The Guardian Corps

[Jinxer]

The Guardian Corps

​

August 2025.
East bank of La Meuse, Verdun, North-East France

You are awoken abruptly by the drag of your seat belt on your chest, the relentless growling of engines quietening before being silenced altogether with a final splutter. You can hear your fellow passengers begin to come around, similarly dragged back into reality by arrival at their destination. At the front the coach driver, dressed in military fatigues, stands up and calls over the low, excited murmur of his charges.

"We're here. Everyone off, don't forget your bags 'else you'll never see them again. On the double boys and girls!"

It has been a long journey, several days with very few stops. Once you had 'graduated' and had been accepted into the Guardian Corps you were quickly assigned to a centre, one away from the front lines, and sent there with nothing but a few personal belongings. No one from your group had been sent to the same centre, it seemed, and those around you are still unknown.

You all file off the coach, carrying rucksacks containing whatever belongings you had chosen to bring with you. It is daytime outside, although you are sure it had been dark when you had fallen asleep, and troops in strange uniforms with swords hanging form their belts are bustling about in the camp that faces you. There are a few brick and mortar buildings but most of the site is made up of tents. You can see in the distance a small town, the one you've been assigned here to protect. Watchtowers stand in the distance, soldiers looking out across the empty plains beyond the camp.

A Sergeant calls out your name and orders you to join a small group of new arrivals.

"Welcome to the Guardians."

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​

The coach journey had been over eight hours from Carcasonne where she had been training and the young Welsh woman was keen to get off the stifling vehicle and out into the crisp, fresh Autumn air. Much of the journey she had spent asleep, the coach only setting off shortly before midnight, and she had woken uncomfortably warm. There had been no space to stash their personal belongings and so she had been forced to keep on her thick, white coat which formed part of the winter uniform; not that the standard woodland camo uniform was cool to wear either. When it was announced that they had arrived she bustled out of her seat to get off quickly but others clearly had the same idea and she was trapped midway down the coach, doomed to slow progress.​

​

Eventually alighting from the coach, the first thing that Rhiannon noticed was that this was all very, very poorly organised. Sergeants were standing on what seemed to be wooden crates, bricks, anything they could find to give them a little extra height, and yelled out names to the press of new arrivals. It seemed as though they were attempting to sort the mass of bleary-eyed into whatever platoons they'd be serving in but this was a terrible way of doing it, she thought.

Just as she started planning out how she would carry out this task she heard her name called out and stuck her hand up to make herself visible amongst the crowd.

"Over there, lass."

Lass? I will make you eat those words, boy-o.

Suppressing her irritation, she duly followed the vague order and weaved her way through the crowd and over to a bare patch beyond the heaving mass. A few other, solitary figures stood a few metres away from her, still awaiting their teammates in a similar fashion, it seemed. She adjusted the sword hanging from her belt, still unused to the feel of the heavy blade at her waist, and watched the chaos in front of her.

"What in the hell kind of mess is this?"

The shout cut through the bubble of murmurs and the bored calls of the Sergeants, immediately calling for silence. Everyone was still, the authority in the voice commanding it. All heads turned to see whoever was taking charge and were not disappointed to see a tall, barrel-chested and muscular man striding across the bare ground with a look of utter condemnation for the picture before him.

"All of you, in lines, now! Sergeants, service the line in front of you and do it quickly. This is the military, not some scouts group. Get your act together."

The change was immediate, although there were several dark glances from the Sergeants in the direction of the office, the stripes on his coat denoting him as a Lieutenant. More speedily the crowd thinned out as the lines were efficiently sorted out and soon Rhiannon found people heading towards her with the same kind of slightly disoriented look she was sure she bore. She opted for a casual greeting, going for the full salute to those of her own rank was certain to be too much on their first day.

