Pretty Okay Company (IC)

[Toishima]

Gods be damned, I am just surrounded by lowlanders, Sergeant Deryn Price thought. The black-skinned Blackroke native had been a good girl so far, doing all the dog-and-pony things required of her, with the exception of getting her own driver to act like a human fucking being and not a soldier, at least. She had even given Tub - the nickname she had given to Wearbear One Eleanor - a good once-over before lining up and heading in for her daily dose of the slop that dared masquerade as rations.

Lucky for her and unlucky for him, she was now sitting directly across from him.

"So, my dear, sweet, Terminal Lance, on what lowland stretch of poverty-stricken hell did you grow up on that made you think hotboxing in an infantry combat vehicle so close to the front was a good idea, eh? You think that's feckin' intelligent, pumping Tub's already shite air circulation system with hot gas that could impair our judgement and get our asses splattered by an anti-tank shell? The lack of proper dress, I don't give a shit about that. Hell, before I came out I was in my skivvies, too. I'm already miserable in that glorified oven. You're already miserable in that glorified oven. Charly [OOC: Charlotte Schilling]'s already miserable in that glorified oven. Last thing I want, need, or will tolerate is you making it feckin' worse for the rest of us. So if you don't bloody mind, if you must smoke that foul-smelling shit, do it in someone else's IFC."

Lance Corporal Derrick Warren

Derrick had given up trying to give the "Weedgarette" to the other soldier and just lit it up himself, then returned to his mossy rock. Panning across the various squads, he picked out all the girls he would need to 'check out'. That flower girl was definitely one. One of Boy Squad's new riflemen recruits was quite cute as well. Yeah...

A familiar voice broke through to him, ranting on about his in-field bake-out. The same shit every year. Fuck. Derrick just leaned his head back against the rock while the lecture continued, a lazy trail of white smoke snaking up into the sky. When his dark-skinned CO finished, he let his head lazily roll forward to face her, his expression one of exaggerated pain.

"Fuck, Sarge. That hurts, you know. I know my commission's still far off, but terminal lance? Damn," Derrick responded sarcastically, "this is my fuckin' eighth year, ma'am. I know how to shut off the circ when I do what I do, don't want to waste any of this stuff on the passenger compartment and you girls up in the turret. This shit... This shit makes me calm, man. Calm and ready for fuckin' battle! That shit will disappearate in minutes, so don't you fuckin' worry. What's an oven if not for bakin', eh?"

He gave an annoying smirk at his own joke and held out another re-stuffed Army cigarette to his CO.

"Cigarette? 'Improved' edition."

[New Zepuha]

Emily, copying Lukas, gave a slightly crisper salute and said,"Levy Emily Rastirrik, Corporal Jager!"

OOC: Excuse the shortness of this post.

"'ey! Greenie, you got wax in your ears or did you just ignore the sergeant? None of that saluting in the field, you fuckin' got that? Next time you do that I will personally beat yer head backwards, savvy?" Gurt said waving about his cigarette angrily, before he took a calming drag on it to cool his tempers. All of these new recruits, saluting in the field? What the hell were they teaching them back in basic these days?

[The Kingdom of Rhamos]

The appearance and growling of Sgt. Mulder had caught Heitz almost completely off guard and at his words the man practically jumped to his feet smoothly into a position of parade rest. While out side of garrison and formations most soldiers wouldn't normally make such a move but the seriousness of Mulder's facial expression and tone told Heitz that he wasn't fucking around. As well contrary to the normal salute one renders officers a simple parade rest did not invoke the dread sniper check as NCO's were usually lower on the hit list for a sniper.

A few moments of listening to the man told Heitz all he had need to know, his little motivational pt had appeared as a smoke session to the man and to be frank he couldn't blame he supposed. After all not but a few minutes before the formation he had been tearing his gunner a new asshole, so the jump to his conclusion was a not a long one by no stretch of the imagination.

Albeit a simple mistake that could have easily been fixed with a simple explanation Heitz none the less chose to remain silent and let the man talk. One does not interrupt someone who out ranks them and one certainly does not give them excuses. In his personal experience he had found out the hard himself that among many of the pet peeves the senior NCO's held was the belief that any explanation was an excuse and constituted back talking, not a wise move in the slightest.

"Roger that Sergeant!" His response was crisp, clean, and practiced over his years of service to be professional regardless of his personal feelings, a very handy skill and necessary skill to pick up.

With the Platoon Sergeant no longer bearing down on him Heitz executed a snap to attention followed by an about face.

"Starting position-move, position of attention-move, fall out and lets go get some chow guys."

A inward sigh was all he could muster as he remember he had to actually serve them chow as well, his cigarette would have to wait for later so he didn't get any ashes on the Joes food.

[Mincaldenteans]

Evardin considered his squadmate carefully, fixing him with a calm and level gaze. Alrick zu Heltzer. From Linvale. So the last name isn't just a coincidence, then. Our young rifleman is another noble scion. The medic gave a mental shrug. But he's in no position to let that hurt the rest of us, unlike Prince Oorburg. And he doesn't want to make a big deal over his status. And, for some fecking reason, he's serving as a private in a frontline infantry platoon. Maybe he pissed off his father. Evardin allowed himself a small smile, and sucked down the rest of his coffee, scalding his throat. At any rate, if he doesn't want his nobility to be a subject of conversation, I've got no reason to make it one.

"Linvale," Evardin mused. "Pretty city. Been there, once or twice, for the pharmaceutical expositions. Lots of clever people find work there. Always thought it might be a nice place to live."

There was a pause, and then the medic continued. "At this point," he remarked, "I'm pretty much from here." Evardin nodded around at the Great Forest. "Every year, I've spent the campaigning season - most of the year - right here, for close to half my life now. The rest of the time, I'm a surgeon at the hospital in Rialtum."

Evardin began carefully disassembling the camp stove, hands dancing over the apparatus with smooth, swift, confident motions. "But originally," he continued, "I come from Oorburg. My parents emigrated from the countryside to work in the factories. So we never really fit in, culturally, as a family - but my parents had nothing, and so they had to go where the jobs were."

A final motion, and the camp stove was reduced to a neat bundle of metal rods and disks. Evardin wrapped it in his greasy knitted scarf, and stuffed it back into his pack. "And hey," the medic concluded, "my folks might be smelters in Oorburg, but I'm a surgeon in Rialtum - and I know I wouldn't be anything of the sort if my parents had stayed where they were, starving in the countryside among their own folk. So on the whole, I'm glad they made the decision they did. It might have made them strangers in a strange land, but it opened a world of new possibilities for their children."

"How about you, Lillian?" Evardin nodded to the gunner. "Your parents are coffee farmers? What was it like, growing up on a farm?"

The mention of Oorburg would have made him squint his eyes on instinct had it not been listening to Evardin continue on about himself. It implied as though the man had a life of travels and whether it was always difficult didn't seem to matter much to Alrick's intrigue; or maybe it just sparked his curiosity and assume Evardin had such a life before being conscripted. He himself had never been too far out of Linvale, in fact, this was the furthest he'd ever gone. Grun Himmel he was (naturally) familiar with and spent many days, especially summers, in the dense forest where the sun's light strangely never touched the dark forest floor. There was also the outskirts of Duchy of Verstact that he had visited with his family during a diplomatic conference (but what his House called "another round of false platitudes and sub-par food"). Needless to say they never stayed long in their rival's country as guests and vise versa.

But the mention of Rialtum made Alrick tilt his head briefly, having only heard or seen pictures of it be it magazines, newspapers, books (old and new) and the telly (ooc: we damn well better have television!). Not one to pry, the young man couldn't help but noticed Evardin didn't answer the question - correction - he did, but the brief overview had only garnered more questions about where he'd been before being pushed to the front lines. How far had Evardin and his family go? Have they been to the other side before? Just how long had their medic been here to call this place a home, after a fashion?

All those questions only underlined a deeper curiosity, or need, for something outside the only realm he ever knew. To say the young noble wanted to travel the world was an understatement.

Alrick saved the questions for later and grimaced at the remains of his coffee before downing it all along with the hesitation that nearly overrode his will; the taste wasn't something he wanted to experience if it came back up. Setting the cup aside he began cleaning his own implements in a quick fastidious manner, something instilled into him since childhood and certainly not by choice. The zu Heltzers and their attention to detail was insufferable, but he had to grudgingly admit the House wouldn't have survived this long were it not for its strict codes that ran anywhere from politics to breathing to the leaves that blanketed the forest floor of Grun Himmel.

