'"How can this day get any fucking worse." She grumbled to herself as she watched the rest of the recruits go through the obstacle course. The sound of the sirens were a punch in the gut for Eva. It sure as hell wasn't a drill and with the base frantically preparing itself proved that much. She skipped going through the Apothecary's, her own injuries no where as serious as some as the other recruits, and went straight to the armory to arm up with her gear. Rushing back out with the rest of Hammer Fell, the gatehouse erupted in violence and the squad was getting its first taste of battle together.

Keeping behind some concrete cover, she heard the old Alemmanian bellow out some orders over the crack of rifle fire. @TuskatheDaemonKilla "Whatever you say ya Kraut." She acknowledge in her crass way before she opened up with her Birmingham on one of the Empire troops still advancing in the open, aiming for center mass. Four neat holes appeared in the trooper's chestplate, right where the man's heart should be, the rounds of her rifle easily penetrating the metal and making mincemeat of the vital organs within the chest. @kanila "Ready whenever you are Kroll." She reassured him, despite the fact the run will probably get most of them shot but there's no way in hell she would let the Empire bastards simply walk on into the gatehouse either.

The wave of dust and rubble from the destruction of the wall hit him, clinging to his muddy muck clothes. He dives behind some of the larger chucks of rubble. As soon as he could he stabilized his aim and drew a bead on the lead enemy. He traced the man's path and led a little ahead of him with his rifle sight. Using the iron sights of the Worthington Mk III rifle he payed close attention to his chosen target. His breath stilled and he had a good body position. With the slowness of time he gently squeezed the trigger.

With a muffled spat of sound that couldn't be heard over the sounds of combat a rifle round spiraled out of the barrel. With the speed of thought the sharp piercing round was perfectly placed to go through the nasal cavity. Upon exiting the skull the round made the head explode in a crimson spay of blood and grey matter. Shrapnel of skull fragments and helmet fragments plume away from the epicenter spraying all of his comrades with visceral bits. His body kept moving for a couple of steps before collapsing in a heap onto the ground still spraying blood from where his neck was.

He was starting to blend into his cover as the dust settled around his still body. Making little sound or movement as he moved back behind his cover.

As Maleth:

Elizabeth threw herself into cover and braced up against the pile of crates some fifty meters away from the main gate. Even as the first three Empire soldiers went down, with one looking like they had gone through a grater, a second missing a huge chunk out of his rib cage, and the third bleeding out, she decided to hold her fire as more of the squad fell in behind. To either side were Militia riflemen in mixed stages of shock and rage while others were simply casualties.

Moving to the nearest body, she rummaged through the lost souls bandolier pulling out a grenade. Fumbling with the grenades pin, she stood up and threw it towards the gates opening even as the words "FRAG OUT!" left her lips. Ahead the closest grenadier stumbling through the breach looked up in alarm just in time to get (bitch) slapped in the face by the grenade which caught along his rigging. Panicking as he lost his footing falling backwards into the next three who were about to charge through, all four disappeared in a mist of blood and shrapnel. Bits of armour and gibed limbs showered down amongst the attackers even as a fresh coat of soot and blood splattered against the gatehouse walls.

Breath coming in ragged breaths from the pang of adrenaline and rush, she narrowly ducked back in time as a hidden marksman attempted to even the score, the projectile grazing her temple causing a rivulet of blood to blurry her eyes. Smashing down against the wooden crate wall, Elizabeth held her hand up against the wound keeping pressure even as her other limb wiped and smeared the hot fluid away from her eye sockets. Ba-dump, ba-dump. Ba-dump, ba-dump. Her heart pounded in her ribcage from the pain and adrenaline causing her to slowly stumble back up.

Losing her footing, her shoulder was caught by a rigidly strong hand as Sergeant Bakerson appeared to catch her.
"Good work trooper, you just bought us a little more time. Patch yourself while we have a small breather, there won't be any time later."

Nodding in response and only slightly hearing his words, Elizabeth checked her pistol and cutlass before taking cover once again. So much for the days training she thought, and I've already ruined my uniform as well...