"Mornin'."​

 

[Camleen]

"Motek.. you are grown into a woman, you've everything you need to survive in this forsaken world. Your mother and I.. we want you to thrive. To help where you can. It is not here, motek, ahuvi. We want you to go to your Academy.. you can save this world. You can. You can save all of us."
The words are in Hebrew, as they always were in her dreams. The words of a man, a tone with a gruff edge. But a tender and loving tone. Her father's words, convincing young Zoey to leave her home in the deserts and seek out her path of destiny. And so she did, with much regret and hesitation. It was one of the last times she had heard her father's voice in this life. And now.. she can only hear him in her dreams.

With a soft gasp she is awakened by the feel of the seat belt along her upper body tugging on her form. She sits up, her brown eyes wide as she looks around a little. It takes her only a moment to remember where she was.. she had been asleep for nearly the whole trip. Her nerves have been working in overdrive ever since she found out she had an actual assignment! To be swept away into a new adventure, a new command! How her parents would be proud of her!

With the order she immediately unfastens her harness (she had been discretely practicing unfastening it quickly to try and impress others around her and her superiors) and she pushes herself to her feet. She holds her pack in her hand, not slinging it over her shoulder yet. You don't do that until you're off the transport, after all.
"On the double boys and girls!"
"Yes, sir!" She calls out in response to the order, and she files off of the transport with everyone else. She keeps her eyes ahead, though she is excited to look around a little. See what she can see. That's part of her duty and expertise, after all. Observation of the environment around her with unwavering perfection. That's why she's a scout in trade.

She gets off of the transport, and now slings her pack over her shoulder, her wide eyes looking around herself now. How beautiful a place! She hears her name then, and she calls out "Here, sir!" She goes into a light jog to her assigned spot, immediately glad she decided to wear a heavier jacket. While she is growing accustomed to cooler weather.. she still prefers the desert climate. She'll adapt, she always has.

Zoe now stands with the group she is assigned, barely affording them all a glance. She drops her pack in front of her feet, her hands folding behind her back. She speaks now to the group around her in a very soft voice, as if afraid to be heard by her superiors. Cause she is. Her voice has a soft Arabic accent to it. "How exciting is this.. the Battle of Verdun was fought here.. in the first Great War. One of the biggest battles on the western front." Yeah, she can be a bit of a history buff sometimes. And.. maybe she wanted to show off to her new comrades a little. Because that's what Zoe does. Her eyes draw to the lieutenant as he approaches, her brows furrowed a little. She keeps to herself for the moment, as if silently awaiting her next order. Which.. which she kind of was. She's a new fish in this great big pond, and you do as your told when you're new fish.

She's learned that the hard way.

 

[Von Claussen]

There was anxiety in the hull of transport. Alex didn't need to be told of this, he didn't need nose of a hound to sniff adrenaline that lingered in the air. It was expected and some even failed to hide the symptoms of their nervousness. Small grin appeared on Alex's face as he sat rather calm... Bag down next to his feet, right foot firmly placed on top of bag, right elbow pressed on top of the knee and hands lightly held a small book that Alex was reading, only briefly averting his gaze to those around him. Some of them were shaking, remembering courses in breathing that could calm them down... but it didn't. Volunteers. They are all volunteers just like Alex so why are they nervous? Questions piled up in his head. How many horrors did they see? How many nightmares did they survive that placed them into position to join up the Guardian corps? Was it their choice? Were they really volunteers or were they left with no other choice, no other place to return to?

He took a long, deep breath and slowly exhaled through his nose, returning his focus on the book that was in his hand, using whatever light is possible to read.

"Whatcha readin' there?" A man nearby asked him, taking a peek into the content of the said book.
"Civilization and Its Discontents by Sigmund Freud." Alex replied after a short hesitation "It delves into the the fundamental instincts of a man and how can they be harmful to his social requirements to belong to a larger entity."
Man just nodded, not even trying to hide the fact that half of it entered one ear and left on the other "You one of those philosophers?"
"Doctor. General surgery."
"Shouldn't you be readin' some medical books then?" Man asked, prompting Alex to once again avert his focus from the book and toward a man whose expression was half-way between confusion and curiosity. At very least, he wasn't looking between his feet, counting hours before they arrive.
"There is nothing more in those books that can teach me." Alex replied with a slightly cocky grin, sparing no time to show off his intelligence "Besides, after all this is done, we will need to ask ourselves what kind of civilization we wish to build from the ruins of the existing one."
"Ya think we'll live through this?"
"I tend to believe that superior officers were granted their rank based on their capability. If we stick to it, there is a decent chance to live through this."