He sat back down once he had stored everything away, his field pack close by and within reach if needed as per usual. "What's it like in Rialtum?" Alrick asked with a more conversational tone than his last response.

[The United Remnants of America]

Emily, copying Lukas, gave a slightly crisper salute and said,"Levy Emily Rastirrik, Corporal Jager!"

"'ey! Greenie, you got wax in your ears or did you just ignore the sergeant? None of that saluting in the field, you fuckin' got that? Next time you do that I will personally beat yer head backwards, savvy?" Gurt said waving about his cigarette angrily, before he took a calming drag on it to cool his tempers. All of these new recruits, saluting in the field? What the hell were they teaching them back in basic these days?

Lukas looked up and around before his eyes rested on the Staff Sergeant and commander of his squad's IFV. The AT gunner gave a little snigger at his chiding of Rasittirk before taking a couple steps closer to him, "Hey, Sarge. How's the brawler crawler running?" Again, Lukas gave another sloppy salute, this time even sloppier, barely raising his hand past his shoulder in deference to McGundry's complaint. He'd known McGundry since he was shipped into Cravis Squad, and Lukas enjoyed few things more than hearing the anger and annoyance of Staff Sergeant Gurt McGundry be vocalized in his beautiful highlands accent.

[Glorious ReBublic of Alevstan]

Private Alessia Ricce (Honora)

---

Snip

Miko smiled wryly as Alessia unfolded—or, more likely, spun out of thin air—her story. After she finished, he took a few moments to eat the rest of his "meal," if it could be called even that much. Some of the dry grey paste that supposedly gave them nutrients got stuck in his throat. He coughed and washed it down with water. Just like a toilet flushes down waste, he thought, then snorted. Almost like he was homesick, though these gods-cursed battlefronts had been his home for the past few years. Miko finally responded to her story. "Don't mean to rain on your parade, but that's not really believable. In this shitty country, you're either up in the clouds or writhing in the dirt, in terms of influence, money, all that good stuff. I can say I'm the true king of Antediluvia get some blacksmith to make a fake artefact to 'prove' it, but that doesn't change anything. It's still an outright lie, I'm still not the tyrant who controls our lives, still down in that metaphorical dirt."

Snip

Miko was surprised to see another man sitting on a crate over near the Crawler. The guy'd been really quiet, but now he spoke up with a heavy accent, barely understandable. "Eh. We'd all rather be back home doing anything than out here waiting to get killed. It's only a matter of time for that. Anyways, I'll stop trying to depress all you." He paused, took a swig of water, then looked down and fiddled with his combat vest. Miko waited a few moments, then looked up and put on a slight grin. "So, you're a mortar monkey like me, but what's your position? 'N where'd you come from?"

[Agritum]

Recruit Poppy Blossom (Duke)

Poppy made her way through, holding her somewhat smelly rations and quietly munching upon them. The savour wasn't the best, but it was definitely enough to put her tastebuds into motion again. Back in Altaflor, she wasn't exactly a big eater, but the exerting work shifts of her floristry shop had ingrained Poppy with the habit of eating a light, sustainment sandwich every hournor two. In the Army, she had substituted sandwiches for the caloric bars, but they always felt much less tasty.

The eyes of the young recruit suddenly fell on a group of men and women conversing and eating next to her, some of them bearing the insignia of Duke. Her squaddies, definitely.

Adjusting the red poppy flower affixed to her helmet's net, the Altaflorian girl suddenly walked in the midst of the group, while reaching in her pockets for some leftover daisies. "Good morning....chaps!" she started. Shyness was not a problem for her: working with a lot of customers was the norm, back at the shop. Poppy promptly held out the daisies to Miko, the oddly accented mana and Alessia, as if inviting them to pick their favourite one.

"Here, take this as a gift from me!" She added, smiling.

[The Carlisle]

Lillian Skarbeck

Lillian's eye brow's perked up when Evardin said he was from Oorburg. The man did not look the part, but his story held true to her. She remembered being taught in school about the technological revolution and how many country folk moved to the cities for work. She just never knew the extent. But it was touching nonetheless. She figured her parent's would have done the same thing if it meant giving her and them a good life.

She smiled at Evardin when she asked her that question. "Busy and physically demanding. From the time I was six, I was helping ma and pa in the harvests. And it got harder as I got older. Most of the work centered around the coffee trees. Pruning, spraying pesticides, picking, making sure they don't die in a bad winter, and making sure the water flows out well. Our lives centered around those trees. But there were other work too. Housework, taking care of the animals, and caring for the little ones. Also adding school into that and I rarely had much free time. As soon as I got home, it was homework and chores. And when the harvests came, all I did was pick cherries all day for a week. Luckily, they let us out of school for that, so I wasn't missing any school," She said, sighing and taking one last sip of mud, finishing it, "But, I really didn't mind. I liked working on the farm. 'Builds muscle and a good work ethic' my father always said, and he was right. And, it eventually became my passion. Getting up, doing housework, tending the coffee, working up a good sweat. I enjoyed all that. And the hard work always payed off come harvest. Every cherry I picked was a sign of my effort." She chuckled a bit and sighed. So far away from the farm. But she knew she would be back, tending to the trees. She felt a bit homesick, being so far away from the farm. She wouldn't even be there for the spring harvest. She wondered how the littler ones would handle the extra work with her not there.

"Sorry. I went on a bit off there didn't I? Anyways, not everything is hard in that sort of life. We had the evenings to unwind, and vacations. Never went far, but it was nice once in a while. And there are the festivals and holidays all around the year to have fun. The Spring and Fall harvest festivals in our town were the funnest parts of the year. And there were my friends which I hung out and rose a ruckus with," she said. Her mind was half-there/ half reminiscing. Those times were some of the fondest memories she had. She missed those days, when it she was just a farm hand, and not just a conscript. But those memories kept her going out here, and gave her something to look forward to when she gets back.

She focused back on Evardin, done reminiscing. "So, what was it like, growing up in a city?" she said.

[Pan Asian Amercian Coalition]

Recruit Adelaide Orchidia Meadows

Adelaide jumped sightly at the sudden voice, looking up from behind her work. A tall, blonde-haired man had stuck his head into the tent, carrying some food with him. She looked him up and down, not detecting any outward injuries or ailments. It took her a couple of seconds to recognise that it was her squad's marksman, and realised what he had actually asked. She instinctively and awkwardly looked back downwards, subconsciously hoping he would go away. Another second passed and she noticed he was still there.

"Private Barrisivo, the medical tent is for the platoon's medical staff and those in need of attention only," Adelaide informed him, her voice soft and controlled to a near-monotonous drone, "I have work to do now. Thank you."

Going back to her inventory lists, she took another scoop of food, seemingly ignoring him if he was still there. We may need more Promethazine and Paracetamol... I should bring this up with Lance Corporal Drael.The only sound for some time was her ballpoint pen scratching at the papers, along with the occasional shuffling of other documents. Her mind inevitably wandered to the Private, though, and she paused her work to quickly finish up the food and get it over with. A marksman. Kills from afar. Extremely deadly, and thus would be a priority target for the enemy- if he is not hidden. She pulled out his medical record, and noted his age- even younger than myself. He must be watched.

She glanced back up to the tent flap to check if he was still there.

"Private Barrisivo, the medical tent is for the platoon's medical staff and those in need of attention only," Adelaide informed him, her voice soft and controlled to a near-monotonous drone, "I have work to do now. Thank you."

Artyom withdrew his head as soon as she looked back towards her paperwork. He wasn't going to stay where he wasn't wanted. The entire act was at the same time disappointing and promising, however. Artyom's gut feeling that she would be like his sister was seen almost half right, but in the good way. Nowhere near as bitey. She seemed kind of nervous....

