So, she had received mail, just like everyone else, but felt rather distracted from reading it.  Britta was actually [i]looking forward[/i] to hearing some news from home, hopefully that her plan to alleviate some of the expenses there had had a positive impact and all.  However, there had been a number of distractions.  One of them, of course, had been Isaac.  She had written home about the entire squad, how they seemed to knit together like family.  Some of them were like arguing married couple, others were under a strain, but mostly they banded together.  And yes...there were a few lines thrown in about Isaac and that his family might be nice to get to know, though Britta did not convey Isaac's scheme to corner the livestock and crop market with their farms.  It takes more than two to control the industry.

That was in the one Britta hadsent.  This was the reply, but she hadn't been reading it.  At first, it was just the light-hearted banter over the jerky with Isaac, but...she kept going back to the moment at the White Hart Inn, something she couldn't really overlook.  She had been [i]afraid[/i].  Not to the point of inactivity, but rather she reacted so because she and Isaac could do nothing for Jean as the gas advanced upon him.  This war, she had handled with a determined look in her eye.  The bombardments on Hill 58?  Taken like a champ.  The armored car?  Just an obstacle in the way.  But the gas...  For one moment, that creeping sinister fog was more than Britta had ever experienced, an issue where life and death was only determined by a flimsy mask.  It bothered her that she had felt that tremendous dread that she'd be watching Jean puke out his innards.  That they'd gotten out of there was a boon and a half.

[color=ed1c24][b][i]What is this war, where it can still find ways to creep me out, when I've accepted it in all its violent ways?[/i][/b][/color]

It's been alot to take in, and what Britta eventually decided was that next time, she would be prepared.  It would not shock her a second time.  Now...let's move onto Isaac.  He isn't aware that he's been effectively made part of a trashy novel, courtesy of Ines and Freya, way back at the Inn.  He doesn't know that Ines called him Scarface or that Britta is secretly referred to as Silverhead.  He isn't even sure why exactly he was shouted at for trying to get Franz back to his senses back then...when the state he was in could've had him lashing out at [i]anyone[/i].  No, he was just bantering a bit with Michael, pleased that the oath to keep Lucia out of Middleton's claws was being followed.  Shame, though.  The Sapper didn't drink.  Thomas, though...

[color=f7941d]"He might, at that."[/color]

He DID follow Michael, mainly because they hadn't spoken must lately, that Jean AND 'Marathon' were over at the table he went to, and frankly he wanted a load-off, as well, saying, [color=f7941d]"Well, [i]I[/i] will.  No reason not to."[/color], after Michael had asked to sit down.  In response to Jean's inquiry about how he was doing, a thought occurred: They were at a huge encampment.  They could probably get full sapper gear out of someone around here, even proper explosives for those damn armored cars!  He decided to hold onto this tidbit as Jean asked about him and Lucia, prompting him to listen and hear...that Diana was offering cookies!  She'd been in sort of a mood, but fortunately Thomas seemed to help with that.  Britta saw the plate and took one, letter in hand, thanking her now.  Back to the conversation at hand...

[color=f7941d]"I think Michael is handling himself pretty well with the whole Lucia situation.  I'd reward 'im if I knew what to do that with.  Apart from foraging around the camps for a proper Sapper loadout, I don't have a clue."[/color]

Meanwhile, Britta had been leaning against the poll of a tent, finally reading into her letter.  The farm was doing well, but they were short of work becau-  The female Gunner's eyes shot wide as she read the lines that followed.  Again, that chilly feeling at the base of her spine...  It was an unwelcome sensation, something she only spared for rare occasions.  She never intended this...  It was only suppose to be [i]her[/i] taking this risk, a risk she knew how to manage.  Britta headed over to the table where Jean, Thomas, Michael, and Isaac sat, her expression just a bit anxious, but controlled, as she said...

[b][color=ed1c24]"I need to go check on something.  I'll be back soon.  Perhaps there's something you'd like me to scrounge while I'm out?"[/color][/b]