The rest of the trip was spent in a casual chatter with random questions that broke the monotony of the conversation, usually about Alex's past... a topic he wished to avoid as much as possible. Still, it gave a bit of a boost for others around him to ease their own minds by getting to know each other. Alex's eyes were quick to measure them, their height, built, skin complexion... as if he is trying to calculate their odds of success by simple physical appearance. Most looked in good shape; able and fit while few others were a bit malnourished, indicating that this was only place they could go, offering their service for bed and food. Officers will quickly shape them up, there was no doubt about it.

The transport stopped and entire hull calmed down completely. "This is our stop." Alex said, pushing his glasses further toward his eyes and closing his book, returning it to his bag. All of them disembarked and it gave Alex a good chance to observe surrounding but the sightseeing was cut short as his name was being called and direction where he needed to be was pointed. With bag over his right shoulder and left hand holding sword, he made his way toward the group that was already gathering.

"Good morning." He spoke and offered a nod to the rest, standing 180 centimeters tall, well combed brown hair and elegant glasses. Rest of his clothing consisted of long, gray coat that was on top of black shirt and pants. There wasn't much room to guess where he came from and his particular style revealed life of wealth and privilege. One might even wonder why would someone like him join the Guardians instead of sitting behind thick wall, waiting for this whole nightmare to end... Still, his face showed no disdain toward location where he is. Officers calls out the order and with no hesitation, Alex stands at attention... silent, gaze locked somewhere in the distance, awaiting for the next order to be given. He is aware, there is no room to doubt... whatever he was before arriving here, he will have to be all that and more just to survive.​

 

[iiSaralaxyii]

Seven days. Seven full days of being stuck in a cramped vehicle with numerous people. Vitani had hated the idea but hell, she was warm and they provided food when they stopped, or even shared what people had brought. Despite being cramped for seven days with random strangers, Vitani didn't complain. She'd been sleeping on and off for the last eight hours, careful to make sure none had decided to steal from her or anyone else for that matter. She had fallen asleep for the last three hours of the ride and was now abruptly awoken from the sudden jerk of the leather seatbelt against her chest. She listened as the engine went out and saw others awakening around her. Oh god. She thought, already knowing what was going to happen next. Upon hearing the coach driver tell them to get a move on, Vitani immediately pressed her body against her seat. As expected, it became a mass of bodies within seconds. Like hell, she'd get up and go into that mess when they were inside the vehicle. Vitani patiently waited for most of the people to file out before undoing her seatbelt and standing up with her rucksack in hand. She exited the vehicle and then flung her bag over her shoulder. It was cold but not much colder than Ireland during the Fall season. Her body was used to it and so Vitani barely noticed it. Especially when she started moving around. She walked around a little, keeping her body warm as she watched what was happening from the outskirts of the mass crowd. It reminded her of the inside of the vehicle. So she stood, looking out to the town she'd been assigned to protect. The lives of those people fell on her shoulders. Vitani narrowed her eyes a little, feeling the weight of others lives. Over the crowd, Vitani heard her name called and looked up at one of the sergeants who stood on a wooden crate. "Sir!" She called out, loud and clear, over the crowd. The sergeant immediately spotted her and waved his hand to the left. "That way miss!" The man called back, and she nodded once.