He better things to do than pester the medic with his breathing at the door, so he wandered around the immediate area. Finding two metal boxes, and he checked to make sure they weren't the medic's boxes, he made an impromptu seat and table, and sat a few meters across from the entrance flap on the tent. Artyom opened his rations slowly, to minimize noise, and seperated the contents into two piles, one he would eat now and one he would save for later. After this he unslung his hunter's rifle from his shoulders and gently lay part of the it on the table. The rifle was a massive weapon; almost as long as some (shorter) people are tall, 13 kilograms, and a hilariously large 15 mm bullet. It was heavy, unwieldly, and generally overkill for shooting basically anything, but Artyom refused to part with it anyways.

He began dissembling the action of the weapon with a spoon of a strange, nutty brown paste stuck firmly between his teeth. Artyom never had the paste before, but could tell that it was still cheaply made. His plan was to disassemble and reassemble the rifle until he thought of something better to do. And knowing himself, he was going to be there a while.

[Galter Gulcher]

Private Alessia Ricce (Honora)

---

Snip

Miko smiled wryly as Alessia unfolded—or, more likely, spun out of thin air—her story. After she finished, he took a few moments to eat the rest of his "meal," if it could be called even that much. Some of the dry grey paste that supposedly gave them nutrients got stuck in his throat. He coughed and washed it down with water. Just like a toilet flushes down waste, he thought, then snorted. Almost like he was homesick, though these gods-cursed battlefronts had been his home for the past few years. Miko finally responded to her story. "Don't mean to rain on your parade, but that's not really believable. In this shitty country, you're either up in the clouds or writhing in the dirt, in terms of influence, money, all that good stuff. I can say I'm the true king of Antediluvia get some blacksmith to make a fake artefact to 'prove' it, but that doesn't change anything. It's still an outright lie, I'm still not the tyrant who controls our lives, still down in that metaphorical dirt."

Snip

Miko was surprised to see another man sitting on a crate over near the Crawler. The guy'd been really quiet, but now he spoke up with a heavy accent, barely understandable. "Eh. We'd all rather be back home doing anything than out here waiting to get killed. It's only a matter of time for that. Anyways, I'll stop trying to depress all you." He paused, took a swig of water, then looked down and fiddled with his combat vest. Miko waited a few moments, then looked up and put on a slight grin. "So, you're a mortar monkey like me, but what's your position? 'N where'd you come from?"

Carl chuckled,and then said abruptly
"If ah havent fallen doon a mines shaft 'n' skelp mah heid, a'm yer section leader! a'm fae Blackroccke a'm mah nam' is Carl Hickin. Nice tae make yer acquaintance."
Then, out of the blue came a girl handing out flowers, he smiled and accepted it gracefully, even as he was wondering to himself about what to do with it.
"Thenk ye fur th'...flower."
Carl cared little for flowers, or anything of the nature. But he would put up with it, the girls name was Rose or Poppy or something like that, so he figured she probably grew up in a life related to flowers. Carl's idea of a flower however was allot different and plenty as feminine, so to say.

[Reverend Norv]

Alrick saved the questions for later and grimaced at the remains of his coffee before downing it all along with the hesitation that nearly overrode his will; the taste wasn't something he wanted to experience if it came back up. Setting the cup aside he began cleaning his own implements in a quick fastidious manner, something instilled into him since childhood and certainly not by choice. The zu Heltzers and their attention to detail was insufferable, but he had to grudgingly admit the House wouldn't have survived this long were it not for its strict codes that ran anywhere from politics to breathing to the leaves that blanketed the forest floor of Grun Himmel.

He sat back down once he had stored everything away, his field pack close by and within reach if needed as per usual. "What's it like in Rialtum?" Alrick asked with a more conversational tone than his last response.

Evardin propped his assault pack up against a nearby log, and leaned back against it, letting his forearms rest on his knees. He watched Alrick clean up his cup and plate. Fastidious fellow, isn't he? Evardin hadn't expected that from a noble. I'd have thought they'd all be used to having servants clean up after them. Nobody's simple, I guess.

When Alrick asked about Rialtum, Evardin smiled. He smiled a lot, the young doctor, but most of the time the expression was gentle, a little sad, indicative more of careworn kindness than of pleasure or joy. But now Evardin heard an ease in Alrick's voice, an unguarded curiosity. Kid's letting his guard down. Good. He won't survive if he tries to go it alone. And so Evardin's smile held a real warmth, and his grey-green eyes danced with good cheer.

"Rialtum," the medic said slowly, rolling the word around on his tongue. He leaned his head back, and gazed at the low rooftops of the village where the platoon was stationed. "Well, it's bigger than this place," Evardin joked wryly. He shrugged. "It's not bad to look at - no smokestacks filling the air with smog, like in some areas of Oorburg. Lots of brick buildings, lots of metal. It's a port, and you can walk down the waterfront where these huge ships come in from all over the world, with things - ah, things you wouldn't believe." Evardin was warming to his subject now, his voice deep and lilting, like an old storyteller at a campfire. "Bales of coconuts the size of my head, and mahogany logs stacked one atop the other, and tuna the size of a horse. There are these cranes, taller than the tallest building, that swing back and forth overhead, and unload the wares, and they cast vast moving shadows over the streets."

Evardin raised a finger. "And yet, if you wander into one of those waterfront warehouses late at night, you might come upon some secret rite - men and women robed, chanting, burning incense. They say that if you happen to join one of those rituals, the night can last for an age." The medic was deliberately laying it on thick, and there was an ironic glint in his eye - but despite himself, he thought of a night four years ago when the Precambrians had moved like ghosts, like wildfire through the trees, and Evardin and his comrades had seemed unable to respond faster than an ant's pace. That night did last an age, Evardin thought, and shivered.

"Anyway," the medic concluded, "what I miss most about Rialtum is the sea. You can walk along the coast at sunset, a little ways out of the city, and look out over the vast ocean, with its waves still rolling gently into shore like they have every evening since the dawn of time, and you feel - small, I guess, but in a good way. It always makes me feel like the world is ultimately good, ultimately full of beauty that none of us - our greed, our wars, our hatred - can ever sully." Evardin smiled quietly, and thought of Ellie's small head resting in his lap as she murmured her poetry and stared out to the ocean's far horizon. "There were seaside sunsets at Rialtum before the first man ever set foot there," the medic concluded, "and there will be seaside sunsets at Rialtum long after I am dead and gone." Evardin shrugged. "I find that a comforting fact to remember."

She smiled at Evardin when she asked her that question. "Busy and physically demanding. From the time I was six, I was helping ma and pa in the harvests. And it got harder as I got older. Most of the work centered around the coffee trees. Pruning, spraying pesticides, picking, making sure they don't die in a bad winter, and making sure the water flows out well. Our lives centered around those trees. But there were other work too. Housework, taking care of the animals, and caring for the little ones. Also adding school into that and I rarely had much free time. As soon as I got home, it was homework and chores. And when the harvests came, all I did was pick cherries all day for a week. Luckily, they let us out of school for that, so I wasn't missing any school," She said, sighing and taking one last sip of mud, finishing it, "But, I really didn't mind. I liked working on the farm. 'Builds muscle and a good work ethic' my father always said, and he was right. And, it eventually became my passion. Getting up, doing housework, tending the coffee, working up a good sweat. I enjoyed all that. And the hard work always payed off come harvest. Every cherry I picked was a sign of my effort." She chuckled a bit and sighed. So far away from the farm. But she knew she would be back, tending to the trees. She felt a bit homesick, being so far away from the farm. She wouldn't even be there for the spring harvest. She wondered how the littler ones would handle the extra work with her not there.

"Sorry. I went on a bit off there didn't I? Anyways, not everything is hard in that sort of life. We had the evenings to unwind, and vacations. Never went far, but it was nice once in a while. And there are the festivals and holidays all around the year to have fun. The Spring and Fall harvest festivals in our town were the funnest parts of the year. And there were my friends which I hung out and rose a ruckus with," she said. Her mind was half-there/ half reminiscing. Those times were some of the fondest memories she had. She missed those days, when it she was just a farm hand, and not just a conscript. But those memories kept her going out here, and gave her something to look forward to when she gets back.

She focused back on Evardin, done reminiscing. "So, what was it like, growing up in a city?" she said.

