Banned
The Siege of Amone, September 10th - The Wake Up
The wind kicked up once more, showering down the precipitation on a more fierce level than before. If it weren't for the fragile roof still loosely hanging above of Squad 1, they'd have been soaked and humiliated by mother nature more than the Imperials already had. Jean could only feel the occasional flicker of a single drop going off course splash against his dirty, blood-stained face. A coarse suspiria had engulfed his heart once Isaac had left, leaving him alone in the winter rainfalls more-so. Many of the Federation soldiers, especially from Assen, Wessen, North Francia and the northernmost parts of Edinburgh were likely used to the idea of snow bearing down on their position during the eventual end-days of the year, however Jean was used to the fowl weather. Liege was never known for being an attractive site for the forecast's choice, leaving rainfall and other chilled mists to occupy its landscapes on a regular wintery basis. However, the more he looked at the rain, the more Jean began to think about the home he once held. It was a fragile life, yes, but one that came with minor details that he would scavenge day and night now to relive once more. Isolated as a child, the Corporal was definitely a boy of solitude. It was why he took up writing, and the act of expressing his inner-most thoughts from pencil to paper. The quills of his literature were always his most enjoyable subject to indulge, and even when he attended the tiny local school associated with certain children of a certain business, all he spent his time doing was writing. Jean was never one to talk, nor to love those outside of his bloodline. Never once had he fallen in love with another girl simply from the passing of curiosity, attraction or lust. Instead, all he did was write, and fall into a romantic connection with the words and letters presented before him on thickly informed book covers. It was a lonely childhood; Jean liked it though.
Now, the thought of his family came back to his mind. Whilst the deadened look in his empty, colourless eyes continued to stare into the bleak of the rainy night, Jean's hands fumbled around with the mechanisms of his Longfield, ensuring it was still in good condition as he thought of Olivia, mother and father. They weren't the happiest nor the most well off family. From the conversations he'd had, Jean had no upbringing like Michael or Reyna, but he was more akin to someone like...Thomas? Well, despite his legendary status, Jean was unable to really get much conversation out of him, except with the odd queries of tactical curiosity. Even now, in his injured state, he was quiet. Freya once told Jean that it was because he always thought of home himself, making him more humanised than anyone else on the battlefield. Even with his senses still locked firmly in place, he had the decency and the courage to face his biggest fear, which was never seeing the faces of his family again. He'd volunteered, hadn't he? Under false promises of more freedom from their dominant colonial master, he'd sold his soul and rights for as long as the war would rage on. Facing ambushes on naval warfare, surviving sinking vessels, charging beaches, cities, trenches, fields and rivers all for the sake of wanting to secure a better tomorrow for those he'd left behind. Most of his money was being sent back over there, apparently. Jean thought of what it would feel like having his small wages being sent directly back to someone he cared about. The thought struck another nerve within Jean's flagged mind and reminded him that even if he'd wanted to, Jean could no longer send any money home to anyone. He was the last Robin-Charpentier. There were no cousins, or grandparents, at least not anymore. He'd heard of one cousin, one that was an orphan as such but still related by blood, who was killed maybe a week before Olivia, at a battle 50 miles south of her. Jean didn't feel much sorrow, but he sympathised with the tragedy of yet another young death. Even so, the thoughts of his dear sister being killed clearly overruled that of the distant cousin.
Jean let out a deep sigh. What else was there to do? He was tired, yet unable to sleep. There was fatigue aching through all his bones, begging for some commodity, such as a leisurely bath or the warmth of a soft foam mattress. For a moment, he thought of what would make those two perfect scenarios of comfort any better, but all of those seemed to lead towards the same conclusion: alongside someone else. Well, perhaps not the bathing, but simply having the presence of someone special really made any situation better, no matter how bleak the world had become. Jean remembered holding Reyna's hand, or hugging Kalisa, the day before. A split-second of thinking saw his face lost in remembrance over how silky and gentle Reyna's hand was, spreading a sense of comfort and reliance straight through Jean's nerves before he even could pinpoint why.
