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[hider=Be quick or be dead.]
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[color=Silver][sub]December 30th - Imperial Trenches[/sub][/color][/center]
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It was easy enough to slip past the No Man's Land under the gaze of some inattentive sentries. Elliot had known their routines at this point, and knew he had little to fear. Following his commander's orders, the marksman and the rest of the raiding company had made it through to the enemy trenches. He kept a steady hand on his sidearm-- a John-Wissel Revolver, standard issue for marksmen like him. He briefly questioned (again) as to why he and the other marksmen were dispatched on a raid like this, but at this point, it was too late to complain. All he could do now was carry out his duties. 

And that much, he could manage.

From their elevated position, it seemed that the most direct path was to enter the trench, and then head either east or west. As they deliberated upon this, however, Mehatabel, the furious gunner from a while back, had leapt in by herself. In turn, the rest of the team quickly followed to cover her assault. Elliot merely blinked, gripped his revolver tighter, and followed the rest of the raiding party in. Now that shots have been fired, it was only a matter of time until the enemy had realized what had happened, and raise the alarm...

...but if they were quick enough, they might be able to pull off their mission without many casualties. To be in and out before they could rally a defense. To be sudden enough to leave them scrambling away in confusion. 

To strike like lightning from a cloudless sky.

[color=#239C89]"I'll cover you. Go!"[/color] He said n a hoarse whisper to nobody in particular-- just loud enough to be heard in the fighting of the trenches, but just soft enough to not give himself away.

The first shot from the sergeant had taken one out, and a myriad of fine cuts and rough stabs had reduced the other two men to nothing but bodies on the ground. True to his word, Elliot was several paces behind his companions, solely focused on keeping their rear and flanks covered. Holding his revolver in front of him, his eyes swept from corner to corner, doing his best to ensure that there were no survivors on the ground, or stragglers hidden in a corner of the trench. 

As long as the rest of the raiding party could handle whatever's ahead, he'd handle the rest, and keep them from being surprised. It paid to be prepared-- trouble sends no warning, after all.