Vitani weaved through the crowd, pressing her sack to her body so it wasn't in any danger. With great success, she made her way to a clearing where a few others had gathered and tossed her sack over her shoulder again. She made her way towards them, however, stopped upon hearing a low, gruff voice yell out over the crowd. Vitani turned her attention to the man and heard him yell again, ordering the crowd to get in lines. Immediately lines formed and the sergeants got through everyone quicker. Impressive. I can see why he was made a Lieutenant. She thought to herself before turning and making her to the group. As she approached she saw a girl suddenly salute and say 'mornin'. Vitani quirked a brow, wondering why the hell the girl was saluting them in the first place. This wasn't anything formal. "Easy tere Guardian." She told the girl as she approached her, her Irish accent thick even after so many years of being away from home. Kinda just sticks, y'know? She stopped a few feet away from the girl, offering some personal space, and looked to the other girl who now spoke in a soft voice. The spoke of the Verdun Battle and Vitani merely watched her, not really knowing what to say. She didn't particularly care for the history but instead more on the beasts they were fighting, the roles they, and everyone around them, played, how to fight, etc. The only man in the group so far, dressed in black clothes and a grey coat, spoke out his greeting. Turning her attention to him, she sighed softly. "Don't know about good, but mornin to ye." She said, before hearing the officers calling orders. Immediately Vitani dropped her sack and stood at attention, her eyes locked on the town in the distance which laid before her sights. In silent patience, she awaits for her orders, face calm and emotionless.

 

[Krag_Jorgensen]

Erika and the cadets from southwestern Germany (Frankfurt and Stuttgart mostly) had arrived comparatively early, being relatively close to the meeting site geographically. The convoy took a northward route, avoiding the Black Forest and the more treacherous parts of the Vosges. Much of the infrastructure had decayed without maintenance and the officers believed that a single landslide on any one of the mountain roads in either area would cause major, if not deadly, delays. When the buses arrived they unloaded and attempted to find a place to park. Erika left the bus, her duffle bag strapped to her back. Her blonde hair was tied into a tight bun sticking out beneath a flecktarn field cap bearing the insignia of the Guardian Corps. Like many of the Guardians from Germany, their uniforms were reissued flecktarn from stocks scavenged from Bundeswehr depots. Her upper right arm sported two chevrons, indicating her status as a corporal. The patches were a concession to some sort of standardization as they were easily produced, unlike the uniforms.

The confusion on the ground was very unwelcome and almost alien to the Germans. They were used to some semblance of order at all times, or at least someone who knew what was going on. Erika helped her superiors as much as she could before things actually got settled and her assignment was clear. She saw her unit lining up and began to move towards them. Erika walked with the stance of someone who knew her duty. Her back was ramrod straight and the way she carried herself as she walked to her subordinates would not have looked out of place in a pair of jackboots and a uniform supplied by Hugo Boss. Her blue eyes studied them, most appeared physically fit, as to be expected. She eyed them up and down, as if taking stock of assigned gear and assets. She was given absolutely no information about her subordinates, which soured her opinion of whoever was organizing this. She kept her lips tight not knowing if she should address them now, or after things quieted down.

 

[Jinxer]

All around them small groups were forming, the new arrivals filtered through to their respective platoons. A few of them had experienced Corporals waiting for them but Rhiannon's team had yet to see their team leader. The Lieutenant from earlier was stalking along the line of Sergeants sorting the new arrivals, his expression dark with barely suppressed irritation. Already there was a sense of drama and underlying conflict in the camp which didn't bode well for the future.

Her teammates who had arrived seemed to come from all over. One had an accent that sounded Arabian but beyond that she couldn't identify it, not many came from that region to enrol in the European wing of the Guardians. Most were transferred to Asia which had responsibility for the Arabian peninsula and much of the Middle East. She had been speaking about the historical battles here, suggesting that joining the Guardians was for more than just the decent pay cheque for her.

Next came a softly spoken, tall and elegant man with an air of calm expectation. He said nothing beyond his greeting and joined them at attention, rather than risk the wrath of the Lieutenant. After him came a fellow Celt, this one speaking with the accent of someone from across the sea in Ireland. Rhiannon was about to say something but it looked like their Corporal was arriving, striding towards them with ramrod straight posture and an analysing gaze; they were being measured up.