Another footstep suddenly came from behind, emphasising the almost silent creaking of the broken floorboards beneath her feet. Initially, Jean shifted his head around quite suddenly, preparing his rifle but not aiming it. Half of him expected Isaac to come back for round two, an hour after he'd first seen Jean break down in place. As much as he appreciated having the gunner as a friend and ally, Jean didn't want his burdens to become Isaac's either. But despite the man's name crossing his mind, it was instantly wiped as soon as he saw Reyna standing, without a word to say seemingly, simply watching over him as his guardian angel. Even though only an hour before he'd been close to sobbing away again, Jean managed to muster a smile, sweeter than any one he'd done before, directly towards her. His eyes tried to not rest upon hers, despite how impossible it truly was, as he felt a surge of hope course through his thickly clogged veins. A moment of silence came between the two as he continued to watch her, smiling away quietly to himself once they'd finally came into mutual scrutiny. Eventually, Jean took a stand, painfully getting up onto one knee before slowly staggering towards the Vinlander.
It was a short walk, seeing how she was only on the other side of their broken room, but Jean felt like time moved at a snail's pace during his approach. Eventually, when he came face to face with her once more, Jean broke the silence, nodding quietly and speaking just louder than the whispers he used to call his voice. Intending not to wake up the others was a top priority, but seeing Reyna during the bleak time made his heart go to ease, and allowed him to talk quietly without the worry of getting too loud.
"Hey Reyna...Couldn't sleep, I suppose?" Whilst he hadn't noticed it before, Jean definitely saw it now. Since their last skirmish with the Imperials, Reyna didn't look like she was in any perfect state. There were some slight bumps, bruises and scratches pointing up here and there, but her stance on her legs seemed weaker than usual. Perhaps if he'd paid attention before she arrived he would've seen her limp gently, but the signs were there enough to make him worry just a small amount. From first glance, it definitely wasn't life threatening, but it sure looked like it would cause some inconvenience for someone who'd entered their first fateful battle. "I hate to ask and put this upon you, but...Are you okay? Please...come sit down beside me, ease any pain, if you have any. It might...It's the best I can do, sorry. I know my best is never any good."
Though this time he had much hesitation, Jean gently wrapped his fingers around Reyna's left hand to move her towards where Jean was sat before, slowly lowering himself back down to where he was. He left the chair available for her if she didn't want to follow through and join him on the floor, which wasn't exactly the most charming of invites, but the option was left either way. With that in mind, he hesitated to let go of her hand at first, continuing his conversation to try and finally learn something about her, rambling what was going on in his mind.
"Reyna..? Jean started slowly, but didn't seem to stutter or fumble in his words like he usually did. Clearly, he'd been thinking about this a lot, and thus had it mapped out quite clearly, at least in his own mind. "I...miss home, and I imagine you do too. Why...Why did you sign up to join the army, like as a volunteer? It's hard to imagine people like you, me or Diana even joining this conflict, Lucia included, but the other two seem to have their own minds set on conscription and forced service. And, well...we know mine was broken by uhh...well, her. But, what about you? I don't want to seem invasive or anything, but I've always thought about what it really means to still be fighting for home. I...I don't know if you are, or for the ones you love back home, but I lost that incentive a long time ago, especially after finding the news about my home and parents back in Liege City. I only hope that, at least, you find some sort of refuge or reason to keep on trying. I'm rather skint on my own reasons, but I know I have a few still within this Squad."
Completely unexpected, Jean actually began to faintly chuckle to himself, finally letting go of Reyna's hand once more to let her have the freedom she deserved. He didn't want to appear clingy or overenthusiastic about her stay, but in reality Jean was never more happy to see a face like hers since then. For a moment, he saw the chain of the pendant he gave her, still located somewhere on her personnel, and another smile cracked onto his face. Though, he didn't mention it, like he usually did, and instead changed the subject to perhaps simulate a more relaxed conversation.
"I should tell you this, as I haven't told the others. I heard some news from Thomas the other day, that he read from a paper laid on the street, that said the VSS-Apache, that Vinland cruiser, was sunk by an Imperial convoy. Apparently there were civilians as well as soldiers aboard, and it violated the agreements between the Empire and Vinland about involvement. Take it as you will, but...I think you're homeland may finally get involved, not to discredit your brilliant contributions so far, Reyna." Jean smiled again, prodding a small tease towards her at the end. It was a strange way to keep his happiness, trying his hardest to not break down in front of Reyna like he did before. It was unfair for her to feel his emotional baggage as something to rely on or care about, and Jean ultimately felt guilty that he had done it before. And so, he turned to her with a slight worried look upon his watered down face, now left without its helmet like before. "Reyna...I'm...I'm really sorry for being the way I am. I don't mean to be the damaging downside to the Squad, the one who needs to suck up his emotions for the greater good of our comrades, but...I just don't want to give the wrong idea that I want to help you guys. I want to help everyone, Reyna...and I want to help you, just at the very least to get through this war alive and to return home to a life you can enjoy, perhaps free and safe from my irritating commanding motives. But, just know...I am sorry, I am...so...very...sorry..."