Before he replied, Evardin shook his head, with that same kind smile playing about his lips. "You didn't go off there, not at all. You let me see your home, even though I've never been there." The medic sucked in a deep breath, and thought of families working together, bringing in the food that would keep them alive, dancing together at festivals, dozing off around a fire on a chilly evening. Simple. Simple and wholesome and good. The way that man was meant to live. A sudden, unexpected pang of longing tore at Evardin's heart: longing for a past that he had never had, and for a future that seemed always just a tiny bit beyond his reach. The medic nodded quietly to himself. "That is a good home, Lillian," he said, and glanced over to meet the young woman's eye. "I am glad you have it to return to."

And I hope that you live to do so, Evardin thought. By all the eight hundred, with all my heart, I do hope you get to go back and pick cherries again with your brothers and sisters. When this is all over. If this is ever all over.

"Growing up in a city," Evardin said slowly, considering Lillian's question. "Well, I don't know, exactly. Not in - general terms, I guess you could say." The medic scratched his jaw distractedly. What to say?

He thought of smokestacks belching noxious clouds into the air, of his father coming home with his scorched face slack with exhaustion, of his mother's vacant stare as she tried to make sense of a world that was too big and too fast-moving for her ever to grasp it. Of the sound of shouting and weeping from his parents' room, just on the other side of the door that divided the family's two-room apartment, the sound that had kept Evardin awake every night for a decade. He thought of the mob of industrial migrant workers that filled the streets every morning, the pant and groan of anonymous rutting and copulating a foot away on the other side of the plywood walls that divided the tenement apartments. He thought of the smell: the smell of unwashed bodies, scorched metal, hard liquor. The smell of desperation and despair, and slow death.

What to say?

"We were new in town," Evardin explained slowly. "We spoke only Nahumic, with a really old fashioned accent. The natives could barely understand us. The neighborhood kids thought I was hilarious. They'd ask me to talk, and the results would have them in stitches." And throwing scrap iron at my head. The medic's mouth twisted bitterly. "Everyone worked in the foundries. All the workers lived together in big buildings toward the edge of town. It was crowded. There was...community, I guess, though not like what you'd find in a farming village. The work was very hard, and dangerous. Everyone found respite from it in his or her own way." Evardin thought of the empty perkele bottles rolling around the bed, and his father's glassy stare and gurgling laugh. "There were worse places to grow up," the medic concluded quietly. "There were better. I got out when I was sixteen; hopped a freight train out of the valley. Never went back."

Evardin considered saying more, and decided against it. He planted his hands on his knees, and pushed himself to his feet. "Get ready," he advised. "I imagine we'll be moving on soon enough." The medic paused. "Check your feet," he added, with that kind, quiet smile. "You're carrying enough without adding blisters or foot rot to the mix." Evardin slung his pack over one shoulder. "I'm going to check on platoon medical supplies." He nodded to his squad-mates. "I'll be back soon."

And with that, Evardin Drael stumped off through the mud, and thought about his past and his future, and dreamed of the seaside sunsets of Rialtum.

[Mincaldenteans]

Alrick got up, nodding to Lillian politely and moving off not too far from her where his belongings laid. He checked his stuff as per usual, especially the medication that was concealed in his bag. It was a habitual for him to keep checking even if he knew no one was aware of it, let alone steal it. They wouldn't have much use for it anyway and selling it off would only raise unwanted attention in public. That thought should have felt like a security blanket to his worries but it offered little comfort, both mentally and physically. Medicine to the House was cold hard math with a pinch of ruthless efficiency. How else was Linvale the leading city for the best and brightest in the medical field?

"Certainly then smelting ores and choking on metals," he said to no one in particular under his breath at the reminder of Oorburg and its start contrast to Linvale.

[Glorious ReBublic of Alevstan]

Recruit Poppy Blossom (Duke)

Poppy made her way through, holding her somewhat smelly rations and quietly munching upon them. The savour wasn't the best, but it was definitely enough to put her tastebuds into motion again. Back in Altaflor, she wasn't exactly a big eater, but the exerting work shifts of her floristry shop had ingrained Poppy with the habit of eating a light, sustainment sandwich every hournor two. In the Army, she had substituted sandwiches for the caloric bars, but they always felt much less tasty.

The eyes of the young recruit suddenly fell on a group of men and women conversing and eating next to her, some of them bearing the insignia of Duke. Her squaddies, definitely.

Adjusting the red poppy flower affixed to her helmet's net, the Altaflorian girl suddenly walked in the midst of the group, while reaching in her pockets for some leftover daisies. "Good morning....chaps!" she started. Shyness was not a problem for her: working with a lot of customers was the norm, back at the shop. Poppy promptly held out the daisies to Miko, the oddly accented mana and Alessia, as if inviting them to pick their favourite one.

"Here, take this as a gift from me!" She added, smiling.

Another newcomer, with a flower, of all things, in her helmet net, came walking into the group, this time the other mortar operator he had seen earlier. She was the one who had given the vase of flowers to the officer earlier. After greeting them cheerfully, she—Poppy or some silly name like that—held out a handful of colourful blossoms, apparently showing them off or something of the sort. Mus be hard to grow those out here, he thought absentmindedly. After she told them something Miko didn't hear, Carl, apparently the team leader for his mortar, took one, and Miko realised she was offering them. Of course. Must be some sort of greeting wherever she hails from. He picked out a flower at random and held it, unsure of what to do with it. "Ehh... thank you for the... flower, Poppy?" he said slowly, still somewhat confused as to why she was doing this. He finally resolved to put the bright yellow blossom in a pouch in his vest, where he usually held miscellany such as a compass and pencil. "Anyways, welcome to Duke. I think you're on Carl and mine's team, if I'm not mistaken. Where'd you hail from?" Miko leaned back against the hull of the APC and absently twirled the flower in his pocket. Well, this is most everybody in Duke and Honora, it looks. Probably the people I'll be living and fighting with for months to come. Not dying with, if the eight hundred look well upon us. He was already beginning to feel much more comfortable with their two small squads, which he hadn't felt since his first deployment, when he was, gods forbid it ever happen again, actually excited to go to war and feel the adrenaline rushing through his body. Miko wasn't excited after his first battle. Two buddies in the platoon, both staring with glassy, lifeless eyes into the grey sky, rain not quite washing a twin fountains of red away into the dirt where they would stay. Then on the next mission he thought killing him some Precambrian fuckers would partially patch that void in his heart. It was as empty before as after he saw one of them fall in front of his sights. He never felt anything but dread and rarely anger on operations now. At least he wasn't a rifleman anymore, didn't have to see his 'enemies,' the people his superiors told him to shoot at, fall to the ground as a red flower blossomed on the dirt. He didn't see as often his buddies fall never to rise again, but those empty seats on IFVs and white-veiled shapes brought back to camp were telling enough, most of the time.

[Reverend Norv]

Evardin Drael strolled through the camp, pausing to give a friendly nod to Gurt and to glance, eyebrows raised, at Arytom - who was sitting by himself and cleaning an extraordinarily large hunting rifle. The medic chuckled and clapped the young man on the shoulder. "If we run into any elephants that chose to fight on the Precambrian side," he remarked, "I'll be sure to let you know." Evardin gave the weapon another glance. I wonder if that thing could pierce light armor? he mused. Uriyah be willing, we'll never need to find out.

Somehow, Evardin doubted that the powers above would be so kind.

A few more minutes of trudging through the mud, and Evardin arrived at the medical tent. Adelaide was already there, sitting alone at the table in the corner of the tent and doing paperwork. Inventory, Evardin thought. Smart girl. Adelaide reminded him of Alrick, in some ways. Both were young, fairly inexperienced; both were by-the-book and withdrawn. They both seemed to think that forming attachments to their comrades could be a liability in combat. Evardin, over his years of service, had come to the opposite conclusion. If you try to survive a war alone, without anyone to talk to or care for, then your mind will break long before your body. But you'll still end up just as dead.

Nevertheless, Adelaide was brisk, professional, and smart as a whip. She had the unusual merit of actually being a credentialed doctor, which impressed Evardin; for all that Adelaide must have been scarcely a year out of medical school, even that level of professional training was still very rare among frontline medics. Evardin - a professional trauma surgeon with ten years of combat experience - looked at her in something of the same way he viewed the residents back at the hospital in Rialtum: Adelaide was inexperienced as a doctor, and extremely inexperienced as a combat medic, but she had a level of formal training that demanded respect and made her a valuable resource for the platoon medical team.

