Starting the obstacle course again with added 'realism' made the course even more difficult than before. His already saturated uniform helped to slow him down as well as the rounds flying mere inches above his head. He definitely felt as if he was back in the trenches! The Razor Wire fields never seemed to end. If he wasn't getting snagged by the wire, he was getting jammed up by the others. He could only imagine what the teeming sea of bodies looked like from the tower. Just a bunch of flailing bodys barely visible in the maze of muck, tracers and wire!

The wall vaults weren't any better. Already caked in mud and now engine grease, he fell more times than he could count. He struggled through the wall vaults. Everyone he got through seemed to add another scrape or bruise. He finally collapsed over the top of the last one, landing square on his bionic arm, which now seemed to be making a hissing sound and barely functioned from the impact! He cursed himself for allowing it to happen. It would have to be checked out when they finished, whether that would be today or not was yet to be determined.

Making it to the home stretch he cleared the first set of tire tracks with ease. But of course his luck would continue to trump his good fortune as he slammed into the last stretch of track adding even more time to what felt like hours of the second run of the obstacle course!

Back in formation he began counting his numerous injuries. There were atleast 3 new scrapes, 2 new bruises, a headache and his malfunctioning arm. He took a few ragged breathes, knowing full well this failure would result in additional 'corrective' training.

Ferdinand quickly realized that this day was going to be even longer than he had thought when the officers began yelling and hitting people as they were forced to do the course agian. However this time they made it just plain unfair with the machine guns and grease covered walls added to the course. When he went into the wire trenches he found himself moving much more slowly than he preferred with the machine gun fire keeping him low to the ground and terrified recruits blocking his way. By the time he made it out he was exhausted and the idea of having to scale seven grease covered walls didn't brighten his mood. The grease covering the walls didn't add to the fact that his grip was shaky and he fell at least once on each of the walls giving him bruises on pretty much every part of his body and when he finally made it the tires he was in less than favorable condition. In fact he somehow managed to screw up running through them and fell over once or perhaps twice he wasn't keeping track and he finally stumbled out of the course and fell into formation.

At least he had some of his former dignity but he was beginning to feel contempt for the people that caused his suffering with both the terrified recurits that slowed him down and the officers that decided to make the course next impossible. There where many words he could use to discribe them but he resisted the urge to say them as he would likely receive a baton to the face for doing so. As he stood he unwillingly began to pant and his head began to pulsate with pain and his numerous new bruises ached, he was hurt but alive. Being on latrine duty shouldn't be that bad he hoped then again while he did terribly there were some people that haven't even finished yet somehow so there was some hope at least. Not much but like his dignity it still existed just not nearly as much as it once had.

After getting verbally, and physically, by Bakerson and his minions Eva again went in after John did to go through the course. To say it was abysmal would be complimenting the situation. Going through the flooded razor wire fields again, her progress kept stalling behind troopers that just lost the will to go on and when bullets would tear into the meat above her which then landed on her, making her think it was her own flesh that got hit and scaring the crap out of her.

Getting back on her feet and covered in a new layer of mud, cause you know the first layer was already drying out, she tacked the greased up walls with what can only be described as stubborn desperation. Slipping off and bouncing against the ground several times on each wall, she even slammed her head on the final wall before finally hauling her exhausted body over the apex.

Surprising herself, she got through the first tire track without incident. But that didn't last long when she tripped and slammed face first into one of the tires with an audible curse, earning herself a bloody nose as she pulled herself back up to finish the damnable course.

Running back into formation, or more like limping as fast as she could, she stood at attention as best she could in her condition. The small crimson line that kept trickling down out of her nose despite her best efforts to wipe it away contrasting the mud and pale skin. Her thoughts were mostly occupied with wither or not she got latrine duty, having a sinking feeling that she did. She understood why they did this, same reason the Federation did with their own soldiers, to make training hell so the real thing wouldn't be to all of them. Doesn't mean it stopped her from hating Bakerson's guts for it all.

