsen, Black, Hagen, Vastergoth, Farris and Penttilä. All soldiers of different standards.

	He made himself among the middle of the crowd, crawling and staggering their way into the first crater. A pit, six feet deep, waited for them just on the other side of the ladder. The dirt was cold and solid, tipped with the white frost that surrounded them. Jean could immediately feel the chill of the snow soak into his uniform and his hairs stood on their end, but he kept moving as to keep himself warm. They had to be slow, but at the same time hasty enough to get in and out without a moment too long. He looked behind him and saw Lucia struggle to clamber out the shell pit they'd first gone into, and he reached below and struggled to pull her up under the weight of the wire pack. He quietly waved a free hand back to keep the others moving so they could secure the fence hole ahead, whilst he struggled the last bit with Lucia to get her over out. She collapsed by his side, wheezing a little to herself, but the ever-looming threat of lingering forced Jean to push her back into motion. Lucia clambered out of the snow and crawled ahead with her Corporal.

	Five minutes felt like forever. They couldn't have travelled more than thirty five metres at most, but the constant wreckage of the earth beneath them brought every covert movement to a halt. Fallen logs, splintered and cracked open like firework tubes, great pits where skeletal remains had been buried, and the devastation of corpses spread far and wide. A preserved horse's remains in the cold - the arm of an Imperial that stuck out from the earth, as if pleading for someone to pull them from hell.

	The fog grew in density, and his voices became far more silent. He dashed between the rubble, and soon their broken fence was in sight. He lowered himself all the way down to his stomach, and with his hands he signalled for the others to begin work, with Lucia unloading the wire pack beside them. In the distance, there were gunshots from other sectors of the frontline, and he hoped they would remain there. But as the trench raiding group moved up, with not much time left before the gates of hell unknowingly opened, he remained defiant in working on their task with those he'd been assigned with.[/color]