[h1]Emmaline Muller[/h1]

Not 40 minutes ago, Emmaline's body was burning as though someone had stuffed a pile of hot charcoal in her arms and lungs.

Not 30 minutes ago, Emma had doused those flames in freezing cold water.  If she spared any, even her tears might've froze if she stayed any longer than the few minutes she could endure.

Not 25 minutes ago, Emmy was practically cooking her esophagus with piping-hot ham and bread.  She could still feel the grains of sand crunch between her teeth, courtesy of yesterday's training course.  Thank God there was cold milk to down it all.

Not 20 minutes ago, Muller was naked in front of both men and women in a tiny barracks for over the 24th time.  By now, it was nothing to be concerned about, nothing unusual for a leaving private to go put on the freshest equipment possible.  Nobody explicitly cared, and neither did she.

Not 18 minutes ago, the lancer was breathing in alternations of warm, dry air (the mess hall) and humid, cold air (outside).  Now it was just stuffy (in the APC).  Stuffier than a stuffed turkey on Passover.

God, it was stifling hot inside the blast suit.  While Emmaline's hairs clung to her face, she had the pleasure to observe her allies clad in much lighter outfits.  The ruffles and puffs of their suits had nothing but free skin and flesh underneath.  As for Emmaline?  Plates, upon plates, upon plates, upon plates...

...even if it was an anti-infantry lance, Emmaline felt a little obnoxious for lugging around so much equipment.  Look at that sniper there - see how quickly he could move, or those scouts?  See how small, yet effective those weapons were?

...wait, what was the fun part of being a Lancer again?  How co-

Right.  The tank.

Speaking of which, she was inside something akin to that.  An APC was the name, right?

Just to make her point, Emmaline made a long, almost exaggerated sigh, which promptly broke into a light, cheery hum of a jig from her hometown.  This wait could be long if no one else was coming...