OOC: I was just gonna make this...
IC:
0300; Eastern Free State
A shrill bird call pierced the night air. But Pierre was used to it. Born Dysaniian, his parents moved here when he was two. Now, after the war and the split, he was no longer Dysaniian, no longer Southern Ryazanian. He was a Common Man, and proud of it. He joined the cause right after the split, as the time when Herr Schmidt called for freedom was known, becoming a Lieutenant in the best military force in the State, the Secret Service. That rank was given to him before they started extreme training, however. Now, since he refused to take the training, he was now a Sargeant. 'Probably better than damn training,' he thought. 'Besides, I like it better at the lines.' Now he was in his favorite environment, the forest, with his small squadron. Scouts reported Loyalists, people that were loyal to the old Dysaniian government or those sympathetic to the Chinese Loyalist occupation forces, in the area, and Pierre was there to do his country a favor.
(Translated from French (still popular amongst the people)) "Alright, men. Move out." A private stepped on a twig. "But be quiet!" As they crept up the hill, Pierre gripped his rifle tightly, running from tree to tree to keep hidden. Suddenly, a light appeared at the top of the hill. "Shit! Down, down!" he whispered as he motioned with his hand to do the same. A soldier was seen walking downhill, loosly holding his hunting rifle and stumbling on the rocky path. As he passed the squad, the squad's eyes were on Pierre. He slowly nodded, and a soldier stood up, drawing his sword. Not ten seconds later, the man was decapitated. "A gun, sir," the soldier said as he wiped his bloodied hands on his pants. "Thank you, soldier. Okay, men. Let's go. Come on, up!"
His men scrambled the rest of the way up the hill, taking their positions. Pierre took a risky glance inside a window. After a quick count, he estimated 10 men in that room alone. But they were all unarmed, though their weapons were out around the room. 'Easy...' he thought. Pierre raised his hand, a smoke grenade in it, and gave the signal. Using the heel of their feet, they kicked in the windows and doors. Smoke flooded the room but Pierre and his men used their senses to shoot down every last man. Some got to their weapons in time, but not soon enough to prevent their demise. As the smoke cleared, Pierre made his way upstairs. Two of his soldiers came towards him carrying a man with his arms and legs slit. "Ah... the leader of these fine rebels, I see? Very well. Tell me, my friend. Will you not accept our leader now? If not, when will you? When we kill your fellow rebellious men? When we destroy all you have worked for? When we mow down your families because you have not joined under our leader? When, my good man, when?!" The man didn't even look up, but spat on Pierre's shoe. "Fine... the hard way then." Pierre took out his pistol and shot the man's head two times, then motioned with his head to the two soldiers.
"Alright men, get this place cleaned up! I don't want anyone to know that we were here, understand?! Get Squadron C here, we need to repair those doors and windows! And you, Private! Wire HQ that this place has been cleaned, with only one minor injury." Pierre breathed a sigh of relief, as he walked into the nearest bathroom. 'Another day to live, another day to serve my country.' He washed his hands and face, fixed his hair and stared at himself in the mirror. He saw a cold, lifeless stare coming out of those eyes in the mirror. And Sargeant Pierre liked it.