Just as their team leader arrived a hush swept across the parade ground from to their right. Half a dozen men had ridden onto the scene atop stallions, one carried a flag bearing the symbol of the Guardians while the other had another with an old coat-of-arms style type of insignia. Sergeants all turned and saluted, as did the Corporals who had not newly arrived shortly followed by everyone else as they caught on that their commanding officer had arrived. Except for the stalking Lieutenant, that was.

"At ease, gentlemen." The leader of the group, his collar and shoulder insignias denoting him as a Major, spoke with an English accent, heavy with the specific pronunciation of someone born into extreme privilege. He looked distastefully over the new arrivals before his gaze settled on the non-saluting Lieutenant who merely met his gaze. "Lieutenant." The greeting was heavy with open irritation.

"Major." The Lieutenant responded in the same tone. "I'm overseeing the billeting of the recruits now, there's no need to bother yourself with such a minor task." He did not acknowledge his superior's rank with the exception of using his title and his tone denoted a distinct lack of any respect, due or not. The Major glared down from atop his steed, edging the horse closer with expert, deft touches. Rhiannon noted that from the horse's side hung what looked to be a lance.

"Lieutenant, it is my duty as commander of this outpost to greet all new recruits and instil in them the proper attitude all Guardians should observe. Is that understood, Wolverine?" He said the last word with a tight, cruel grin on his face and the troupe behind him burst into laughter as their Major wheeled his horse away, tail flapping bare centimetres from the face of the Lieutenant.

"Welcome, all, to Verdun! This is a peaceful outpost so do not fear, you will have time to hone your skills here without fear for your life. We will hunt the stray Terrors like courtiers of old did boar in the very woods just over yonder! Make camp by the lodge and prepare for your welcome feast tonight." He dug in his heels and the horse trotted away, the retinue falling in behind smoothly with a few spiteful looks cast towards the Lieutenant who stood clenching his and unclenching his fists slowly. A few of the Sergeants were grinning at the man's humiliation while others had appeared entirely unimpressed by the Major's performance. All were struck out of their revenue when the Lieutenant yelled at them to continue.

"What, are you still on break? This isn't the goddam theatre, get these recruits processed, now. You have five minutes. If you finish late you're on Long Patrol all week."

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​

East of the New Maginot Line, Near Luxembourg

Every street was deserted, the houses displayed their old war scars now barely visible under the near decade of decay from the absence of human life. In some places a brown-black patch of colour on the pavement, or the wall of a house or fence, showed where one of the inhabitants fell, taken down by a pursuing Terror.

Scavenger animals flitted through the once bustling town which sat just outside of Luxembourg, close enough that many once considered it part of the city's suburbs. Fresh pickings had long since decayed and the remains, open to the elements for the last ten years, have all washed away.

It was a surprise, then, that the deep rumble of engines echoed through the desolate streets. Animals that had become used to making their homes in the ruined houses scattered out of sight as a column of Humvees and troop transport vehicles filed down the main street. Guardian sat on top of the vehicles or leaned out of the side windows, looking around them. They had been through this town dozens of times but it paid to be attentive; there was no telling what was hiding in the houses.

"Looks like they passed through here, sir." A tracker had returned to the head of the column on an off-road motorcycle, specially customised for quickly traversing uneven terrain. A huge man, well over six foot with a barrel chest, broad shoulders and arms like tree trumps had climbed out of the lead Humvee to converse with the returning scouts. His epaulettes, faded from months away from civilisation, denoted him as a Colonel.

"They're still headed right at the Line, then." He rumbled, his dark brown eyes meeting those of the scouts'. The newest of the men found it hard to meet the Colonel's implacable gaze, unused to the intensity of it. One by one the trackers agreed, voicing opinions about the direction of travel thus far.

