Waking up in a cold sweat Bertrand felt so panicked that his first thought was that the housing section had been infiltrated and he was being attacked.

After a few tense moments during which he tugged his bayonet out of its sheath and held it unsteadily in front of himself, the memories of his nightmare came back to him.

And he released a deep sigh of relief. exhaling almost all the air in his lungs.

After a few more seconds, he calmly put his bayonet back in its sheath and laid it by his side once more, his trembling hands betrayed the fact this calmness was a facade though.

Thankfully it would seem that the other inhabitants of this tent, Francois and Césaire were still absent, so there was no one to notice just how badly rattled he was.

On the other hand, there was also no one to pat him on the shoulder.

Such a simple action that he once held disdain for would be very welcome right about now.

But there was no one around, so he followed his training, breathing in and out deeply for a few minutes to calm down his racing heart rate.

And once he could no longer hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, he went back to breathing normally.

The upside of this very unpleasant awakening was that he was now completely void of any sleepiness.

Another upside was that judging by the limited light that was pouring into the tent through the thin fabric, it was still very early in the morning.

Which meant he would be able to have a hefty hot meal.

It was only when he had quickly grabbed his beamer and stuffed his feet into his boots that he realised there was no actual rush.

He would be getting a large serving regardless of whether he was late or early.

There was just so much more food left now that their numbers had been drastically decreased.

And even if they had four thousand mouths to feed instead of the two and a half thousand they now had, the officers would still have granted them extra rations.

Have to keep up morale after enduring crippling losses and all that.

All Bertrand really knew about the topic was that most casualties occurred when an army was routed. A rather sizable part of his training had revolved around how he should never have his back facing the enemy and always stand and fight, rather than fall back or retreat.

Shit all he could do to fight when shields were involved though.

Back in boot camp he had thought that the best he could do was some mild scouting, a little fighting, and mostly just standing guard on the flanks of his legion while the linemen and infantrymen engaged Coalition troops.

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It was shocking how wrong he had been. Rather than fighting the Coalition like he had expected, he was fighting mockeries of mankind.

Demons masquerading as men and women.

Abominations soiling Francia land.

Monstrosities which displayed the sadism only a curious child could manifest, using their inhuman intellect to butcher trained soldiers in eccentric ways, just to see what reaction their terrified comrades would give in response.

Seer it was all so beyond him.

The fact that his training had so strongly emphasised adaptability was probably what kept him from looking like the shaking wrecks that the lineman yesterday had been.

Even then though he still felt so overwhelmed.

Before he could spiral though, he unbuttoned the tent and exited it.

Taking in a breath of the crisp morning air, he stared up at the cloudy sky.

If they were lucky it would start raining soon, turning the plains muddy and hindering any zombie assault.

Though adaptors could shapeshift, so they would probably be able to specialise their feet to use the mud to their advantage somehow.

A task force had encountered specialised adaptors that had turned their feet into blades, all the toes losing their flesh and fusing together to create a jagged bone edge that they used to climb trees more easily.

The task force that faced them suffered greatly, with only a mortally wounded soldier surviving long enough to warn another task force that was in the area.

Bertrand didn’t remember where or when he heard this but he was pretty sure it was something someone had said.

Maybe he would ask around at the cooking site, he was just a few dozen yards away from it now.

Now the people he was passing by were actual soldiers getting a meal or meeting up with their friends, instead of guards who were busy patrolling.

Bertrand found it somewhat comforting for some strange reason.

Once he had reached the small line of twenty people he waited his turn, listening to the idle talk around him to pass the time.

He didn’t need to wait long though as the line moved far quicker than usual.

And before he knew it he was in front of the large cooking pot.

And that's when it hit him, he had forgotten to grab a bowl.

Embarrassed he was about to exit the line, when one of the infantrymen who was loitering in the area came up to him and gave him their empty bowl.

It was a bit unhygienic as normally the bowls were wiped down with a wet rag by the cooks before being reused.

But he didn’t want to be rude and look like an idiot, so he gratefully took the bowl from them.

Saying a quick thank you, which the infantryman reciprocated with a nod of their head.

Awkwardly turning away from them, Bertrand grabbed the ladle that was in the pot and heaped a few large spoonfuls of soup into his bowl.

Its red colour made him think that it was tomato soup today.

While he was doing this, the kind infantrymen had walked back to where he was loitering by, likely to wait for his teammates to arrive as squadmates usually woke up and walked to get breakfast together.

Bertrand’s relationship with his squadmates was an odd exception and not at all what most inter-squad relations were like.

After he was finished giving himself a few more spoonfuls of soup, he looked around to see if he could spot anyone he knew.

And shockingly he sees Olivier, alive and well leaning on one of the house walls.

So he obviously starts walking over to him.

After a few steps he starts to jog though, as the steaming hot soup was starting to heat up the bowl and he really didn’t want to burn his fingers.