Errmanno shook his head at the increased difficulty of the course. He knew that he would have to take it slow to get through at all. His plan this time was to shine by helping others get ahead. If he had latrine duty it wouldn't be the first time. So he dived under the razor wire and made slow time because every so often he would stop and encourage the those around him to keep moving that it will be over sooner if they kept calm and move on. The second set of razor wire he made good time but slow down again in the third and fourth one as he tried to get people to move on. On guy even kicked the wood holding the razor wire up down knocking into Errmanno. He got scratched and bruised but kept on keeping on.

Into the greased walls he met similar delays and trouble. He stopped to help other recruits over the walls as grease made them all slippery. One Guy even fell on top of him bruising him further. Two of the walls those that he helped helped him and he made good time with but the rest he struggled along at a slow but steady pace. He slipped fell a couple times and one time over shot the rest at the top of the wall and fell over the other side. He was battered but unbroken in his will to complete this course with honor.

The last was the tire track courses, and there he got a second wind. He dashed to the end making a respectable time just not in the time limit. He wasn't last nor first. He was somewhere in the middle of the pack as he made it back to the formation. Now though he was covered in muck and engine oil making him dark and starting to blend into the terrain. He was proud of making it but feeling exhausted, more so that he could have done better. He still hasn't said a word or even displayed much in the way of negative emotion, this is just normal basic to him.

crack was the sound that most recruits in formation heard as a baton made contact with Malcom's face. It seemed one of the officers had not taken a liking to Malcom's terrible performance and at the order of Bakerson blind sided Malcom. Stumbling back a few steps Malcom would bring his hand up to hold his face for a moment. Stepping back in formation his nose gushed with blood and seemed a bit out of alignment, perhaps a tad broken from the impact. It was also at this moment that Malcom focused entirely on the officer who had struck him, memorizing his face for the moment he got the chance, he would be Malcom's first experiment if the war started back up.

Slowly settling into the mud below the razor wire Malcom began to move with a purpose, angered that he had been struck so much harder than the other recruits. Sadly however it was pointless how fast Malcom tried to go, as recruits seemed to simply stop, some of them even having panic attacks. It wasn't until the final section of razor wire that it was truly bad. It seemed somebody had kicked the wooden support and sent it crashing down onto Malcom and a few others. Screaming out more in rage than frustration Malcom began clawing his way out of the razor wire. His flesh being sliced open on several points on his back he eventually stood before the walls.

Starting the difficult task of climbing the walls Malcom would slip and fall easily over a dozen times through all of the walls. Once he even landed awkwardly on his hand after he had climbed over, feeling a slight shift in his wrist bone, obviously a sprain or dislocation, though it immediately came back into place on its own. Next were the tires and they were much easier, infact Malcom even finished the last one in decent time, passing up a few of the recruits ahead of him. Making it back into formation Malcom breathed heavily, obviously tired from the exergy he had expended, as well as the amount of blood he had lost thanks to some panicked fool in the razor wire.

With the instructors adding more realism to the course, Elizabeth sighed internally as this was going to suck. Sure, it was easy enough to show that she was good when not having to deal with bullets over her head and grease on the walls, but those things were likely to at least screw up everyone else enough that she'd suffer from their failings. And well, even she wasn't immune from random acts of misfortune.

So she started her second run, and for the first two trenches it actually wen rather well, her usual level of effort allowing her to power through the issues of bullets and wire even while others were getting caught on the wire and generally getting in her way. However, by the third trench it was all starting to fall apart for her, getting snagged on the wire for a good few minutes and lacerating her arms before she managed to slowly ease herself off the razor wire and got out of that trench.

As for the fourth trench of water, wire and bullets, Shaw suffered even worse on that occasion, getting her head forced under the water by someone who was clearly eager to finish this whole exercise and didn't care for who got in their way, as she lost time to scrabbling back up out of the water, coughing up the water in her lungs and slowly dragging herself out of that hellish section.... Onto the wall vaults.

