Sergeant Harald, Gallian Militia
0430 March 30th 1935 EC
Squad Four Barracks, Fort Breda
Clutching at a hot cup of tea like it was the elixir of life, Sergeant Harald sneezed in the early morning chill. It had been a long night discussing the upgrades to the squad's APC with Carn and at some point alcohol had gotten involved. A mild headache added another layer of irritation to an already grim morning. The others were getting themselves together as he waited, collecting their gear and packing up as well they could for the trip ahead. Harald had also received a memo in the night; another transfer was inbound apparently. The note stressed that the soldier would find Squad Four before they left, but as he looked around at the tired faces of his gathering squad, he realised that there wasn't much time left. 'Stichler, you're in charge.', he called into the barrack house. 'I need to see the Captain.'
The odd sentry gave him a disapproving glance as Harald made his way across the base to the officer's quarters, but he ignored them. Even in full uniform with a helmet on, his distinctive Darscen hair was obvious to the seasoned racist and it would be naive to think his rank would change any minds. Still, he couldn't help but feel optimistic for some reason. Perhaps it was the addition of another Darcsen squad member, but suddenly Harald didn't feel quite so... alone. It made a certain kind of sense, he reasoned. After living all his life in Rinneheim's Darktown, the prospect of being separated from his people was quite daunting... He hadn't really let himself think about it so far, but Fina's arrival had reminded him of many things; long nights in the tavern, dancing away with serving girls, the ever present rhythmic pounding of the blacksmith's hammers, even the godawful smell- a melange of acrid smoke, failing sewers and unwashed bodies... Homesickness was a bitch.
It didn't take long to reach the Captain's office within the main annex building. The Captain's room was full of all manner of trinkets and memorabilia; crossed swords lined the walls along with a gilded Imperial dynastic shield and a dozen certificates and old photographs. For a long moment he just marvelled at the sheer ostentatiousness of the display, cynically comparing it to his own log-built office in the barracks... '... Sergeant. I may not look it, but I am a rather busy man.' Jerking to attention at Meulemann's irritated tone, Harald saluted in the most apologetic manner possible. 'My apologies, sir, I was distracted. I came because of the note you sent last night about a transfer?' The details had been pretty vague, but at this point Harald was just happy to have another gun in the squad. 'I was wondering where I might find him?'
Lieutenant Beirmann, Imperial Army
As his subordinates began to outline their suggestions, Marcus leant forward on steepled fingers. His handpicked crew was... eccentric, but they said that madness and genius go hand in hand. That said, the excessive aggression displayed by Glockner was enough to give him pause; if the gunner didn't always seem to hit every damn shot he fired, Marcus would have him discharged and sent for re-education. But despite his foul tongue, Glockner did a good job of critiquing Siegfried's weapon systems, even bringing up a point about the auto-loader that Marcus himself hadn't noticed. Schmidt was equally forthcoming, although something about the way he spoke irked him, some inherent lack of professionalism perhaps... He submitted the driver to a cold stare. 'I will pass, 2nd Lieutenant. I live in abstinence as the Yggdist Church demands.' He sat back slowly, his mind reviewing the battle once more. Massacre was an appropriate word. 'I have perpetrated many so-called massacres, 2nd Lieutenant and I have taken no joy in any of them. These Gallian simpletons are no soldiers... I will admit that it leaves a bad taste in my mouth; killing Gallian... soldiers is like killing Federation civilians. They offer about the same degree of resistance.'
His eyes flicked back to those of his superior as she gave her piece and he weighed up his reply slowly. 'From a commander's perspective, Siegfried is almost perfect. It can engage any enemy at any range and deflect any round from any land-based weapon. However I would recommend an armoured cupola for the commander; several times I was forced to duck into the turret to avoid infantry fire and that negatively effected our performance.' And leather seats... He didn't say that aloud however... 'Overall ma'am, I would say that Siegfried has passed it's first combat test with flying colours and that the overall design has proven a resounding success. As for technical details, I do have a few suggestions...' The four of them continued the discussion until long into the night. Around them the rest of Squadron 655 celebrated yet another victory for the glorious armies of the Empire as columns of black smoke rose over the remains of the Gallian line.