12 juillet 1951
0200 heures
Opération: Morningstar - York Base
Jacques était encore dans l'obscurité oppressive, sa couche d'une dalle de pierre sous lui. La nature étouffante de l'air souterrain, se sentant toujours comme la main chauffée d'un revenant serré sur ses lèvres, n'était perturbée que par le murmure indistinct des voix dans la pièce adjacente. Ses yeux commencèrent à dériver, les globes criant avec soulagement comme ils étaient gainés dans l'obscurité agréable de ses paupières, chaud et apaisant à ses yeux de papier de verre. Le son des voix l'a bercé, presque assez pour oublier la précarité de la situation, et l'obscurité a commencé à l'embrasser, se fermant autour de lui alors que le sommeil le revendiquait...
À la dernière seconde, une bouffée et la violence d'un mouvement soudain le réveillèrent, et avec fluidité née de la pratique, sa main scindée au couteau qu'il laissa à ses côtés. Il reste immobile pendant un bref moment, en évaluant la menace, l'esprit scindant à travers des scénarios possibles, ses pulsations et ses yeux agitant contre sa volonté derrière des couvercles fermés, avant de se rendre compte que ce n'était que les tourments nocturnes d'un autre soldat. Avec un soupir doux, il a involontairement abandonné la perspective du sommeil, la chance d'avoir besoin de repos lui ayant été volé. Il garda les yeux fermés alors qu'il entendait la bande de roulement des bottes se diriger vers les voix doucement murmurantes au bord de sa conscience. C'était Frankie, alors...
Se grincant les dents, il se tourna sur le dos, ignorant la douleur légère d'une blessure mineure sur sa jambe. Le pompage de son sang avait redoublé la douleur, et tout d'un coup il se sentait agité - cet endroit, suppressif dans le silence de l'air et la fine patine d'incertitude lançant l'air après la bataille catastrophique, soudainement il se sentait enchaîné et retenu, l'air épais semblait une irritation constante, un poids supplémentaire à supporter. Cherchant quelque chose pour soulager l'ennui inévitable de son insomnie, il s'accorda avec le bavardage, discernant la voix de Frankie tout comme elle s'est effondrée dans la conversation. Elle était bizarre, Frankie. Semblablement confiant et déterminé, mais toujours avec le moindre soupçon de besoin ou de désespoir pour quelque chose, bien que ce qui peut être éludé Jacques pour l'instant.
Avec un soupir, il s'est jeté hors du lit et s'est tenu, branlant légèrement comme le poids tomba sur sa jambe. Il avait besoin de bouger, de secouer cette léthargie qu'il sentait forcée sur lui, malgré l'heure tardive - même si seulement pour se permettre de dormir en peu de temps, une fois son esprit moins actif. Le repos était important, dans une opération comme celle-ci.
Il s'est retrouvé à parler de derrière Frankie, doucement, sa voix encore un peu rugueuse et endormie et pas encore préparée pour quelque force ou beaucoup d'autorité - peu caractéristique, pour lui.
« C'est tout bien, mais c'est un plomb quelque peu intangible - pas d'offense. Nous devons récupérer et réévaluer, avant de mettre en place une stratégie.»
Name: James Shrew
Age: 24
Species: Human; British Paratrooper
Alignment: Good
Appearance: He looks his age, but a certain tightness about the eyes and mouth speaks of the tough training and inherent sense of duty and responsibility typical of a dedicated and hardened soldier. He's dark-haired, the locks cropped short as per military standards but still defiantly holding onto a sense of dishevelment - it would be messy if allowed to grow out. His stature is upright, though not as though his spine were made of steel, and his build is traditionally athletic, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. His face is unremarkable save for the eyes - they are a striking blue-grey, easily his best feature.
Skills/Strengths: A high and natural, raw intelligence is perhaps his strongest asset. Where others excel at marksmanship, or are exceptionally charismatic, he is instead proficient in the art of strategy and tactics, academia and intellectualism. His confidence in his own intelligence allows him to cope well under stress and makes him a valuable, adaptive asset in a stressful combat situation, and the regard with which his intelligence is held commands the respect and trust of those under his command and his peers. This raw understanding of the world has also taught him, over the years, how to understand people and the human mind, developing an overwhelming sense of empathy within him - although at times, this is a weakness - which further solidifies his relationships with, and command of trust from, others. Overall, he is a level-headed man, well-suited to the rigours of leadership and yet not hot-headed enough to cause conflict when he must obey the orders of another.
Weaknesses: The aforementioned sense of empathy sometimes interferes with his combat duties. Furthermore, he makes no attempt to hide his mental capability, which can severely alienate certain people and can occasionally make him seem both cold and arrogant to those who do not know him. This is emphasised by his belief that he must take on the burdens of others without sharing his own woes - his refusal to freely share his own feelings to any but a select few can seem like a cold rejection to a person who has just opened up to him. He also finds it difficult to cope with over-impulsive or prideful lone-wolf behaviour at times, especially when it endangers the lives of those around him. He is not averse to risk-taking, but is often too reserved, sometimes missing valuable opportunities by being over-cautious.
Personality: While not necessarily believing that laws and rules should be stuck to strictly at all times (i.e. if it is the best course of action, he will break them), he believes many of them are there for valid reasons, and would react negatively to any law-breaking for its own sake. This stems from a strong sense of moralistic responsibility to uphold one's principles, whatever those principles may be. In terms of daily interactions with the man, one is either struck by his intellectualism in the form of a large vocabulary and academic choice of topics for discussion, or by the genuine understanding and care lying behind those blue eyes. He is the type of man who often seems to know and understand all, whether that be the depths of one's soul or the reason stars move across the sky, and certainly seems old before his time despite his average, even youthful appearance. As such, as long as one isn't antagonised by his quirks, he seems an enormously trustworthy and reliable man.
Background: James' history is unremarkable prior to his university days, excluding his academic prowess and his luck in winning a scholarship to an excellent school his family could not have otherwise afforded. He was an unusually mature child, perhaps due to his social role as a confidant for his friends and family. He gained a 1st degree in Mathematics from the University of Cambridge in 1947 through a combination of raw intelligence and bloody hard work, though during his time there he also engaged with other areas of academia. For unknown reasons, rather than pursue a Master's Degree as he had always planned to, he left academia behind and joined the paratroopers, using his intelligence to pass through the selection process and distinguishing himself as the type of determined and intelligent man suited for what was already becoming an elite force, despite only having been established less than ten years before. His life has not been particularly arduous and no specifically dreadful tragedies have occurred, though he did bear the large weight of his friends' emotional needs on his shoulders for most of his adolescence, but neither has it been fully easy: he has had to bring to bear all of his intelligence and ability to get where he is, starting from a fairly poor background that lacked in provision of opportunities, and forged his path alone.

Note: I'll need Andae's permission first, but as my guy is a paratrooper - infamous for being part of the Special Forces Support Group - and his is SAS, perhaps they can recognise eachother once they meet?