For the first one, the grease caused her grip to slip which sent her tumbling off on the way and giving Seranos a hard landing on her legs, which was going to leave a mark afterwards, but she did managed to make it past that challenge in the end. For the second wall, she barely made it without fucking up the task like the first wall, which emboldened her for the third wall, which she scaled with the same speed that she had managed when there wasn't any grease on the any of the walls at all, as if perhaps offering a glimmer of hope that she could get back on form.

Alas, it didn't carry on for her as fourth, fifth and sixth walls all sent her back down to terra-firma thanks to in no particular order: Someone landing on her just as she had gotten onto the wall, giving her left shoulder quite the bruise, spraining her right ankle with a hard landing on her feet, and finally scraping her left knee thanks to being given a helping knock to aid her decent via gravity. Obviously, she lost a fair bit of time just making sure that those bumps, sprain and bruises wouldn't become unbearable injuries that would ruin any attempt at salvaging something approaching a time that was not a total disaster.

Finally, staggering onto the tires section of the course Elizabeth managed to finish without exhaustion or injury causing her to make any mistakes, even if her drooped shoulders and sluggish pace pretty much made it clear to everyone her disappointment in herself for not managing to do better as she fell back in formation. At least everyone else was just as likely to be as bad as her, if not worse.

As Sergeant Bakerson watched in dismay as the sorry excuses for green horns and supposed "veterans" failed the light obstacle course again and again, he was about to send in some extra "motivation" when the main bases sirens blared three times. Shrieking louder than a pregnant woman having their abdomen sliced open (GoT Reference), the sirens blare echoed across the entire facility before being cut off signalling a general alarm. Pulling up the whistle chained around his neck, Sergeant Bakerson blew two long solid blows signalling a end of exercise before screaming,

"ALL UNITS TO THE MAIN BARRACKS NOW! QUARTERMASTERS, READY THE LOCKERS! APOTHECARYS....DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS EYESORE IN FRONT OF ME! IF I CATCH A SINGLE ONE OF YOU COCKSUCKERS WITHOUT A WEAPON IN THREE MINUTES AT ATTENTION YOU'RE GOING TO PRAY YOU HAD NEVER BEEN BORN! NOW MOVE IT! GO GO GO!"

Jumping off the watchtower, a distance of more than twenty meters, the sergeant landed in a large cloud of dust before breaking off in a sprint towards the primary headquarters followed by several other officers. In the distance, Regulars were streaming out from side barracks even as artillery pieces and anti-aircraft guns were quickly brought to readiness, their gun crews pulling safety harnesses out of barrels, performing double checks, and loading ammunition.

In the distance, roughly two hundred miles away, a massive explosion erupted. Unknown by now, it was the destruction of a portion of the Siegfried Maximum Defensive Line, the fortress wall between the CAS and the Empire. Hundreds of smaller explosions blossomed even as light contrails could be seen as a massive artillery duel lit up the horizon.

Outside, bells began to ring, their cacophony echoing grimly like that of a funeral procession as civilians began to flee towards air-raid shelters and local strongholds which had been left unused since the last Great War. Cromwell class heavy dreadnoughts began to steam slowly out of the armored harbors, their hides bristling with anti-aircraft mounts and massive super cannons. Even as the first one powered through the thick froth of the seas churning mass, it began to suddenly lean towards one side before exploding.

Four hundred meters away, the Empires flag fluttered from the oceans depth as their new prototype Unterfell submarines emerged from the depths, deck guns firing. Shells impacted heavily even as torpedoes flooded the distance between both fleets. In the span of only fifty seconds from the Sergeants call to quarters, all hell had begun to break loose.