Malcom raged inwardly as the explosions and gunshot echoed all around him. Not only had he been treated like shit by the sergeant, but the same man also immediately demanded loyalty from him the moment shit hit the fan. If they were not in such dire straights Malcom might have lifted his pistol and blown Bakerson's brains out, and act he would be imprisoned for surely, but an act he would be forgiven of once his family threw enough money the armies way. For a moment as Malcom rushed to cover only feet from Elizabeth his finger itched, though Malcom decided instead to spare the old man, the base needed every man it could get after all in this moment.

Slamming into cover next to Elizabeth he heard her shout out before lobbing a grenade in the enemies direction. Peeking out from behind his cover for a moment he leveled his pistol at a man who rushed past an enemy soldier who seemed panicked as Elizabeth's grenade had landed on him. Holding his breath for only a moment Malcom's finger squeezed the trigger and only a fraction of a second did the man tumble forward, landing face first in the dirt, dead.

Grinning to himself Malcom lowered his head back down as his body tingled up with elation at the prospect of getting his hands on some of the POWs after the battle was over. The medical advances he wished so hard to produce were now within his grasp once again, for only in a time of war could he properly perform experiments without judgement from the outside world.

-earlier-
Emile watches on in horror as the torpedos speed through the water and collide with the ships defending the base . The plumes of water as the torpedos breach the hull and the groaning of the ships as they sink beneath the waves. Emile grabs his rifle and goes with the rest of the defenses as the imperial landing ships hit the beach and they storm the fort

-Now-
Emile dives behind some fallen rubble for cover as he tries to line up a shot on one of the imperial grenadiers who stands out in the open, he takes abit of time to get the shot right before pulling the trigger "au revoir bastard" . The shot punches through the grenadiers armor and he falls to the ground dead , a smirk on Emile's face

As Keidvh

Watching the last grenadier get cut down as the enemy squad attempted to bolt across the courtyard, Arminius knew that there was little chance of hitting the entrenched enemy. If the situation had been reversed he had known that the casements of the gatehouses' armored approached were all but impervious to the largest of infantry portable weaponry and that only a sniper would have a decent shot of landing a hit through the small openings through which the grenadiers now sheltered behind.

Slowly traversing the sandbag wall to the end so that he was at least closer to the beginning of the stairwell, Arminius waited for the enemy to show themselves so that there was a probability that was favorable towards avenging their injustice. Even as the Militia and Regular forces continued to fire volley after volley towards the enemy, not a single shot was getting through but for every person who revealed themselves, another injured or dead soldier piled up on their side.

____________________________________________________
​

With the mere probe eliminated, the Empires sortie began to intensify their forward assault. Grenades, rifle shots, and heavier thudding impacts of heavy rifles began to create large impact craters along the defending line even as bodies began to stack up over and behind cover. Whenever another soldier attempted to return fire, they were met with an overwhelming flurry of death and despite the best efforts of Sergeant Bakerson to coordinate their defense, the number of defenders was dropping rapidly.

While the Regular forces of the CAS continued to hold the line, they were not in great strengths compared to the Principalities numerous but poorly trained militia vanguard who totaled more than 80% of the garrisons defenders. Despite the fact they were fighting for their homeland, inexperience was a poor handler against the veteran forces of the Empires forward assault and the results were telling. Nearly thirty corpses littered the approach with almost all of them in the blue and white uniforms of the Principality. Having watched their comrades be slaughtered like mutton, it proved to be the tipping point in their "stoic" morale.

Little by little, the Militia began to break until nearly half the defensive line was in full retreat towards the main fortress walls. Even as Sergeant Bakerson screamed at them to return to their positions, grabbing those closest by the collar and forcibly exerting his authority, the result of the momentary weakening of the position was enough for the grenadiers to take advantage of.

Piercing and cold, a chilling screech filled the air as whistles blew. Brandishing all manner of crude trench weapons, clubs, and swords, the vanguard of the Empire forces stormed underneath the massive gates embrace. Nearly seventy heavily armed soldiers began to flood the courtyard and in coordination with their scouting probe who had already taken the gatehouse and were finishing mopping up what was left of the defenders, they began their attack anew.

Sandbagged emplacements crumbled under the withering hail of lead and steel shot. Wooden barricades splintered and cracked open even as the hollow echo of the heavy thuds against metal and concrete bulwarks thundered through the air. With the curtain walls defenses crumbling, there was little choice but to follow the Militia up towards the main fortress.

