[h2]The Aftermath[/h2]

	Tarena Igna climbed over the low railing of the uppermost narrow bunk bed attached to the APC's wall, for a moment looking idly at the matte grey ceiling overhead. What she had been doing for so long was hard, definitely, especially mentally, but humans were adaptable beings and given the right mind and the need, one could get used to almost everything. She did not fear death or pain, and what she did was necessary. If she did not take charge, someone else would have had to, and where many would have broken, she had prevailed. If a mission dragged out, or she found herself being sent to several in a row with no leave or respite, she, however, occasionally still missed her family. It had been nearly two months now.
	Unlike Ezek, she did not believe that she was any more likely to die on field than any civilian was to die in their own home. Not only did freak accidents, common criminals and the fog operate on mechanisms independent of war, but warfare more often than not did not ask about anyone's role in life. Angan Tirez was the most recent living (and smoking) example of it - in the end, the main difference was whether you died fighting and with a rifle in hands or were torn to shreds in an unexpected carpet-bombing, with no warning or means to defend yourself. Who deliberately went to war at least had the chance to prepare ... and here, under the guard of their own and their new ally's weaponry and behind several layers of steel, carbon and spall lining was perhaps even safer than in any civilian settlement, now that the main battle was over. 
	Would she have taken her family with her, if she could... Hard to say, but she did not think so. They generally managed to keep the utilitarian vehicles out of harm's way, but... An odd sense of loneliness or not, it was best not to subject uninvolved people to war, and they were not meant to support additional individuals. It would be a while before she can as much as talk to (static and the need to not raise unnecessary signals were a nasty combination in that regard) or sleep next to her husband again, lean her head against his shoulder and know that the person you cared about most was still [i]there,[/i] living and breathing. Maybe, someday, there would be a world without a constant state of war, but until that day, she knew what she was fighting for. [i]One should not dread the day one has to pick up one's arms and fight, but the day one has nothing left to fight for. [/i]
	With a sigh, she rolled over so she was facing the wall, closed her eyes and was soundly asleep just a minute after. It was a skill you either acquired or felt utterly miserable without in service ... the skill to fall asleep in an almost instant fashion whenever the opportunity presented itself. 

[hr][h2]The Lone Survivor[/h2]

	The woman started when he made an appearance, throwing her hands up in preemptive surrender. [i]Look, I'm no threat, for there is nothing in my hands...[/i] It was a distinctively civilian thing to do, he reckoned ... not that a soldier would be likely to wander about unarmored and close to unarmed. 
	Not [i]wholly[/i] unarmed; she did possess some manner of sidearm. A fairly bulky handgun, by the looks of it, though it remained in its holster. Military-grade handguns were fairly rare - it was hard to make a handgun which was powerful enough to penetrate adequate armor from a reasonable distance and [i]also[/i] not powerful enough to shatter a variety of bones in your digits, hand, wrist and arm in the process. Hence, most military guns were long guns, braced against armor and the recoil thus distributed pretty much across your entire torso, or were of the recoilless variety - which were generally lifted onto the shoulder to fire and effectively spat fire from both ends. 
	A brief smirk appeared on the woman's face at his questions, though it waned rapidly. He did not quite see what was amusing in having a gun pointed at you, but then again, people allegedly [i]did[/i] laugh out of nervousness. 
	“[i]Yeh, I’m human,”[/i] the woman finally spoke up, if breathlessly.[i] “M-My name’s Kay-Gee, from Eighfour. That’s, eh, southeast of here?”[/i] She chuckled and motioned her head vaguely in some obscure direction. [i]“I was just curious who’d pissed them off.”[/i]
	Unseen to the woman, the man's eyes flickered in the same direction as she seemed to be referring to and back behind his visor. Minus the woman, it was as it had been ever since he had sent a bullet after at that thrice-damned bird - not a sign os someone nearby. Now, even the cries had silenced, which somehow was even more perturbing despite logic dictating that he was now harder to locate. The woman had been led here, obviously, and who knew who else...
	"Them?" he repeated, sharply. [i]Who the heck were "them"?[/i] "The ... birds?"
	He took a diagonal step closer, seemingly to ensure that her cart was not between the two of them, still lowered and combat-ready; the barrel of his gun remained unerringly trained on the center of her sternum.
	Eighfour? A wholly unfamiliar name. Trenians did not have fragments this far south, did they?
	"What is this place you mentioned? A base? A city? A fragment? A faction? What are you ... they, like? Are there any others nearby? People, settlements?" he continued with his barrage of questions. "...And yes, it was I who pissed them off ... the birds, that is. I mistook one of them for a battle-drone in the fog, before I could tell what it was besides something warm, pretty damn big, and flying. Don't think I hit it. Not that they care. Surely, you're aware of the skirmish last night. I would not be surprised if there were battle-drones out to pick off any stragglers." His side would have sent ones out, at least, if they had won. And as far as he knew, his old faction was as much of an enemy to him now as any Trenian. It was a thought that still needed getting used to.
	"Notrau. Notrau Qure. Though I suppose it's not a particularly healthy thing for me to hold onto my old name now, so call me whatever you want."
	Another diagonal step closer. Like a predator circling a particularly suspicious potential prey. There had been no protocol for talking to civilians. You were not supposed to. It had only occurred him halfway through his interrogation that he should be giving some explanations of his own. Perhaps honesty in regards to complications with his identity was a mistake. Perhaps it was not. He could not hope to hold his chances in particularly positive light in any case, but he at least had to try. He had nowhere to return to ... nothing to lose but his life and the equipment on his body. 
	At last, he lowered his gun... By just a bit. He was now aiming at her left upper thigh rather than some center of mass.