[b]Private Bons, Gallian Militia[/b]

In a way, cleaning a muddy APC was therapeutic after the horrors of the front line. Not that Alonso had seen much of the fighting; once the Sergeant had been hit and they had to ship him back to base, he had spent much of the intermediate hours frantically trying to patch his superior's shattered lungs back together with nothing but a needle and thread soaked in ragnaid... It was nice to be able to shut the mind off, even for a little while. On the trip to retrieve the squad, Alonso had been thinking hard about himself, his role in the unit. Maybe if he could get permission, he might have an answer...

In the end it took a good hour to get the APC cleaned up to the standards of the local Sergeant and the squad was dismissed to their duties. [b]'Out-fucking-standing, Squad Fuck-Knuckles! You may all piss off back to your quarters and take some moderately well-earned R+R!'[/b] After the arsehole in question had turned his attention to his work crew, Alonso turned to give the squad a thorough looking over. As was ever the case with Squad 4, a few new faces had appeared, others left. As far as he knew the sergeant was the only real casualty, but it wasn't as though he had been paying close attention... [b]'Well... Who wants to get some dinner before we head back? Something should be open.'[/b] Then again, maybe some of them ought to head to medical first, he thought while eyeing up the bandages a number of the squad wore.

[b]Sergeant Harald, Gallian Militia[/b]

[b]'Ok Sergeant, the next test is an easy one.'[/b] The nurse held up a small balloon attached to some kind of dial. [b]'Blow this up as fast as you can.'[/b] Sitting on the edge of his bloody hospital bed in naught but a pair of surgical underpants, Harald rather suspected this would not be as easy as the nurse suggested. The last test had had him coughing up blood after only a few seconds... [b]'I'm sure, ma'am. Wish me luck...'[/b] As he took a deep breath and looked down, Harald could see the implanted tubing in his lungs bulge through his chest; unsightly, uncomfortable, but at least they worked... With a single determined blow and only minor chest pains, he was able to fill the balloon nicely. The flecks of red on the inside were nothing to worry about, if the doctors were to be trusted.

[b]'Well done Sergeant, I believe that makes you fit for duty, although it is recommended that you take a week for convalescence.'[/b] Despite her clipped professional tone, it was clear that the recommended week was not likely to be granted, especially with the dozens of other wounded being treated all around them. [b]'I might run that past my superior, if I can find him. Thank you ma'am; may I be so honoured as to thank you with a glass of wine this evening? Your company has been quite soothing so far.'[/b] He gave her a wink and his best roguish smile, now complemented by rather fetching scar along the cheek... [b]'Don't get ahead of yourself darkhair. I'm sure you'll find someone more eager to please elsewhere; someone of your station perhaps.'[/b] Her refusal was delivered with icy chill and Valk's blood, [i]her eyes...[/i] The Sergeant sat in shock as she strutted off, unused to the sudden blatant racism. He had spent long enough with his refreshingly open-minded squad that being back in reality was a bit of a cold shower. It was something he was used to however, so it didn't hurt [i]that[/i] much... [i]Should really stop lying to myself,[/i] he thought bemusedly while donning his new uniform. Most of the old stuff had been binned, understandably since they were shot to shit, but he had managed to save his sash at least. The odd bloodstain and bullet hole just gave it character. Occasional pangs of sharp pain stopped him mid-way, but he managed eventually. 

And so he slowly left the medical wing to wander around the base. To the best of his knowledge, Squad 4 was still out in Vasel and wouldn't be back for some time; it would probably be a good idea to check in with command and catch a ride back to the front... but before that, he had some supplies to purchase. He sparked up his last remaining cigarette and strolled painfully toward the NAAFI, determined to enjoy a few hours of relaxation before getting back to work.