And so, without ever having made a conscious choice in the matter, Evardin had long since decided to show the younger medic the ropes. She'll be better at her job if she doesn't have to figure everything out by herself, and maybe it'll bring her out of her shell a little - and thus keep her from being shell-shocked home the first time we catch a heavy bombardment. But Evardin knew better than to try to make small talk, at least right off the bat. As with the residents at the Rialtum hospital, friendship would have to grow out of a professional relationship, not vice versa.

Thus it was that when the young surgeon ducked into the medical tent, he offered Adelaide a professional nod and a small, gentle smile. "Hey, Recruit. Just checking in." Evardin stepped up behind Adelaide and glanced over her shoulder at the paperwork. "Inventory? Good thinking." In reality, Evardin had allowed himself to get careless about inventory a long time ago. Resupply hardly ever gets here anyway. Better to assume that what you have in your pack is what you've got, rather than hoping for drugs to arrive from the rear on trucks that won't show up until the End of Days. But Adelaide's diligence showed professionalism, and that was what counted.

"Anything in particular we're short on?" Other than everything, Evardin mentally added. He leaned against a gurney, his soft grey-green eyes steadily watching the younger medic. When he spoke again, his voice was less brisk, more personal. "How's your squad, Adelaide?" the medic asked softly. "Wearbear Two has a problem with blisters and foot rot; I've been talking to my people about hygiene. Any problems in Altaflor? Everyone got their head screwed on straight?" The implication was clear: medical issues among frontline troops were not limited to the physical. Evardin watched Adelaide quietly, attentively, as he waited for her reply.

[Toishima]

Evardin Drael strolled through the camp, pausing to give a friendly nod to Gurt and to glance, eyebrows raised, at Arytom - who was sitting by himself and cleaning an extraordinarily large hunting rifle. The medic chuckled and clapped the young man on the shoulder. "If we run into any elephants that chose to fight on the Precambrian side," he remarked, "I'll be sure to let you know." Evardin gave the weapon another glance. I wonder if that thing could pierce light armor? he mused. Uriyah be willing, we'll never need to find out.

Somehow, Evardin doubted that the powers above would be so kind.

A few more minutes of trudging through the mud, and Evardin arrived at the medical tent. Adelaide was already there, sitting alone at the table in the corner of the tent and doing paperwork. Inventory, Evardin thought. Smart girl. Adelaide reminded him of Alrick, in some ways. Both were young, fairly inexperienced; both were by-the-book and withdrawn. They both seemed to think that forming attachments to their comrades could be a liability in combat. Evardin, over his years of service, had come to the opposite conclusion. If you try to survive a war alone, without anyone to talk to or care for, then your mind will break long before your body. But you'll still end up just as dead.

Nevertheless, Adelaide was brisk, professional, and smart as a whip. She had the unusual merit of actually being a credentialed doctor, which impressed Evardin; for all that Adelaide must have been scarcely a year out of medical school, even that level of professional training was still very rare among frontline medics. Evardin - a professional trauma surgeon with ten years of combat experience - looked at her in something of the same way he viewed the residents back at the hospital in Rialtum: Adelaide was inexperienced as a doctor, and extremely inexperienced as a combat medic, but she had a level of formal training that demanded respect and made her a valuable resource for the platoon medical team.

And so, without ever having made a conscious choice in the matter, Evardin had long since decided to show the younger medic the ropes. She'll be better at her job if she doesn't have to figure everything out by herself, and maybe it'll bring her out of her shell a little - and thus keep her from being shell-shocked home the first time we catch a heavy bombardment. But Evardin knew better than to try to make small talk, at least right off the bat. As with the residents at the Rialtum hospital, friendship would have to grow out of a professional relationship, not vice versa.

Thus it was that when the young surgeon ducked into the medical tent, he offered Adelaide a professional nod and a small, gentle smile. "Hey, Recruit. Just checking in." Evardin stepped up behind Adelaide and glanced over her shoulder at the paperwork. "Inventory? Good thinking." In reality, Evardin had allowed himself to get careless about inventory a long time ago. Resupply hardly ever gets here anyway. Better to assume that what you have in your pack is what you've got, rather than hoping for drugs to arrive from the rear on trucks that won't show up until the End of Days. But Adelaide's diligence showed professionalism, and that was what counted.

"Anything in particular we're short on?" Other than everything, Evardin mentally added. He leaned against a gurney, his soft grey-green eyes steadily watching the younger medic. When he spoke again, his voice was less brisk, more personal. "How's your squad, Adelaide?" the medic asked softly. "Wearbear Two has a problem with blisters and foot rot; I've been talking to my people about hygiene. Any problems in Altaflor? Everyone got their head screwed on straight?" The implication was clear: medical issues among frontline troops were not limited to the physical. Evardin watched Adelaide quietly, attentively, as he waited for her reply.

Recruit Adelaide Orchidia Meadows

Why do we have so much morphine? Adelaide went back to her work after checking if Barrisivo was still there. He wasn't, and she felt somewhat relieved inside. There would be no distractions, and the ever-crucial stock-taking could continue. She was bad at small-talk anyway, and their professional relationship as squad mates could take a turn for the worse if she somehow failed at idle conversation.

Evardin's entry was much less subtle compared to Barrisivo's, and Adelaide looked up at her senior both in rank and skill. Off the field, he was a trained and certified trauma surgeon. Their areas of expertise were vastly different, but she still respected the man. He had proven to be amicable and professional during the short time they had been together, which did wonders for cooperation between the platoon's three medics. Adelaide found it much easier to talk to Evardin than anyone else, the Lance Corporal seemingly understanding her way of doing things.

"Hey, Recruit. Just checking in. Inventory? Good thinking," Evardin said, moving up behind her, "anything in particular we're short on?"

"Thank you for your complement, Lance Corporal Drael," Adelaide responded crisply, replying his nod. She lifted a vase of orchids and pulled out a folder that had been underneath, sliding out a neatly-compiled list of equipment and tools. This she put together with a second list of medicines that she had just been finishing up. Both were handed to Evardin for closer inspection.

"Lance Corporal, we are especially short on promethazine, antibiotics, saline and safety pins, as well as APAP, DPH and PSE. I have filled in requests for everything except the PSE, I'm working on that now. We somehow have too much NSAIDs, morphine and gauze for some reason. I have a strange feeling Werebear 2's supplies somehow came here. They may also have our stuff."

She appreciated that Evardin listened patiently and attentively. She was aware of the monotony in her droning "serious voice", and its profound exhaustive effect on uninterested people. The man before her just knew when to be serious and when not to be. He must have amazing bedside manners... Nothing less is expected for a man in his field, I suppose. Those grey-green eyes could drill into a person, but they did so softly. It was an odd feeling, to be scrutinised by this Lance Corporal.

"How's your squad, Adelaide? Wearbear Two has a problem with blisters and foot rot; I've been talking to my people about hygiene."

Adelaide made a mental note to get to the squad leader about this issue. Especially with the local and current weather, foot rot would be a problem for careless soldiers. Those rumours about wild snakes in the immediate area were probably one of the main causes.

"Any problems in Altaflor? Everyone got their head screwed on straight?"

The last question was particularly biting. While most others in the platoon had been spending the last few days of their deployment socialising, making friends and getting to know each other, she found she was spending very little time with the rest of her squad mates, what with the vast amount of work she had to do for the benefit of the whole platoon. Things just had to be sacrificed to make way for others. Even so, the minutes-ago encounter with Barrisivo seemed to take on greater significance.

"While they are all generally fit for combat, I am not entirely certain about the squad's mental condition. I have..." Adelaide paused for a while, a regretful expression crossing her face for a moment before returning to the usual expressionless stare, "I have yet to have much interaction with the rest of the squad members. From what I have observed, they are all probably fine. I will find out what I can."

[The Carlisle]

Maxie

Maxie sat quietly, listening to his squad talk and eating his ration. He didn't really mind the taste as much as the others did. In fact, he preferred them, not because of taste but because of what they meant to him. The ration reminded him of when he became an actual soldier. For years he ate good food in the noble companies, but the food there never sated him and only served as a reminder that he was still under the yoke of his blood. After being transferred into a regular company, the first ration nearly made him vomit. But that first ration was a sort of rite of passage into being a real soldier.