As he said this, Jean's eyes fluttered whimsically before his head suddenly began to flop down, leaning gently against the side of Reyna where she sat. It wasn't intentional, but Jean really hadn't slept well at all for the past few nights, being unable to fully concentrate his attention to find that much needed rest and relaxation. Because of the fatigue of battle, on top of that, he'd simply just collapsed into a seemingly odd trance of sleep, gently finding comfort in the girl who sat beside him. Her voice and presence was enough to at least remind him of what was important, and it also reminded him of one of the two reasons he still fought to stay alive in the war. One was for the Squad, and one was for someone in particular.
The Siege of Amone, September 10th, 1004 hours - Finding the White Hart
The day became shallow and bleak. Once his eyes fluttered open, Jean stood up quickly and sharply, realising that by sleeping on the same position that he had his night watch on, he could've been seen as slightly exposed. He wasn't sure if Reyna was still beside him, either sleeping or watching over him, or if she'd gone back to another room to sleep, but with a quick stretch, Jean replanted his helmet atop of his head and quickly checked some of his weaponry. Stuff seemed to still be in fantastic gear, finding some relevance to its battle status within the mechanisms. Bolt and locking system? Admirable. Cleanliness? Up to standard. Adjusted iron sights? Fixated to the perfect degree of urban combat. Magazine count? Eh, enough, he supposed. They were here for a long time, it seemed, and though it was a grim thought they were never short of Federation corpses to potentially take some spare stripper mags from. If that were the case, at least it was the betterment of their own survival. Jean was no grave robber, but at least it was a peace of mind to simply know that every bullet had the chance of changing the difference between life and death. Though, seemingly when around the armoured car that had ambushed them before, it seemed unlikely that every situation was resolvable with a .303 round.
Jean made a quick peep outside the building, walking down the pile of rubble that led up to their unhomely hostel. The streets were far too foggy to really make out where anything was, but at least the rain had seemingly stopped, leaving behind only acres of puddles and drainage systems that had been disrupted either by the excessive rainfall or by the bombardment of the cities...or both. He let out a sigh of disappointment, knowing that the holy city of Amone, crucial to someone like Michael, was now left as some battlegrounds for sinners and heretics to their peaceful ways. Jean was no man of religious intent, but at least he was defiant to agree on some of their values and intrinsic beliefs, on a moral standpoint. Everyone was unique though, even those that follow the banner of a nation, army, religion or racial group. Be they a Yggdist, Darcsen, Imperial, Eastern foreigner, female, male, lower class, aristocrat or soldier of the Federation, they were all unique. It was what made Squad 1 feel rather...homely, for Jean.
There were already some muffles of conversation or groans of those waking up when Jean finally entered the rooms one by one, quietly getting them all up and gathering them for briefing. Some were...under-dressed, to say the least, as they'd been drying off their clothes. Whilst people like Michael had kept their essentials on, such as shirts and trousers, people like Freya were a bit more liberal with their drying. Sat only in the undergarments necessary to show all of her bare skin, Freya seemingly fumbled around their desolate room without a care in the world, even slipping on many of her clothing in delayed intervals in order to ensure everyone else had gotten up. Thomas didn't really seem to be in much of a good position by any standing point, but from Jean's keen eye he imagined that Michael was feeling at least a bit more consolidated. He couldn't help but tilt his head in happiness at the wholesome scene of Lucia tucked up in Michael's bed, the sapper clearly having given it up for her during the night of thanks and appraisals. Before she awoke, Jean walked up to Michael and whispered quietly, in a somewhat oddly cheerful tone:
"Count your blessings, Michael. You're in a holy city...with someone who seems to care a great deal about you. I'd sacrifice a lot to be in a similar position." Jean's smile faded slightly as he had realised that almost everything he stood for and loved had already been offered to the devil and grim reaper weeks, and years, before, where he stood alone in the tracks of his own destiny, potentially without the same compassion Lucia knowingly felt for Michael. Jean wasn't sure if their connection was romantic by any means, considering Lucia had always been very friendly with everyone, but she did have a special place in her schedule, mind and heart for the small Sapper, going out of her way to ensure he was safest out of everyone else. Persistent to not bring down the mood by his quite clear drop in facial expression and realisation once more for his familial loss, he tapped Michael on the back before leaving him to wake her up.