Caught between the adrenaline and fatigue of the recent exercises to the now sudden engagement danger close, it was only a matter of time before the Empire began to land troops on the Principalities shores. Already the coastal batteries were beginning their return fire even as the apothecary's began to appear patching up the most grievously injured and wounded before ushering them towards the armory bays. Quartermasters opened up their stores handing out weapons, grenades, and ammunition. Racks of armour plating were quickly stripped bare as platoon after platoon was armed and sent towards the general assembly to await deployment orders.

By the end of the three minutes, nearly 2,000 Regulars and Militia were arrayed by battalion awaiting deployment orders just as the first transport landed for the first time in seven years on the Principalities shores. Across the general announcement horns, orders were quickly issued to squads and platoons quickly and effectively. Squad Hammer-fell received their orders to deploy along the southern curtain wall defending the bastions main approach from the coastal landing zones which were already heavily contested.

Just as they were about to leave, Sergeant Bakerson appeared out of the crowd ushering them to follow him with power sword in hand and holding a ME1888 submachinegun in the other. Ahead, the curtain wall was already the attention of several other platoons which were busy firing from the armored parapets at unseen targets below. While many sections were already severely damaged, with a few completely caved in from artillery impacts and others showing the tell tale signs of a pyromancer, not a single Empire soldier was seen. Blue and khaki uniforms littered the battlements, many severely wounded and even more dead.

Just as the squad was about to reach the curtain wall, a large detonation swept up across the central flank above the gatehouse and the machine gun nest fell quiet. Through the crumbling masonry and acrid smoke cause by the scorching flames, a chilling war cry echoed as the first Empire soldier scrambled into view. Wearing crimson heavy plate and with a sigil of the Dragon on his breastplate, the soldier speared the nearest Regular through the chest who was still stumbling with shell shock. Throwing the corpse off with a heavy kick from his boot, the trooper was about to open fire before his head disappeared in a bloody mist, hand depressing the trigger as electrical aftershocks shot through his corpse. Yet he was not alone as over two dozen more began to charge through the breach.

__________________________________________________________​

You are on a rubble and fire strewn battlement with friendlies caught between you and the enemy. Up ahead is a large courtyard covered with sandbags, crate walls, and burning vehicle wreckage in addition to parts of the curtain wall that have collapsed and several dead corpses. To the left and right are mirror staircases which lead atop to the wide gatehouse and upper ramparts where a unmanned MG nest lays and two coastal guns which are still firing but from the sounds of gunfire will be overrun soon.

The Curtain wall extends for several dozen meters in either direction with the front section from prior local knowledge being a winding approach with a wide road leading towards town and several footpaths from the jagged rocks and sandy beach cropping below which is the most likely insertion point. The ramparts next to you are still manned with allied infantry firing down below. While the line is holding for now, there is a high chance enemy reinforcements will break through in addition areas. Sergeant Bakerson is a NPC controlled officer and is senior ranking, any orders from him overrule the squads leadership.

Friendly fire will not be tolerated and neither will dying before the enemy.

Consult the TDT for details on the enemys and how to handle them.

Primary Objective:
HOLD THE FUCKING LINE​

At this point Mikael was full of piss and vinegar. While he normally doesn't come off as brutish person, when constantly pushed and bullied he grows more stubborn and angrier. His strength and endurance had left him and the few last rounds he had crawled through with pure burning fury. His passive-aggressiveness was on other level. Drill Sergeant wants me to run the obstacle course? Well I fucking run the obstacle course. I'll keep running the course, we'll see how he likes that. Perkele! Sure, that didn't mean he performance was anything notable, each completion time slower than previous one, but if Sarge things he is going just keel over and give up, he has another thing coming.

Mikael was so focused on channeling his inner hatred to physical movement that he didn't notice the course being modified until the ear-piercing sound of machine guns firing snapped him out of it. Sight of the track turning from infuriating to hellish was enough to take some of his guts out and instill same fear everyone was experiencing. But getting practically kicked into the trenches again and subsequently getting trampled on by other recruits rekindled the wrath towards everything, especially this situation, inside him, feeding him enough strength to drag himself forward on the course. Fueled by unexplained promise that finishing this obstacle course somehow shows it to everyone and makes everything alright again as long he just don't give up, because then they win, Mikael crawls in the mud and now increasingly bloodier slush.