He didn't speak at all, content to listen to his squad talk between themselves. He enjoyed the small talk about their lives. Maybe his speech worked! Though, to be honest, he didn't want to interrupt nor when to talk. Really, he was a little socially inept. Being sheltered most of his life and rarely speaking with anyone outside of the nobility for most if his life really didn't help his conversation skills with regular people. Though he did smile a bit when Evardin said he came from Oorburg. Couldn't help to, he still had hometown pride. When Alrick spoke, he was a bit surprised. He looked like he wouldn't speak to be honest, but I guess you can't ignore someone if they addressed you directly. Though, Maxie felt he was the focus of most of Alrick's attention. He could feel the disdain permeating from him. It was a bit saddening to Maxie, that someone would hate him for his blood. But he didn't let that show, keeping his emotions tucked inside.

Though his heart sank on hearing Evardin speak of his childhood. He could tell that he was being vague, mainly because he saw the problems upfront. It was from the time in his teen when he would sneak out of the palace to meet up with friends in the Arbeiter District. He remembered having fun and causing ruckus with them. He felt so free during those times with them. But, he also saw the problems they faced. They were poor, living in the tenants, and they always had problems at home. They always were sad when they had to break up for the day, as this was their only respite in their hard lives. Of course, that ended years ago. His cover was eventually blown, and he lost his friends and freedom. He saw in Evardin what he saw in some of his friends, and... something in himself.

"A desire to escape," he thought.

Maxie finished the last bite of his ration. The rest of the squad looked to be finished with theirs as well. He picked up his scraps off the ground and got up. "If your finished, clean up and get ready to leave. Make sure your weapons are clean and you have enough ammo packed," Maxie said,"Don't want to keep Flower waiting on us."

He heard Alrick mumble something, but ignored it. He figured he shouldn't get into something that'll likely lead to a conflict right now. He needed the squad to be ready to leave, and a quarrel would delay that. He walked off to the squad supply tent to make sure he had enough ammo in his pack.

[Nature-Spirits]

"This is just fine, Private!" Rialto shouted over the roar of the engine in response to Wymond's question, and the driver nodded, looking back to the muddy road. "So, have you been in the service for long, Dalca?" the lieutenant continued. "I'm Rialto, by the way. Vester Jacomo Rialto. From Rialtum, in case you couldn't tell."

Wymond gave a lopsided smile and looked back at the officer, watching the road with one eye. "Been in the military three years," he replied, projecting his voice loudly enough to be audible without quite yelling. It was a practised skill, one that he had mastered over his many years surrounded by vehicles, heavy machinery, and the sound pollution that came along with that. "Never as a foot soldier, though. Once my superiors realised I work better with a machine than with human beings, there was no question I guess." He turned to face the road again as he raised his right hand from the gear shift up to the steering wheel, turning it to round a bend in the road. As the Jeep raced through a puddle, muddy water splashed up onto the front of the car, and he bit his lip. He would have to wipe the vehicle down again the next chance he got -- not that he minded at all. He found maintenance and cleaning of vehicles to be therapeutic, and there had been many a time -- usually after a fight with his mother -- that he had disappeared for hours on end, only to be found under the hood of a truck parked in his family's garage. "Y'know, sir, I've always wanted to visit Rialtum. I hear it has a big industrial sector. And didn't it have some sort of role during the Technological Revolution? I seem to remember something about that from back when I went to school." He glanced back at Rialto before returning his gaze to the road, skirting around another puddle.

Damn I'm thirsty, he realised, brown eyes touching on the murky water before it was completely behind them. I've got water somewhere around here, right? Glancing down, he reached for the floor beside his seat with his right hand and retrieved his canteen, steadying the steering wheel with his left knee to free both hands. He unscrewed the bottle and took a swig before returning his left hand to the wheel. The water was warm, contrary to what he would have preferred, but fairly fresh, and that was more than could be said for a lot of the water he'd had to consume over the years.

[Reverend Norv]

"Thank you for your complement, Lance Corporal Drael," Adelaide responded crisply, replying his nod. She lifted a vase of orchids and pulled out a folder that had been underneath, sliding out a neatly-compiled list of equipment and tools. This she put together with a second list of medicines that she had just been finishing up. Both were handed to Evardin for closer inspection.

"Lance Corporal, we are especially short on promethazine, antibiotics, saline and safety pins, as well as APAP, DPH and PSE. I have filled in requests for everything except the PSE, I'm working on that now. We somehow have too much NSAIDs, morphine and gauze for some reason. I have a strange feeling Werebear 2's supplies somehow came here. They may also have our stuff."

Evardin's eyes remained on Adelaide's face until she was finished speaking; only then did he turn his attention to her lists. Not much for rhetoric, he thought, but the girl knows her drugs.

The lists were as exact and professional as Evardin had expected. A humorless, bitter smile - a world away from Evardin's typical expression - flickered over the medic's face as he studied the platoon's supply status. So we're low on allergy medications, but overstocked on combat painkillers and gauze. Maybe the supply people did get their trucks mixed up, or maybe someone up the chain of command just realized which supplies are most important to us out here. Evardin handed the lists back, slowly. It doesn't matter. We would be stupid to look this gift horse in the mouth.

Evardin hesitated a bit before he spoke; he knew better than to openly suggest to Adelaide that they bend the rules. She respects me, but not that much. Instead, the lance corporal shrugged a little. "To tell you the truth, Recruit," he said with rueful honesty, "I've got no idea why we're long on NSAIDs and short on symptom medicines."

The surgeon leaned forward a little, and his voice - though still calm and gentle - turned deadly earnest. "But we're out here in the forest," he explained, "with winter coming on, and there are no Antediluvian combat units in front of us - just the enemy. We've pushed them back; they are going to want to do the same to us. They'll hit us, hard, before we have time to dig in and make our gains permanent." Evardin shook his head. "Might happen today, might happen tomorrow, but it'll happen. And when it does, we'll need every syringe of morphine we can lay our hands on." The lance corporal leaned back again against the gurney, and he smiled ruefully at Adelaide. "So go ahead and file the resupply requests. But if you want my advise? Just keep the analgesics and the gauze. We'll need them."

"While they are all generally fit for combat, I am not entirely certain about the squad's mental condition. I have..." Adelaide paused for a while, a regretful expression crossing her face for a moment before returning to the usual expressionless stare, "I have yet to have much interaction with the rest of the squad members. From what I have observed, they are all probably fine. I will find out what I can."

Evardin held Adelaide's gaze for a moment, and there was something sympathetic and confident in his grey-green eyes. Then the surgeon nodded. "I'm sure you will, Recruit," Evardin agreed, and he gave a crooked, familial smile. "You are a consummate professional, Adelaide Orchidia Meadows; and it is a great comfort to me to know that you're watching out for Werebear One. There's no one I'd rather have stitching me up."

With that, Evardin stood and handed the inventory lists back to Adelaide. "Excellent job on the paperwork, by the way," he added with a tiny wink. "Better you than me."

The surgeon turned, as if to leave, and then paused, his eye caught by the vase of orchids. Evardin seemed momentarily wrong-footed, searching for words. Then he turned back to Adelaide and asked, a little bashfully: "Do you mind if I take one of these flowers? My...daughter, I guess you'd call her, she likes to press them between the pages of her notebook. I'd like to send one of these to her in the mail." The young surgeon's face softened, and his eyes were far away as he touched the petals of the flowers, his fingertips brushing over them with an unconscious precision and an exquisite gentleness. "They're beautiful," Evardin remarked quietly.

[New Zepuha]

Lukas looked up and around before his eyes rested on the Staff Sergeant and commander of his squad's IFV. The AT gunner gave a little snigger at his chiding of Rasittirk before taking a couple steps closer to him, "Hey, Sarge. How's the brawler crawler running?" Again, Lukas gave another sloppy salute, this time even sloppier, barely raising his hand past his shoulder in deference to McGundry's complaint. He'd known McGundry since he was shipped into Cravis Squad, and Lukas enjoyed few things more than hearing the anger and annoyance of Staff Sergeant Gurt McGundry be vocalized in his beautiful highlands accent.

