“Right Bertrand given that you haven't even been properly told what our role is, do you know what to do in a standard combat scenario?” Césaire calmly and slowly asked, at complete odds with Francois who was swivelling his head left and right, glaring suspiciously at the shrubbery.

“Attempt to flank the enemy well they're distracted?” he quickly answered, eager to get moving and reinforce his fellow skirmishers.

“Sorta, but not for this situation. We’re going straight towards the source of the fighting, we’re the response force so it's our job to tie them down while the others flank them.” Then with an impatient head jerk from Francois and a muttered no time, move, they were sprinting along the road.

Rushing forwards without a care in the world for ambushes or traps seemed idiotic to him but then again according to Césaire the other skirmishers would have already cleared everything, so they should be fine. Hopefully.

They hadn't unslung their beamers yet, that would just decrease their speed, a crucial thing for a skirmisher to process.

With a loud thunking sound the trio raced down the half dirt half stone round, all the while the sounds of shooting and the screech of beamers started picking up pace, as skirmishers closer than them had started to join the fray.

Following the chaotic sounds, they left the road and stormed into the forest, dirt brown pants turning lightly green from the juices of the plants stomped in their haste. Bertrand followed the lead of Césaire and Francois as they unslung their beamers.

With the help of the road and their prior positioning, they burst into the battle possibly even faster than if the response force had been mounted.

Eyes wide Bertrand drank in the bizarre sight, five skirmishers were desperately engaged in a brutal melee against what looked like either run down bandits or sickly homeless people.

The torn apart bodies and scatted limbs around the bushes painted a grim story, there must have been three dozen utterly destroyed bodies and they all seemed to have died in a roughly straight line.

With horror, Bertrand realised that they had to have charged the skirmishers, uncaring of the beamer's deadly rays. The still bodies of three skirmishers also laid in the bush, throats ripped open and guts on display for all to see.

It took just a few seconds for all of this to sink in and then his training kicked in, and despite how much he didn't want to, he threw his beamer onto the ground and unsheathed his bayonet. The madmen were too close to his fellow soldiers to risk firing his beamer so he had to engage them in melee.

Briefly shuddering he charged them, aiming to help a particularly bloodied skirmisher who was having difficulty fending off the two mad men assailing him.

Francois joined him in his charge, Césaire stayed back though , waiting to get a good angle to shoot from. If only they had some light infantry with them they wouldn't have to be so conservative with their weaponry.

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Tackling the nearest madman in the shoulder, Bertrand knocks him down and alleviates the pressure from his comrade, who uses the opportunity to twist his way out the other man's grip, ripping his clothes in the process

Then now free from his grasp he quickly crouches down grabs a bayonet that he must have dropped and leaps up, slamming it into their chin.

Slowly the madman collapses, but even as he falls another one rises. Gritting his teeth Bertrand brings his bayonet down right into their neck, twisting it left and right just like how he was taught.

With some bile rising in his throat, he quickly gets up rubbing his shoulder unconsciously, he might have bruised the bone in his poorly executed shoulder tackle.

Then turning around he catches a glimpse of Francois writhing on the ground with one of the madmen, running forward to help him, he arrives just as Francois gained the upper hand and slammed his oriental dagger into their head.

Offering them a hand up, which they gratefully accept he gets a close view of Francois’s eyes going wide, quickly he snaps his neck around to spot whatever it is that has Francois spooked and notices one of the madmen with his teeth buried in one of the skirmisher’s neck as the man feebly bats at their chest trying to shove them off himself.

Lunching himself up, Francois rushes at the pinned man, knife in head and delivers a devastating kick to the madman's head, snapping their head upwards with a clump of flesh trailing behind.

Wasting no time he grips their greasy hair and brings his dagger down, again and again. Puncturing their skull and bending the metal of his knife.

Then casting the corpse to the side he hurridly rips off a part of his sleeve and starts attempting first aid.

Tearing his gaze away from Francois Bertrand looks around trying to spot anyone in need of help. He thankfully spots nobody though, the madmen had been wiped out, and those still alive were seconds away from being killed by the far superior skirmishers.

Then a burning sensation covered his chest, tingles spreading throughout his body, quickly he consciously expelled the breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

This wasn't how he thought his first battle would go but compared to some horror stories he had heard about whole companies being decimated to a man he thought it went.

Standing tall and firm alongside his new brothers, he found himself conflicted, overwhelmed by both joy and sadness. The deaths subtracting greatly from his euphoria.

But maybe there was a chance to save a life, walking uncertainly towards Francois, and another man who had joined him, he was about to offer to help.

But then the other skirmisher Francois him let out a sob over the injured man. With a grimace, Francois merely glanced over at him and waved Bertrand off, before getting up and letting out a sigh,

“He’s dead, now listen up, this has been a very costly battle, four of our brothers now belong to the Holy Seer but we have a duty to ensure that no further losses are inflicted upon our compatriots. We will mourn then we will ensure this doesn't happen again.”

A slight cheer went up after his words but nobody was feeling very motivated. Even Bertrand who hardly knew the people who died was feeling quite emotional and upset. Needless to say the people who actually knew them and had served alongside them would be feeling even worse than him

Then a gasp of surprise broke him out of melancholy. The dead skirmisher had reached out a hand and grabbed hold of what Bertrand could only assume was his squadmate.

It was a miracle, the skirmisher was actually alive and for the first time since meeting him, Francois had been wrong about something.