"If they carry on this course they'll be heading right into one of the outposts behind the Line, sir." He was unfolding a map and laying it out on the bonnet of the Humvee, arrows starting in Poland weaving their way across the map, through Germany and heading towards a hard line drawn across the East of France, a hand-scrawled note of "New Maginot Line" denoting the feature. The Colonel leaned over the map, his bulk putting the entire land into shadow. He traced the arrows, simply features hiding the months of pursuit and hunting they had undergone following the Terror horde since it was first sighted on the Polish border. His finger stopped on a city with a simple watchtower symbol drawn above it, marking it out as one of the unfortified watch posts the Guardians manned.

"Verdun."​

 

[Krag_Jorgensen]

Ericka's silent, judging gaze stopped as she watched the Major's actions with the Lieutenant. Her eyes tightened as she watched the Major dress down his subordinate. That conflict was probably largely to blame for the lack of organization. She pursed her lips as she watched the NCO's laugh at the Lieutenant's treatment. She felt that such things were improper, disciplining an officer in front of their men undermined their command, and such blatant insubordination on the part of the Lieutenant hinted at a deeper problem within the chain of command.

The woman closed her eyes and took a breath before approaching the Sergeant processing her squad. "Sergeant, may I finis vith zee processzink off zese kaddeten? Zhey are unter mien kommant und I vish to make sure zhey are here." She asked, her accent a bit different from what most considered typical German, sounding more Swiss. Those who were in the know about such things could probably make a good guess as to what part of Germany she came from. The man nodded and handed her the squad's roll sheet.

"I am Korporal Erika Schvab, assignet leader of zis sqvad. Afder I call your name, steppen zie forvart, bitte und mofe to site sefenteen und shtart makink camp. I vill likely butcher zee names, but vee may vork on zhat later." She said, wanting to see how well they followed orders. It was a simple request and she didn't expect too much resistance beyond normal complaining common to all soldiering professions (something she herself was often guilty of). She also wanted to put names to faces. Not being familiar with Celtic pronunciations made many of the names on her list rather difficult to say.

"Prifate Sebashtian Blokvoot,
Prifate Zoe Clark,
Prifate Rhayeanon Chones,
Prifate Takeschi Nagano,
Prifate Alexandr Novak,
Prifate Fitani O'Callagan,
Prifate Joschua Price,
Prifate Zoe Thewes."

 

[lostfaith]

Zoë tugged awkwardly at the collar of her slightly too large uniform, adjusting the British military fatigue she had been given before being deployed. She could appreciate the garment's practicality, but a small part of her resented its ridiculous appearance, and the ill fit didn't help matters any. It was a strange thing to worry about at a time like this, her first deployment, but her mind, avoiding the trepidation that raced through her head, was prone to latching onto anything but that shadow of fear at the edge of its psyche. She hoisted her pack onto her shoulder easily, writhing her way gracefully through the twisting mass of humanity. For someone who wasn't afraid of physical contact, a crowd like this was quite easy to navigate. As they emerged from the vehicle, she found herself brush rather suggestively against another private. The girl looked at her with a blush, and Zoë grinned. As she slipped away, one delicate finger wrapped around a few locks of the other Guardian's hair, touching her face. Zoë proceeded to flash a heart sign with her hands, her pentagrams clearly visible, before disappearing into the crowd.

He was rather disappointed when the crush of bodies was sorted into neat order by the shouted commands of a superior officer, but nonetheless took his place in the line which promptly sent him away to be sectioned away with the rest of his company. With his characteristic casual, sweeping gaze that nonetheless took in everything, he surveyed the people that he would march, fight, and bleed with for the foreseeable future. There was a red-head who was decidedly attractive and spoke with an adorable accent Zoë couldn't quite place. She had an authority of cold authority about her, the kind of temperament that gave him an irresistible urge to tease and cajole until he saw what really made her tick underneath the calm exterior. Besides her, there was a dark-haired woman with skin the color of hot chocolate who looked about the same age. Zoë did a double take when his eyes fell on the name raggedly stitched on the front of her uniform: Zoe Thewes. Well, hello there. We'll get along smashingly.