Gurt flicked his burnt out cigarette butt at the smart ass young man. "Like shit." he simply said squinting at the man and shook his head. "Acting like a fockin' child already are ya? Well once we roll out into combat, stay clear of Melinda, I'm gonna bring her close to the heat and I don't want your dumb brains spatter on my IFV eh?" he said chuckling, almost cracking himself up. The lad was always a smart ass of some sorts, and he was one of the few faces Gurt recognized from earlier deployments. Gurt stood up to stretch his legs, his gut filled with a rather rotten slosh of rations. He was actually eager to be back into combat once again he'd been fighting so long it was the only thing he knew how to do; and he dreaded the day that he would be forced to retire or even worse. Get a desk job.

[Pan Asian Amercian Coalition]

Artyom's quiet ritual rifle cleaning and quick lunch was interrupted by a sudden bout of laughter and a jolt on the shoulder from the medic of B squad, LC Drael. Artyom had nearly jumped as the kindly medic made a joke about an animal he had never heard of and continued into the medic's tent. It took a few minutes for his heartbeat to slow down and his mind to start back up, all the while staring where the medic had been with the look of a scared cat. What's an elephant? was his first thought as soon as he could think again.

After such a hair raising encounter with Drael, Artyom hastily picked up his rifle and scattered rations and almost ran back to his shared tent. Every time he met Drael, the LC managed to startle the hell out of him and it would eternally puzzle the hunter as to how he managed to do it with such regularity. He liked the medic, the Lance Corporal was a nice person, but it was astounding how he did that; not even Artyom's cat could sneak up on him like that. Besides, he had to go and recount his hunting rifle shells, load his marksman's rifle, write some letters home, make sure his kit is packed and that he has enough grenades, look where he's going....

Except the last one, judging by how he bowled into someone, knocking them over and tripping himself from the sudden change in velocity. He sprawled face down in the mud with his rations while the victim presumably did the same. Artyom raised his head out of the mud to see who had the misfortune of crossing today. It was just his luck that it was the leader of B squad. If there is a sniper, right now would a be blessing he thought. Maxie was on his way to the supply tent it seems, which was between the medic's tent and Artyom's.

[Ayreonia]

Lieutenant Vester J. Rialto (One Actual)

---

"Nothing wrong with that," Vester had to almost yell to be audible. Dalca didn't, which was remarkable. "If they haven't already, some people are going to tell you they don't think much of noncombatants." His dry laugh got drowned in the noise that infernal machine was making. Vester had never had a mind for machinery, despite being from Rialto. "Be they cooks, mechanics, commsmen, whatever. There's footsoldiers who mock fighting vehicle crews for not having to walk as much. Then there are grunts who despise officers, and officers who mock grunts..."

The Lieutenant let out a slight whoa at a bigger bump, then quickly composed his balance and dignity. "Hmh. We both know that's bullshit, of course. In the end, we're all just cogs in the machine, cogs that come in different shapes and sizes."

Vester had to smile at the Private's mention of Rialtum. The good Lieutenant did love his hometown, and thought it was the most beautiful city in all of Antediluvia, despite - or rather, because of - it's utilitarian simplicity. He would never admit it to himself, but the city and the man mirrored each other perfectly: both were simple, blunt and no-bullshit. On the surface, at least.

"Sure it had a role, soldier!" he went on, taking on a lecturing tone without noticing it, "The Revolution started there. I don't know if it's in the northern climate, as some claim, but we Rialtumi have never been good with controlling our tempers. It began as a dispute between two of our Guilds, the Whalers' Association and the Mages' Guild." He quickly covered his forehead with a hand, a common Rialtumi habit when mentioning magic. "It's said that it all started at an inn. By accident, the Whalers and the Mages had chosen the same place to celebrate one night, and things to a little heated." Vester threw his head back and laughed heartily. "Can you believe it? The defining point of our nation's history, one that almost destroyed it, all because a bunch of Rialtumi couldn't hold their alcohol." He laughed again. Hell, this Dalca boy was okay company. Vester even decided to make a joke.

"You could come visit Rialtum, when we make it out of here alive."

Private Alessia Ricce (Honora)

---

Alessia's facts about her nobility were apparently somewhat jealousy-inciting, since nobody seemed to believe her. Whatever.

"Nobility aye? I'm sort of like that. My great unc is the chief of my family's tribe back in Revs," the one called Amalia smirked. This caught Alessia's attention.

"Tribe?" she delivered, her already bright green eyes lighting up with amusement. "Chief? You got those? Like, for-real, campfire-dancin', oonga-boonga tribal chiefs?" She guffawed. "That's awesome. I always knew I liked Revaalsbandt since I read this one travel article. Sounds even more awesome now. And that perkele?" She smacked her lips. "Ahh, great, great stuff. Makes a girl feel all funny." She giggled.

And that was the extent of Alessia Ricce's attention span. The rest of Amalia's story got redirected to a dusty and seldom-used corner of the driver's brain, while most of its processing power was devoted to maintaining the mental image of painted bearskin-clad tribals jumping around a fire and taking shots of booze. Her only further reaction was "Yeah, I'd love me some sexy fuck, too." That is, until the one called Miko spoke up.

"Don't mean to rain on your parade, but that's not really believable. In this shitty country, you're either up in the clouds or writhing in the dirt, in terms of influence, money, all that good stuff. I can say I'm the true king of Antediluvia get some blacksmith to make a fake artefact to 'prove' it, but that doesn't change anything. It's still an outright lie, I'm still not the tyrant who controls our lives, still down in that metaphorical dirt."

This caught her attention. "Okay, Miko guy," she announced, turning to the young man. She held up one finger. "One: you're full of shit, fuck you." Two fingers. "Two: you're talkin' shit about the greatestest country on the planet, for which I'm gonna smack you so hard, when the Precams find your remains, they gonna think we've started Technological Revolution Two Point Zero." Three fingers. "Three: that last sentence had too many syllables. Apologize."

She would probably have rambled on further, but a cute "Good morning... chaps!" diverted her thoughts. Had it not done so, the weed she got would have done so. "Here, take this as a gift from me!" the young girl the voice and daisies belonged to told them.

"Thank you, Flowergirl," she beamed up at her from her sitting position. Following Poppy's example, she put the little flower into her helmet net to accompany the various twigs, the cigarette pack and few pieces of toilet paper. "This daisy is going to enhance my stealth capabilities by a metric fuckton. That's a professional estimate. Observe."

She picked up her rifle, got up and sprinted to a nearby bush, then promptly leapt into it. Seconds ticked by. Just as the rest of the squad began considering dragging her out, she jumped out with a fierce war cry and pew-pewed to the east. Following that, she shouldered her rifle nonchalantly and sauntered back to her comrades. "Operator as fuck," she murmured, satisfied, as she sat back down.

[The United Remnants of America]

Lukas looked up and around before his eyes rested on the Staff Sergeant and commander of his squad's IFV. The AT gunner gave a little snigger at his chiding of Rasittirk before taking a couple steps closer to him, "Hey, Sarge. How's the brawler crawler running?" Again, Lukas gave another sloppy salute, this time even sloppier, barely raising his hand past his shoulder in deference to McGundry's complaint. He'd known McGundry since he was shipped into Cravis Squad, and Lukas enjoyed few things more than hearing the anger and annoyance of Staff Sergeant Gurt McGundry be vocalized in his beautiful highlands accent.

Gurt flicked his burnt out cigarette butt at the smart ass young man. "Like shit." he simply said squinting at the man and shook his head. "Acting like a fockin' child already are ya? Well once we roll out into combat, stay clear of Melinda, I'm gonna bring her close to the heat and I don't want your dumb brains spatter on my IFV eh?" he said chuckling, almost cracking himself up. The lad was always a smart ass of some sorts, and he was one of the few faces Gurt recognized from earlier deployments. Gurt stood up to stretch his legs, his gut filled with a rather rotten slosh of rations. He was actually eager to be back into combat once again he'd been fighting so long it was the only thing he knew how to do; and he dreaded the day that he would be forced to retire or even worse. Get a desk job.

Lukas adopted an expression of mock surprise and made a gesture of being taken aback. Even as the Sarge stood, Lukas took note of what a prime aged soldier looked like, and Lukas himself dreaded the day when a newbie came in to take command of Gurt's vehicle, "But, Sarge, the loss would be too much to the Squad and you know it! I mean, really, who else is going to keep those nasty Fossil tanks away from our beautiful, grade-A piece of armored shit that you command if what's left of your favorite AT boy is splattered against the side of the crawler, hm?" Baer flashed a grin, made all the more bright by the grime stuck to his face like a second layer of skin.

