Tristain Academy of Magic, 2105 hours
Julius woke up with a start, instantly reaching for his L85A2. Scanning his surroundings, he noted that most of the battalion was asleep, with a few still up and about keeping watch. Upon looking up at the night sky, he was surprised to see two moons, one red and one blue, instead of one. He sighed and got up on his feet.
He walked around the throng of sleeping men, intending to speak to his second-in-command. On his way, he passed by two soldiers from his lead platoon having a round of poker with three tankers from one of the Challenger IIs. 'Some things apparently never change,' Julius mused.
He soon spotted the man he was looking for. Capt. Lionel Bristol of Arnhem Company, ever the reserved one, was busy cleaning his pistol with the aid of his taclight. "Bristol," Julius sat down next to him.
"Major," Lionel returned. "I suppose you haven't been brought up to speed yet."
Julius let out a mirthless chuckle as he fished out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, pulling one out and lighting it with his lighter. "You could say that. What time is it, how long was I out?"
Lionel paused for a moment as he started reassembling his pistol. "It's already 2110 hours. As soon as you were out everyone just started panicking, they thought you were done for. Good thing that professor bloke managed to smooth things out with us. Turns out you're quite the heavy sleeper, sir."
This elicited another chuckle from the major, albeit this time it was laced with humor. "Since when have I not slept so soundly, Captain? Anyways, back to what I wanted to talk about. Where exactly are we? I know we're at some kind of academy. Tris – what was that again?"
"Tristain Academy of Magic. Apparently from the map he was able to so kindly give to us, it's their equivalent of Belgium, or something along those lines." Lionel clicked the slide of his pistol back on before rummaging through his rucksack and producing a map. "Take a look."
Julius unrolled the map and studied it. 'So it seems like Tristain is somewhat based on the Low Countries; Gallia and Germania should be pretty self-explanatory; Romalia looks like their version of Italy, and… hmm, Albion?'
"So does this make us Albionian, then?" Julius asked, somewhat amused.
"That's certainly the case, yes," a new voice said.
1st Lt. Travis Knight, Julius's lead platoon commander, was known for being somewhat well-versed in history, as it was one of his hobbies in his spare time. He handed out a single meal ration pack to Julius. "After several hours of being out cold, I figured that you'd like some chow, sir."
Julius took the MRP, giving a nod of thanks. "So, what do we do from hereon out? There's apparently no way we could get back to England, and from the looks of things, I get turned into a familiar."
"Which automatically turns us into that one girl's private army," Lionel muttered.
"Still, there has to be a way for us to get back to our world. We just have to find out how," Julius stated as he set about preparing his food.
The three sat in silence for a while, and eventually, the meal was prepared. Julius dug in, and within minutes finished his meal. He grabbed what was left of his MRP's wrappers and stuffed it in his rucksack to dispose of later.
"I suppose that's about it from me, gents. Let's get some shuteye, we wake up at 0600 and figure out what to do from here." Julius strode back to his command element and settled in.
Lionel and Travis watched their commander depart before settling in themselves.
It was going to be a long night.