Then there was the Serbian man, a full ten centimeters or so taller than her, intelligence sparkling in his soft blue eyes. She sensed a tenderness beneath his expressionless front. Intelligence and compassion were traits Zoë admired, and she found herself actually perhaps looking forward to having him as a comrade. A lilting Irish accent drew her attention away from Alex to fall on a thin blond woman who moved with an easy grace. Her form seemed almost coiled like a spring, like she was always ready to launch into action. With her build, Zoë wasn't sure if she wouldn't be more suited to twirling on a dance floor than hand to hand combat, but then again anyone who passed through training had something useful to offer the Guardians. Finally, the pagan private let her eyes pass over the German woman who looked like she was trying to create a right angle at the ground with how straight her stance was. Instinct and experience told Zoë that that was probably not the only straight thing about her.

And through all of these superficial facts and character judgements, one thought threaded its way through her thinking from beginning to end of her assessments.

Which of us are going to die?

 

[Jinxer]

Amidst the tense stand off and following rush to carry out the furious Lieutenant's orders their corporal had arrived, her ramrod straight posture and authoritative tone inspiring confidence in the immediate chain of command. Hitherto Rhiannon had felt that the hierarchy in the outpost was not something to be relied upon but if, at the very least, their own unit could function effectively then they might yet make it through safely.

When her name was called Rhiannon stepped forward, saluting sharply while matching the Corporal's posture.

"Sir!" She turned on her heel and marched off towards the main campsite. Signs were haphazardly hammered into the ground on short poles giving directions to the various zones of the camp. Just as the Corporal came to the end of their roll call another member of the squad arrived, they looked over the rest of the group with interest and had an air of light-heartedness.

There was a central path down the camp and a distinct difference in order and appearance on either side of this path. On the left, facing the city, was a ramshackle of tents pitched wherever there was space, usually surrounding a central camp fire, with an old, large farmhouse someway within the midst of the sea of canvas. There was no sign of order and Rhiannon could see Guardians mingling freely, some of them not carrying their weapons with them. She had noticed the Lieutenant did not carry the regulation sword that all the new recruits had been issued, nor the Major, and made a mental note to look into matter.

On the right the camp was of an entirely different nature. Tents stood in neat, regular rows with equal distance between them. At the end of each row a sign had been struck into the ground firmly and straight, denoting the site numbers to found on that street of bare earth. Camp fires could be seen further in the distance, larger and with metal benches placed around them. Electric lanterns hung from tall posts, switched off in the daytime, to give light during the gloom of night whereas there was no such provision on the other side of the central road.

That side of the camp was closest to the woods and pointing away from the city, with more room available to expand. As such the signs denoted many more site numbers than those on the opposing side with the occasional crossing out and then remarking of a higher number.

Eventually they came to site seventeen, tent equipment already laid out ready for them to prepare. Judging by the number of packs it was clear that they were expected to share, at least two people to a tent.

Well, it is the army after all. No room for prudes here.

Rhiannon was one of the first to arrive and so slung her own, small, pack of personal belongings beside one of the piles of equipment to claim it and began to examine what was available. Finding the poles, the tents were modern but sturdy with metal poles that interlocked together, a tough cord through the centre to keep them together in one bundle, she began to put them together ready to begin the pitching of the tent, waiting to see who would volunteer to share with her.

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​

New Maginot Line

It was when they were only a few miles out from the Line that they began to pick up the short range radio signals. By the sounds of the rushed and panicked orders, they were too late to give the garrison any warning.

"They punched right through Fort 32, sir! It barely slowed them down, we had no warning."

Colonel Vencini sat in the passenger seat of the lead humvee, tiny radio receiver almost lost in his massive hand's grip. To begin with they had only been able to receive the messages running along the Line, calls for medics and reinforcements, before they could patch in and engage clearly with the garrison there.