[Toishima]

Recruit Adelaide Orchidia Meadows

"...Just keep the analgesics and the gauze. We'll need them."

Adelaide was somewhat taken aback by the senior medic's suggestion. She knew that Evardin was correct on some level about keeping the extra supplies. There was no need for much off-field medications with their present situation, and the extra combat medicines would definitely be of much more immediate and important use. Keeping the extra morphine and gauze would help their platoon, but protocol demanded that she return the extras to 2nd Platoon. This was a dilemma she did not have to face in general practice. And so life at the front is yet again different from back home.

The Recruit gave a curt nod. Ultimately, she felt that he was right. The extra battlefield analgesics would definitely be needed. It wouldn't hurt to get more allergy medications in the process as well. Bending regulations like this did not sit well with her, so she promised herself that the extra supplies would be returned if anyone from 2nd Platoon came to get them.

"I'm sure you will, Recruit. You are a consummate professional, Adelaide Orchidia Meadows; and it is a great comfort to me to know that you're watching out for Werebear One. There's no one I'd rather have stitching me up. Excellent job on the paperwork, by the way. Better you than me."

Evardin's compliments made Adelaide slightly sheepish, and she felt warm blood rushing to her cheeks. She maintained a calm expression, blinking behind her square-framed glasses. "Thank you for the compliments, Lance Corporal Evardin," she glossed over his attempt at humour, "the same to you. Have a pleasant day."

As Evardin turned to leave, he suddenly seemed confused for a moment. Adelaide assumed he had more for her, or had something he wished to point out in her lists, and prepared to receive it. His eyes moved to her vase of orchids, brought along from Altaflor. She adored her namesake flower, and often had some specimens in her office back home to brighten up the room. These were the abundant, purple-tinged common spotted orchids, sitting in a durable plastic vase. While they were unhealthily drooped downwards due to the local conditions, they still appeared quite attractive. Adelaide initially assumed he had some reservations about the presence of an unimportant item in the medical tent, but his request caught her off guard. She blinked a few times again, and her expression softened considerably.

"I do not mind, Lance Corporal," Adelaide actually gave a small smile, the new subject bringing up fond memories. Uncharacteristically, she began going off on a separate tangent, with a slight enthusiasm in her tone, "I brought them along from my hometown. The climate here is hardly good for their growth, but they manage." She looked at the flowers with a tender gaze, then back to the slightly embarrassed Lance Corporal, "You should visit Altaflor and see them in the wild some day, perhaps with your daughter. They look much better growing where they are supposed to."

She gingerly plucked two of the flowers from their stems and handed them to Evardin. "Please send my regards to your daughter, Lance Corporal Drael."

[Cylarn]

As the soldiers conversed, dined, and did whatever else they did, Mulder was already back with his gear. Sitting on the ground, he was removing the equipment from his vest and evaluating each piece, ensuring that each piece was in working condition before the platoon was to move out. Each mag had to be fully loaded, his canteen had to be full, bayonet and shovel needed to be sharp, his rifle needed to be cleaned, and his sidearm had to be prepped in case of an emergency. Sidearms weren't commonly issued to infantry, though a number of soldiers supplied themselves with their own pistols. Such a weapon had its uses - especially in close-quarters combat - when a loaded pistol could mean the difference between life and death. Mulder himself carried a snubnose .357 Magnum revolver, with a blued steel barrel and ice cedar grips - a weapon that he commonly carried back in his civilian line of work, after he received it as a present from a previous employer. Most people discounted revolvers in favor of faster-firing, higher-capacity semi-automatic handguns, but Mulder preferred revolvers for their simplicity, reliability, and accuracy, not to mention their firepower. He had been in close-quarters combat a number of times during his service, and that revolver had saved his life 9/10. He tucked the pistol into a vacant vest pocket, and moved on to evaluating the condition of his rifle.

He began by pointing the barrel towards the ground, away from any of his soldiers. Next, he removed the magazine and placed it on his assault pack before pulling back the charging handle and ejecting the chambered round, with the bullet landing on the pack as well. He then began the rather simple, timely process of disassembling the weapon, and evaluated each mechanism within the weapon. By rag, rod, and oil, he cleaned even the smallest parts of the lower receiver. The 174 was a hella reliable weapon, much more so than the T-93, which was the Precambrian standard rifle. This particular weapon had been used by Mulder before, and it had yet to let him down. Every soldier entrusted their life to their weapons when they moved into a combat zone, and Mulder knew that his rifle was going to help him leave the battlefield in one piece, as it had done so many times before. After a few minutes of cleaning, he reassembled the weapon and reloaded it, before performing a final equipment check in order to ensure that everything was combat-ready.

Mulder soon stashed away his non-combat gear, and donned his vest and pads, attaching his helmet to his vest by a single loop that he stuck the helmet strap through. He laid his rifle across his lap, and produced a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his vest. And so he smoked, watching as his soldiers carried on. He knew that a good number of them would be dead before the day ended, and even then the engagement could be prolonged. Mulder had participated in firefights ranging from mere seconds to 72 hours, and whatever the length, they all sucked equally.

[Reverend Norv]

She blinked a few times again, and her expression softened considerably.

"I do not mind, Lance Corporal," Adelaide actually gave a small smile, the new subject bringing up fond memories. Uncharacteristically, she began going off on a separate tangent, with a slight enthusiasm in her tone, "I brought them along from my hometown. The climate here is hardly good for their growth, but they manage." She looked at the flowers with a tender gaze, then back to the slightly embarrassed Lance Corporal, "You should visit Altaflor and see them in the wild some day, perhaps with your daughter. They look much better growing where they are supposed to."

She gingerly plucked two of the flowers from their stems and handed them to Evardin. "Please send my regards to your daughter, Lance Corporal Drael."

Evardin took the blossoms in his hands. He had surgeon's fingers: long, strong, and yet extraordinarily precise and delicate in their movement. Now, Evardin turned the flowers this way and that in those fingers, studying them with a childlike fascination. Finally, he placed the blossoms in one of the pockets of his blouse, and nodded to himself. Ellie will like them. And Adelaide is finally speaking more openly. The medic felt a faint pride, the pleasure of having done something that was clearly, unambiguously good.

Evardin turned to Adelaide and smiled kindly, a little sadly. "We all look much better growing where we're supposed to," he observed, "and yet here we are. But together, we'll make it back to summer sun and spring rain and good dark soil." The medic shrugged phlegmatically. "Every frost has its thaw." Evardin paused, considering that bit of unintentional philosophizing. Then he shook his head and let out a self-deprecating chuckle. "Well," the medic concluded, "I'm glad you brought the flowers. I hope they survive the winter. And I do hope I'll get to see Altaflor someday, and with Ellie, too. Maybe you'll show us both around, when all of this is over."

If all of this is ever over, Evardin thought, not for the first time. The war had been raging since before the surgeon had ever been born. But perhaps I may yet live to see it end. It's unlikely; more probably, I'll be laying in a shallow grave before I see forty. But you never know. Even unto these things, Uriyah must someday give an end.

Evardin suddenly glanced up, realizing that he had been standing still, lost in thought, for a moment too long. The slightly bashful smile returned, and the surgeon turned to Adelaide. "I'll give your regards to Ellie," he agreed quietly. "I think you two would get along splendidly." Evardin gave his fellow medic a respectful nod. "You're doing good work," he concluded. "Keep it up."

And with that, Evardin ducked back out of the medical tent and tramped back through the muddy streets of the village. He passed Arytom, and noticed that the young man seemed spooked. I'm a little surprised myself that I was able to sneak up on him, the medic thought, especially since I wasn't trying. Must be the result of all these years out in the forest, hiding from the Fossils. The lance corporal offered the marksman a friendly nod, just in time to see Arytom run headfirst into Maxie.

Through an act of profound willpower, Evardin managed to avoid laughing out loud; instead, he strode rapidly toward the two men and helped first the corporal and then the marksman to their respective feet. "Corporal," he greeted Maxie with every appearance of respect. "Private. All good here?" The last thing the platoon needed was two key infantrymen with sprained ankles.