Rallying those left, the Sergeant, brandishing his sword in hand, began to order the retreat. Staggered pairs of Regulars and the few Militia left began to fallback providing covering fire for those still behind. While their return exchange managed to fell a few of the dark steel shapes of the Empires grenadiers, so too did the crimson uniforms of CAS soldiers. The approach began to become slick with blood and spent casings. Acrid smoke laced with hints of cinnamon and boar fat wafted through the air creating low clinging waves of ghastly fog from the intense exchange of gunfire.

Following Bakerson, Elizabeth and Arminius began to fallback. Yet fates neutral gaze faltered over them for as soon as Arminius broke cover, a pair of rifle shots tore through his chest and arm. Ruby red arterial blood sprayed across Elizabeth's face as she turned to grab him and along with Sergeant Bakerson, the pair began to drag his bleeding body back behind cover. Applying pressure to the more major wound on his chest, Elizabeth held back burning tears of rage even as her eyes met Arminius whose gaze pleaded for help. Bright blood gushed through clenched teeth as the round must of punctured a lung or hit another vital organ, it was clear he was fading fast.

If they were to stabilize or safe him, they would have to do it very soon or else another soldier would die in the blasted hellhole that the fortress had become. However, the more pressing concern was how to fallback the last hundred meters towards the main fortress without also becoming casualties of war as the ordered ranks of grenadiers flooded across the gatehouse courtyard. Taking position behind the recently vacated defenses, the Empires advance began its slow, meticulous charge towards the main wall.




Arminius is at 3/5 Wounds and will bleed out an additional Wound per round until stabilized and is unable to continue fighting. The rest of you sorry lot are located somewhere with the Sergeant or further up towards the main compound. no more than thirty meters distant from Bakerson and duo. As this is a hazardous retreat, everyone except for the afore mentioned characters will have to take an extremely difficult agility test, consult the TDT for details.

Watching the walls and field be over run by the Imperials was a sad sight. He knew with the loss of the walls going through the empty areas in between the walls and the fortress would be near suicide. With no hesitation, Errmanno pulled the pin and release the bar on the smoke grenade into the area to cover their escape. " Frag Out". He quickly ducked back behind his cover and started chanting as he made his Circle of Air. He made sure each symbol was in the right order. The air around him and the team members who were nearby started to pick up as dust and small rocks started to lift from the ground. When he completed the chant of Haste and got the successful wooshing of wind the rocks and dirt just fell but what remained was a light playing breeze localized to each person of his team that was near. Their hair swayed and their clothes tugged as the wind played with each of them. The movements of them were assisted as if the very air was supporting them.

"Well there goes the fucking gatehouse." Eva said with no discretion what so ever. Ignoring the weird breeze that suddenly picked up around them, she opened up with her Birmingham with the rest of the squad to lay down a hail of gunfire to suppress the Imperials trying exploit the breakthrough. She would have loved to break out her hellbore and lay into them with it, but she knew there was no way in hell with them going to be on the move real soon with the Imps right on their asses. Maybe the training course wasn't so bad afterall in hindsight...

OOC:Laying suppressing fire with the rest of the group since that seems to be our plan.

The yet-not-elected-medic of the squad stands on the open courtyard as all chaos rages around him. Woken at sunrise and forced to exercise to point of exhaustion, you couldn't expect rational behavior from his tired and hungry brains. Low blood sugar from missed breakfast and fatigue cause Mikael to work on autopilot, merely spinning around and observing the events around him without progressing them. Constant sounds of firing and explosions are daily on the barracks and don't provide enough stimulus to wake him up.

Only when he feels something warm and wet splattering to his face, he blinks himself to reality and studies the blood on his hand.

"Deep red, from superior vena cava. Lethal, leading to death in minutes."

He turns his gaze to the soldier lying near his feet, same deep red pooling under his unmoving body. Before he can reach towards him, the world disappears around him and he can see only white shapes moving on murky blueness. Mikael stares at the sudden change of vision, blinking sheepishly till he realizes it must be sky he is looking at. With that realization he begins to notice other things. He is laying on the ground, facing upwards, needless to say. The battle keeps raging all around, cacophony of noises invading his ears again after brief pause of serenity. His clothes are still wet, smell terrible and stick to his skin. His muscles ache from the obstacle course. There is uncomfortable rock under his back, pushing into him.

