:Refer to the information on the first part for disclaimers and such:
Upon a Moonlit Night Part 03
Sol blazed thru another one of the smaller reptilian-like Gears; pools of black ichor spilling onto the ground. Another one leapt at him as he stood up but he cut it down with an overhead slash. It fell with a dying scream. He turned around to face the rest of the Order and the remaining Gears and was surprised to see just a few Gears left. Crimson eyes scanned the field noting the ratio of green-brown hides to white uniforms, the latter bearing a slightly lesser number. Throwing his blade over his shoulder, the American left the remaining Gears to the others.
As he neared the rows of canvas tents, one voice carried above all the others. It sounded angry. Sol paused, looking towards the voices location.
Reginald Launchette was at the other end of the field, his medical personal with him. Already there was a small sea of wounded nearby; the Medical Division would have their hands full. The man's rank was Lieutenant but he never exulted in his power; choosing instead to remain a rather humble character. Now though, he was barking orders left and right, strands of his raven hair escaping from the short queue he wore it in. Intense blue eyes bore down at solider before him, his hands working frantically to stop the bleeding in the axe wielder's side.
Sol had never spoken to the man personally and he never saw any reason too. As word had it, the Lieutenant rather liked his solitude; giving his books more of an audience than actual people. A few times Sol had seen the man with Ky Kiske, the two of them conversing some matter quietly over cups of tea. Reginald had close to fourteen years on the young Commander but despite that, he seemed to like the blond's company well enough.
"Another basin of water!" he shouted, pushing the small silver rimmed lenses he wore back up the bridge of his nose. One of his subordinates, a woman with full brown curls dashed away. She returned moments later with the cool liquid and he began cleaning his newest patient's wounds—several long gashes to the chest and arms. Like clockwork, he and his associates toiled and, shortly later the injured were taken care of, sent to the medical tents for further treatment.
Reginald heaved a sigh. "Thirty-seven wounded and twenty-one fallen," he said under his breath. "Bloody hell." He rubbed a palm against his brow leaving a faint stain of blood. Adjusting his glasses again, the Lieutenant turned towards Sol who was standing to the side. "Wotcher? You need something?" If there was one thing unique about Reginald, it was his speech. Despite the man's British-French heritage, he spent most of his life growing up in England and as such, picked up their manner of speaking.
"Nope." Sol shifted his weight to the balls of his feet and ambled by.
Just then a blur of white and brown raced past him, towards the Medical Division head. It was the woman who had fetched water before. She stopped breathless at the Lieutenant's side; hands on knees while she heaved for breath.
"Well, what is it?"
"Three missing sir," she gasped before righting. Her uniform was standard, but cut a bit more fittingly then the men's. The trim and front panel were honey-brown, the same shade as her hair.
Reginald pursed his lips before asking, "Who?"
"Brendan Jameson, First Division swordsman, Hubert Kollwitz, Third Magic Defense Division Firecaster, and…" she hesitated. Her superior raised an eyebrow. "Commander Kiske."
Sol stopped in his tracks. Reginald swore quietly under his breath.
"Alright," he turned to the others gathered. "I want all of you to find out from the other Divisions what happened to these three and if anyone saw anything. Check the field and forest for any signs. It is imperative we find them." The other members of the Medical Division nodded in unison before taking off. Reginald faced to the brunette. "Maria, have the other senior officers meet in the campaign tent. I'll join them shortly." She gave a polite nod. Pushing up his glasses again, Reginald headed for his own tent. His uniform was splattered in blood; his forearms were covered in the sticky substance. The time it would take to gather the other officers would be long enough for him to clean up and change.
Things were going to get chaotic.