"Did they change direction once through, Captain?" Vencini's Italian accent smoothed his deep, growly voice out but somehow made it sound more threatening and ominous; this was a voice that denoted not just brute strength but a clever and sophisticated mind as befitted one of the longer serving Guardian officers.

"It's hard to tell, sir. At first it looked like they weren't but then they swung a little to the south towards the forest. We have trackers out following them and I've sent messengers out, we've had no luck getting them on long range comms. At the pace they were going they'll hit Verdun within the hour, even if they get tripped up in the forest."

His driver, a Hispanic Major who had been with him as his immediate subordinate almost from the beginning, glanced over in concern. The Colonel's eyes were shut as he considered their options but none of them gave the desire result, they were simply too far behind the Horde at this point. He had hoped that the Line would slow them down but whoever had been organising the garrison scouts that morning had failed monumentally.

"Thank you, Captain. Take care of your wounded and patch that hole up the moment we're through it. We can't have any more coming through after us." He shut off the line before connecting to the Humvees in his column. "Step on it, we're going to be late."​

 

[lostfaith]

Looking around the camp, Zoë's first thought was, I guess these cute grown-up graduated Guardians do know how to have a little fun. She surveyed the laughing, almost raucous crowd of her fellows, deciding that this was definitely a place where she could get along. As she walked along with the others, the private set a hand on the hilt of her longsword, at her hip, and added a slight bouncing swagger to her step, imitating the style of every stereotypical swashbuckler ever. She caught a few strange looks from the older Guardians, which she answered with a grin, a flourish of her arm, and a challenging twist of her hips as she sank gracefully to the ground next to Rhiannon. However, her maneuver backfired; her awkward, overly long sword shifted as she crossed her legs, and its crossguard dug into her side, causing her to loose a small startled yelp of pain. Angrily, she slid the clumsy weapon back into place.

"Don't you hate those things?" He said without so much as a greeting, his received pronunciation accent more apparent than ever in the wash of foreign dialects. "It's even worse when it's other people trying to stick their swords in me, if you know what I mean." His humour was betrayed only by a slight raise of his eyebrow as he continued to speak. "Zoë Clarke, esteemed Guardian extraordinaire. Or, just ordinaire, I think, is what my little patch that says 'private' means. That, or I'm private property. I can go either way. He leaned an arm on Rhiannon's shoulder. "These tents look a little cozy, don't you think? That's a lot of rods for one girl to handle alone, though. Let me give you a hand. Sorry, only one, my left costs extra."

 

[Krag_Jorgensen]

Erika returned Rhiannon's salute without missing a beat. She was going to have to break her of saluting and calling her "sir." She didn't need the distractions. She was in the habit of not saluting anyone below the rank of sergeant in her old unit after the initial introductions. She also privately resented being called 'sir', most enlisted ranks were addressed by their rank. Either way, it was something to work on. Officers and NCO's who demanded salutes everytime they were met would get a whole line of cadets who would file past them in a neverending chain. The offending superior would then have to constantly return the salutes and hopefully get the message by the time the first made their second pass.

She pursed her lips slightly at Zoe, the girl's posture, tattoos and demeanor a stark contrast to her style of leadership and probably the military life in general. She would withhold more harsh judgments until she saw how she performed in battle. Erika would be willing to put up with a measure of eccentricity as long as her subordinates obeyed orders. She filled out the roll sheet and returned it to the sergeant. She then made her way to their campsite, just in time to see Zoe poke themself in the side with the crossguard. Her lip curled into a half smile briefly in schadenfreude. Her face returned to its normal stone-faced expression. Handling their weapon was something that everyone at her academy had drilled into their heads multiple times, even before they were issued training swords. Then again, Zoe didn't look to be the type that took conventional instruction very well, she had to have shown some proficiency with the weapon to graduate. But they could have just needed warm bodies. . .

She dismissed the last thought as she worked on putting up her tent.