The boggy water fills his mouth, nostrils and eyes, but he battles his way through the trenches. Fresh pain throbs from his back, where the razor wire found its way through his wet and dirty clothes. On the now greased walls, Mikael never knew just how much strength human body possess when pushed to the limits. At the dawn, still half-sleep, he didn't belief he could climb over those walls once. Now, after how knows later, he finds himself pulling himself up on the greased and mud covered wall and giving quick glance to the area around them. But what comes up tired, falls down. On the next wall, halfway through them, Mikael feels his ankle doing something it shouldn't. It definitely sprained. Limping through the rest of the track gives hope it wouldn't be so bad as it at least allows Mikael to put weight to it. Which was tested on the tires. Stumbling his way through them he was surprised to notice that while not being anywhere near fastest recruits, his injuries at least were mostly superficial.


Then hell broke loose. Sirens tearing the air apart with their wails, Sergeants screaming, everyone running around. It didn't help at all that Mikaels body used all their adrenaline reserves on the obstacle course, now hitting him with withdrawal. Mikael spins around in the chaos confused, apprehensive, tired, lost. Just following others, not even sure if they they were from his squad, he finds himself shortly after standing at the courtyard, his pistol at hand. No has no idea what is happening, his mind too weary to process the events around him. The wet, sticky mud drains his body heat and weights him down. His whole body aches. Someone tackles him as he stands in the way. Several inner voices, survival instincts, scream from within, but they can't force their way through the fog clouding his mind yet

Ferdinand stood behind a pile of rubble he using for cover while the chaos of war erupted around him the rest of his team was also taking cover from the fire of enemy weapons and ruble crumbling from the damaged wall. In front of them layed the gatehouse where imperial soldiers were moving to make their way through and into the walls to attacke the gun implacments. They needed those guns to hold off the invasion and definitely didn't need them turned around towards themselves by the enemy. They needed to do something and fast he thought as he upholstered his heavy pistol with his right hand and took his Pernach into his left. He turned to his team and began to speak as a plan was forming in his head.

"Everyone fire into the gatehouse's entrance we can't let those bastards take it over and turn those guns against us! Kroll(@kanila), Martin(@BuriasDempsey), Noble(@TechCaptain) once the way is clear I need you three to make your way up to those stairs. There should be a machine gun nest up there I shouldn't have to tell you what you're supposed to do with it. Everyone else will stay here and provide covering fire do you understand me!?" He said loudly so everyone could hear him. He raised his pistol and quickly looked over the cover he was behind and fired at one of the approaching Imperial soldiers aiming for his torso since it was the largest part of the man's body and therefore the best target. He then quickly ducked back behind the rubble and looked to the sky this day is getting worse by the minute first an obstacle course in the morning after a rude awakening now a second war. He hoped to what ever watched over them that he didn't see any of his siblings but given his current luck he wouldn't be that surprised if his entire family was charging into battle against him. Hell if he survived this one maybe he should start a journal might be a good read once this one was done, it he survived that long.

Diving behind cover from the initial chaos, John quickly sized up the situation. Taking advantage of an enemy in the open he sent a round straight into his chest. The impact going straight through his armor immediately sending blood gushing out. The man dropped his gun and grabbed at his chest before collapsing in a pool of his own blood.

Back behind the relative safety of his cover he heard the orders to advance. "Roger that, I'll take point." He had to shout even at this close range just to be heard over the sounds of battle all around them. He peeked from his cover trying to find the best route to the stairs. He hoped he would be able to bound up to reduce the amount of time he was exposed. Every second in the open was an extra opportunity for the enemy to get a clean shot in.