Soon enough, everyone was more-or-less gathered outside for a small briefing, rifles and gear mostly kept in check. There seemed to be a few losses of small equipment over the night, perhaps the stripped clip holder for an empty magazine lost but nothing too major. They were lucky as it was that they weren't snatched up in the middle of the night. Jean's eyes, despite the comfortable rest he had on Reyna's side, or at least for as long as he realised he was sleeping there, were still fairly bagged with a need to relax. There was a groggy and underwhelming presentation of him, demanding a bath and a comfortable bed to rest and recover within. His hand's bandages were now replaced with a cleaner one, and where he'd been sat on his own before Reyna showed up revealed the old blood-soaked field dressing used for the glass shard's cut.
"Uhm...well...Good morning, Squad 1. I...I can't really give us some good news, but it's best we don't stay around here for much longer. Last night I heard shots across from the city, and I get anxious that we may just be another scheduled point of interest for a random Imperial patrol. I'd say we keep moving now, like...right now. Sorry to be a pain, but we should leave if we want to ensure we can stay away from incoming pursuers. Who knows, that armoured crew with their machine of way may have a grudge to behold against us..."
Jean hoped otherwise, but knew that there was a chance that there were more cars than they'd come across. It seemed rather well refined for what it was, enough to make several copies successfully. With the unharsh terrain of an urbanised area, what better place to test and ponder over the wonders of mechanised and motorised combat. The age of horseback and cannon were seemingly nullified by its introduction, one that was far too quick to anticipate. Now they just needed to focus on moving to somewhere safe before Jean could finally find which way they were due to head. And with that in mind, Jean began to lead the group forward, descending down the piles of rubble once more before walking cautiously down the foggy street, rifle unsheathed from its sling. The moment seemed to be quiet and uneventful, despite the everlasting tension of roaming Amone's seemingly empty streets. Any moment could have a squad jump out from behind the broken walls of a garden or shop, gunning them down, but it never happened. It was almost as if the streets itself had eyes, or that the windows were going to speak in the familiar accent of the Imperial soldiers. Either way, Jean was surprised and glad that nothing ever came around in terms of violence, but the most peculiar sight came before them as they continued their travels.
Several wooden signs were laid out along the road, pointing with the words White Hart listed all over them. Other words like neutrality and peace were thrown into the mix, but Jean's scepticism seemed to get the best of him. He kept his rifle at the ready and walked with extreme caution, even going out of his way to search for landmines on the floor before stepping first. No matter what the conditions of the squad behind him were, Jean led the march forwards, for some reason being oddly compliant with the responsibility of going ahead. Jean wasn't sure if it was noticeable for Michael, Franz, Isaac, Reyna, Diana, Freya, Britta or Kalisa, but it was quite strange to see him becoming more...proactive? Was that the word Jean could've used to describe himself now? There weren't bullets flying at him, which was when his instinct to act smartly usually kicked in, but the looming threat of an ambush already seemed to hold the same similar effect. Whether it was the thought of being in some marksman's sights or not, Jean still could feel his muscles tensing up painfully at every known noise to occur in the fog.
Suddenly, before them, Jean stopped, raising his hand and clenching it into a fist, signalling for everyone to take a knee behind something as cover. Jean was the furthest ahead, at least by a few or five metres from the nearest follower, and held his rifle up to his eyes, optics trailed on the sudden sound of bootsteps in the distant fog. They were close. There was chanting and talking quietly ahead of them, and the sounds of voices were seemingly audible form their concealed, yet open position. Jean kept his rifle trailed into the mist, his breath running short. The boots stopped, and Jean held his breath, unsure of what to make of it. That was until a voice rang out.
"You coming in or leavin', Fed?" Jean was shocked, immediately, at the direct address of an Imperial sounding voice. It was...welcoming, but one that belonged to the supposed enemy they'd been fighting for so long already. Jean didn't move his rifle, but instead swayed it from side to side, trying to pinpoint the source of the speaker in order to get the upper advantage in the even of a shootout. For about ten seconds, no one answered, unsure of how to respond to the sudden cheeriness of another voice. Jean looked back slowly, eyeing up his comrades with a strict policy of breathlessness, panicking on the inside over the sudden outburst of a voice. This was all happening so quickly. "Look, we can see you. No need to trail the guns on us, we're all friends at this house!"