Mikael burrows his frown. He is aware of his surroundings, aware of his body. Too aware. The flood of information is getting past his brains natural filters. He feels, sees, hears, tastes, smells every least detail. Way past his regular ability. His mind races to progress all of this, to analyze it. It's too analytic. Something is wrong.

Mikael tries to move his body. There is chilling idea creeping to him, why he can be so analytic of himself. By changing the perspective one can study object with higher observation. By distancing himself from object, observer can be more analytic. All this information isn't getting past brains filters by accident. They are too occupied with something else. To confirm the chilling thought, Mikael finds it difficult to move his body, like it would be distant, detached.

Lifting his head and bending it towards his body struggling, his fears verify. Dark stain covers his torso, chancing the color of the dirty uniform from inside. Cloth dangles outwards on three spots, been torn apart by something. White burning feeling washes over him as visual confirmation is finally enough to cause the suppressed pain stimulus to overcome his mental blockage. He has been shot. Three times by look of it. Large caliber rounds. At least the exit wounds don't feel like size of grape fruit. If you can make any sense of the pain drowning his brains. This is serious. If he doesn't receive medical care with immediate urge, he will bleed to unconscious and then die of blood lost. There is no telling what organs has been penetrated. His throat isn't filling with blood so lungs can be ruled out. Is he even breathing? This is serious. Mikael begins to fear his thought progress. He has been shot, why isn't he screaming in panic? Why isn't he clutching his wounds, desperately trying to stop the bleeding? How come he can be this calm?

Who has said he is calm? Who has said he isn't screaming? The way he progresses every detail, the way his body feels so detached, the way he analytically looks at himself from afar. Is this what people call 'seeing your life flashing before your eyes'? This is the true survival instinct? Escaping deep within his own mind, fully concentrating to survive, leaving everything else outside? He has no idea what really is going on around him, what is happening to his body. Every of these high definition details are only about his wounds, about his death. Only what he needs to survive. In here his thought progress can run at full speed, making countless calculations, way beyond humans natural capability. But it doesn't mean he has infinite amount of time. Every second counts, and fast.

"This is weird, but lets give it a try. I don't have much other options and death isn't tempting one. Forget about yourself, this is a puzzle, exam question, biology. You are scientist, not soldier, you need to solve this with intelligence. Human body. Three wounds on torso. Lethal. That I already know. Think. Remember. Bullet wounds. Treatment. Pressure on wound. Sulfonamides. Bandages. Three wounds. Too much bleeding. Medicine out. Alchemy. Alternation of blood flow. Rebuilding of muscle. Fleshcrafting. Didn't study it. Simpler. Biochemistry. Accelerated clotting. Scarring. Element 274. Parasite alters body. Tend the parasite, not the body." Apparently pleased with the inner monologue Mikael realizes being pulled back to reality, curling up and screaming.

He almost forgets everything he thought about surviving out of this situation, the real pain is too much to handle. He never knew getting shot would be this horrifying and hopes he never would have to experience it. His whole body shakes, telltale signs of shock. He needs to act fast.

Cold sweat pearls to his skin as Mikael focuses on gathering alchemic power. Familiar feeling briefly expresses itself as the power begins to manifest itself having gathered enough power for casting. But then something goes wrong. He can't control it, he is too wounded, too weary. The casting gets out of hand, sigils breaking with flash and sparks of pure alchemic energies. Power overflows through him, overcoming the pain of bullet wounds as his very self screams in agony. If he never wanted to experience getting shot, this is what he doesn't wish even for his enemies.

Mikael can only scream.

Emile watched what might have been their medic take a hit and start screaming . He knew this wasnt good , if the doctor was hirt how could he heal others ? "DOC ?! SOMEBODY HELP THE DOCTOR !" Emile saw one of his squadmates surpressing the imperial dogs. "This'll keep their heads down " Emile began to open up surpressing fire hardly noticing the mystic wind whipping aound him