Outside of the makeshift command barracks, made out of torn and twisted sheets of metal, a soldier gives an ill-conceived celebratory leap. In his hand, rolled up to protect it from the elements, is his greatest possession on him at the moment; his granted request for a week's leave. Pain racked his side, he quite possibly ripped a few stitches out with that victory jump, but nothing - not even the constant rain - could dampen his spirits; he was going home. After 8 months of war, he was going home.

"Renarde! You are leaving us?" It was the voice of a friend running up to greet him. His smile seemed to be bigger than Warren's felt, the mark of a true friend.

"Only for a few days. France can hold the line that long, no?" He was practically glowing with excited energy.

"She has me, she'll hold until the last boche in Germany tries to cross that line. What have you heard from Elise? Has she produced a handsome little devil yet?" Maurice stepped up his pace to keep up with Warren's excited but loping trot. He had to shake his head with a partial and bemused smile at his friend's lack of a regard for his own health. Though it had to be noted that Warren had been healing much faster than anyone expected. Even the long gash around his neck was already fading into a scar. It just went to prove what kind of a soldier the man was, he figured.

"No word yet, but the post has been slow, she may have already had the baby," Warren sounded a little hopeful that she had not.

"Easy, Renarde, you look like you're planning on running all the way there," Maurice said with a laugh to punctuate it.

"I feel like I could! Ah, Maurice, you have no idea how -- I don't even know how to say it! I'm going to be a father. That's it. That's all there is to say." The thought of having to kiss both Elise and their new child goodbye would not even enter his thoughts. Caught up in his excitement, Warren grabs a hold of Maurice for a hug - a gesture his friend readily reciprocates.

"Now you  have me worried! I believe you plan on leaving me here alone, Lieutenant." Maurice held his chin high with the mock accusation for effect. 

"And let you take all the glory when we win?" Warren snorted with a wide smile. "Don't count on it just yet."

"Those medals have my name on them, why else would I be so eager to get you out of here?" The younger soldier's hand reached out to clap his Lieutenant's before sliding to rap once on his back. "Now go on, get going! Give Elise a good kiss for me and try not to get too jealous when she likes it better than your usual~!"

The caravan heading north to the front lines had just enough room for a homesick soldier on leave to tag along. His excitement only peaked through in the smile he was currently trying to fight back, but it was getting progressively easier as the countryside he called home became more and more bleak. As the convoy rumbled along slowly through partially destroyed roads the view changed around them - a warning of the horrors to come. Once rolling hills of emerald were now reduced to little more than mud strewn heaps of wounded earth. Excitement had quickly given away to anxiety and it must have become obvious because the young soldiers sitting around him grew fidgety with seeing an officer go from barely contained joy to this state.

"Is it as bad as they say out there," one of the young men asked with his voice betraying just how young he really was. Warren was startled when he took a closer look at the boy, he couldn't have been older than 16.

It took a moment but he tore his thoughts from his own personal troubles and felt the full impact of the question these kids were all too terrified to ask; are we going to die? Perhaps it was the anticipation of becoming a father that made his gut reaction urge him to tell these boys that everything would be alright, but he steeled himself to that temptation. They deserved the truth.

"It's worse," the Lieutenant in him answered gruffly but honestly. He made it a point to look every last one of them in the eyes and matched their horror and wide eyed fear with stern experience. "Right now, look around you. These are now your best friends. You will never forget any of the faces right here before you. See this?" His hand reached out to the boy sitting next to him, indicating his ears. "These are your ears, these are your eyes. Your back is his back, your life is his life. You had better get all the individuality you have out of your system before you reach that line. What is your name, son?"

"Gilles Lambert, sir."

"Not any more. There isn't a line you stand on out there, you are the line. You, the man next to you, every single body on that front are the only thing that stands between those boche and your home. You don't watch straight ahead of you, you watch to your left and to your right. You watch every man's back and he watches yours because you aren't an individual any longer. If you let the man next to you die it is a sure bet you're next. Keep your heads down when you walk in the trenches, a moving helmet is an easy target." He was racking his brain to think of all the advice he could tell them before they had to part a few kilometers up the road at his stop. "Don't eat anything that touches trench water and try not to look down too often at what is floating in there." Finally he ran out of steam and they all sat in contemplative silence while the view outside grew worse with every meter they crossed.

"I have been through more rotations than I'd like to count and remember," Warren concluded as the convoy rolled slowly to a stop and he knew this was where he'd have to make it to Beaumont on his own. "Stick to the men beside you and you'll be home in no time." Their faces were still bleak when he alighted the ground out of the back of the truck and he stood along the road to wave them off until they turned around a damaged hill and were gone from sight.