With the heavy concept of boots placing themselves slowly across the pavements, a figure emerged through the fog, dressed entirely in a rather smartly onlooked attire, equipped with several medals and accommodations. Jean kept his rifle aimed, looking back and telling those behind him to wait with a silent mouthing. His heart raced for answers, unable to keep a steady beat and the confusing fear that the situation held. Were they being led out into a false sense of security, or was this some sort of ploy to get them all distracted before an assault squad wiped them out from behind? Even so, Jean slowly stood up, moving out of the cover of the rubble to look more distinct to their approaching speaker. Jean's hands trembled as he did so, perhaps looking rather suicidal to the rest of his squad as he daringly left the protection to fully realise the situation. Even with that in mind, Jean did have the gun still trailed on the man.
"Woah, rules are rules here, Fed. No violence." Jean could see his face more clearly now, making out the blonde features of his hair and more mature look. He looked rather sophisticated, but not in an overly pompous or aristocratic way. He seemed to be rather, kind? Was that the right word to use? Why did his appearance suggest that straight away? Jean was confused as to how to react, but he hesitated in his speech, looking at the man with a sense of inferiority. "This your squad?"
"W-What's going on? What are you planning?" Even with the stammer, Jean's voice was remarkably strong and empowering, finding a sense of confidence and calmness to the real anxiety he felt in the situation. Was he about to be struck a bullet? He would never know until he asked. However, he got a response he wasn't yet prepared to receive.
"Did you not see the signs? This is the White Hart, just behind me. Dunno if the fog obscures it." He turned his head around, before nodding to confirm that the building in question was more-than-less covered up by the thickness of the misty morning. "Oh...uhh...well this is our neutral pocket. I don't come here too often, but it's one of those unstated laws that we have in Amone. You one of those new-waves of infantry that poured in the other day?" No one answered, but with a slight chuckle, the Imperial seemed to get it correct by assumption. Whether it was from a deduction that he had planned out in his mind or the simplicity that the squad seemed more pressured than before, it was clear to him. "Well, no violence is allowed to happen here. On any sides. Whether you're a Fed, Imperial or Civvie, no combat here. They set up this place for citizens of the city before they started to allow small numbers of soldiers to rest and relax here before they went out into combat. Just one rule, though, and that was to not fight. Pretend the war doesn't happen, we like to think."
Jean was sceptic, but for some reason he felt compelled to start lowering his rifle. There was a strange and charming tone with the elder man, smiling and chuckling along to his little explanation of why it was so quiet over here, and why there were chuckles coming from ahead, both of which sounded mildly Imperial and Federation in terms of their accents. There were clinks of drinks and some small little giggles from other individuals, perhaps the apparent owners of the Inn. Jean was very confused by this all, but he did remember the mentioning of neutral zones during his original briefing of Amone. Trigger discipline was advised, but not to this extent? Jean turned back around and suddenly looked to his Squad, before looking back at the Imperial.
"Are...I mean...uhh...This is all very..."
"Surprising? Hah, I thought the same. Years of fighting and we ain't never seen anything like this, have we? Besides, it should be calm for your boys and girls behind you. You guys look like shit, and most of us boys from the Imperial Marksman squads will be leaving later tonight, so the beds and baths will be free for yo-" He was suddenly interrupted when Jean quickly turned around, walking a little closer with a sense of hope in his eyes.
"B-Beds? Like...real ones? And...hot baths?"
The Imperial nodded and chuckled, still not having introduced himself. No one could have possibly told who he was from first glance, but the Imperial of Squad 2 was to be more than surprised if and when he was finally introduced to the unsung hero before them. Or at least, hero for the Imperials, demon for the Federation, however they looked at it. Jean was in the blank about who he was, but for some reason, he felt the need to trust him. The encouraging shouts ahead didn't seem forced enough for this to be a plot, was it? And it was likely to come across a neutral zone in this pocketed battlefield of the frontlines. Jean, keeping his eyes locked on the Imperial, waved his hand behind him to signal the squad, before walking ahead. The Inn began to come into view, where he saw the sign as he instructed: The White Hart. Jean's heart froze. Was this...time to relax and recover? Was this...a peaceful place in the middle of an entire warzone?
