He paused for a moment, regarding me with those bright green eyes as if considering on telling the truth or not. At last he sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “I’m looking for food.”

A cold flash of memories of long nights and hard days of starvation at the hands of the Republican Army swelled over me. I blinked, trying to push them away, yet I couldn’t help but feel pity for the soldier. Lowering the muzzle of my weapon slightly I asked, “Democrat or Republican?”

He spread his hands wide with a small sad smile. “What does it matter, we’re all on the same side now. We’re the Coalition, remember?”

“Bull shit,” I snarled, jerking the weapon up with a fresh burst of anger. “If the Coalition ever won against The General, the Democrats and Republicans would just go back to tearing each others throats out like they have been for the past thirty years.”

He shook his head, denying the inevitable. “No, we’ve learned from our mistakes. The politicians know now that the war just weakened us. When we win, they’ll together return America to the great nation she once was. All we’re asking for is one chance—“

“Chance? Chance! You want another chance, you murdering bastards!” I shoved the muzzle up at his face, waves of rage rolling down my skin. “You had your chance! Look at what you’ve done to us! It was you’re politicians that started this war!” How could I fully explain how they grew fat on their power, gorged on their corruption, like lazy wolves feeding off the people who had elected them. And when they wanted more power, created more corruption, the two sides turned on each other like the beasts they had become, destroying who and what we were. Thirty three years of civil war! Who can survive that? How could I explain that? Why should I have to? Who doesn’t know this?

I paused to collect myself, my face flushed both with anger and a bit of embarrassment at losing my temper. “American is not what it once was.”

We’re nothing more than a shell of what was greatness, beaten down and broken by decades of war. The only thing holding us together is empty pride and memories of what we were. Isn’t that the way it is? Isn’t that what’s holding us all together?

“The civilians are grasping at the last straws of hope in the form of The General. He’s young, charismatic, and he promises peace. Stability, and a future. And if you think for one second the politicians of your Republicans and Democrats will be content to split their power after the war is over to try and give us that, then they’ve done a marvelous job of brainwashing you.”

The soldiers face flushed across the bridge of his nose and his brow furrowed. “I’m brainwashed? Do you really think the end of this war can be won with The General? He’ll put himself in power! He wants to be everything that America stands against! A king, an emperor or dictator--”

“He can call himself Julius fucking Cesar for all I care! He’ll bring us peace. Real peace, the peace your politicians have denied us for too long.”

He drew his head back as if I had slapped him, staring at me with wide eyes. “Peace can’t be bought at any price. We can’t give up democracy for peace.”

“Fuck democracy,” I snarled. “What has it ever done for me but shown me war?”

The man pressed his lips hard together as he analyzed me. “You’re too young to remember what democracy was really like-“

“And you’re not old enough,” I cut him off. Even with the laugh lines at the edges of his eyes, he couldn’t be much more than into his mid-thirties. Still to young to really have experienced democracy before the wars started. “So don’t feed me that bull shit line. I don’t give a damn what democracy was like, I know what it’s like now. It goes into ravaged towns and drags men and women out by their hair, claiming they’re traitors. It demands the blood and sweat of its soldiers yet lets them starve, instead giving food to wealthy supporters while the soldiers stand by, salivating, watching the food pass them by. It claims that all men are equal, yet for decades the Republicans claim to be better than Democrats or Democrats better than Republicans. It’s an ideal, a beautiful one on paper, I’ll give you that. But in the end, an ideal doesn’t protect you from evil men, an ideal doesn’t give you warmth when war has stolen the last of the fuel and you’re forced to freeze through the winter. And,” I sneered at his body, for the first time noticing how thin the shirt was, and when the wind shifted how gaunt his frame was. “An ideal doesn’t keep your stomach full when your commanders refuse to give you rations.”

He quickly glanced away, trying to hide from me that I had hit a soft spot in him. Maybe he really was a deserter, but he just hadn’t accepted it yet. “I see you’ve been paying very close attention to The General’s propaganda speeches,” he mumbled.

It was my turn to smile, and I’m sure it was a bitter one. “I don’t have to. I served two years in the Republican Army before I deflected to The General’s Army.” Now, to tell you the truth, Kat, I have no idea why I told him that. For five years I’ve kept my service in the Republican Army a very close secret. Very few of us talk of the past anyway, as if our lives had only started the moment we stepped into The General’s Army. Still, I blurted it out to some deserter who may have had a handsome face and a rather passionate voice, but wasn’t even close enough to me to share such a dangerous secret.

He looked shocked, glancing over me yet again, as if trying to full assess if I had been capable of being in the Republican Army. “So I know what it’s like to starve,” I added in a soft voice.

His face broke out into another smile at that. “Touché,” and his eyes crinkled at the edges again, endearing laugh lines that made me wonder who he had found such joy with in such a time of war. “You know, democracy was born on this very soil.” He tapped the ground with his boot.

I sighed at him, growing tired of his talk of democracy. But then again, that’s all the Coalition talks about now a days, I’ve been told. “Then how poetic that the fuckers going to die here too.”

His smile wilted, as if all the power had gown at of it and it drained away until his eyes were filled with a desperate depression and a quiet strength I hadn’t expected to see so suddenly. “I guess this is the part where I say ‘long live the revolution’, isn’t it?” Tension crawled at the back of my neck at those words. Whenever someone utters that phrase, something inescapability goes wrong. He added a smile to his depressed eyes, but it was a sad one that struck a cord of sympathy within me.

He lunged at me, so quick I was forced to stumble backward, my boots slipping on the shifting blanket of fallen leaves. I let out a small gasp, and tried to shove the M-4 towards his chest. His hands clawed out at my hip as I continued to back peddle.

I pulled the trigger instinctively, because it was the last thing I could do before he got my pistol.

His body jerked to one side and with the explosion a fine red cloud burst out from behind him, the red mist dispersing as he hung there, half standing, one hand over the whole in his chest. For a moment those bright green eyes locked with mine, and an expression of disbelief washed over his face, then betrayal. His mouth worked once, then he stumbled back, his boots sliding on the leaves until he fell without so much as a gasp.

Frozen, hands shaking around the M-4, I stared at his unmoving body splayed out over the leaves, now being painted bright crimson. I couldn’t breathe, my jaw working as I tried to find my voice. One second he had been standing there, talking with me in such a civilized manner….

I glanced down at my hip, expecting to see the freshly polished white handle of my revolver in its holster. Instead, small grey plastic packages filled the pouch where the pistol was supposed to be. Horror rushed over me in a cold flash. I pulled out one of the packets, staring at the words “T-rats” blazed across the package in black bold letters. Rations. Snacks that I had forgotten I had put in the pouch instead of the pistol. The pistol, I then remembered, was shoved into the bottom of my pack. I had chosen rations over the extra fire power, knowing that the road march was going to be a particularly long one and wanting to have extra food readably available.

The bushes burst open and I had the presence of mind left to glance up as Shlain ran into the small clearing. He slid to a stop, had eyes looking from me to the downed soldier. Wright and Burke rushed in behind him, glancing down once at the body and silently passing it to slip into the brush, weapons tucked into their shoulders and pointed as they mirrored each others movements, disappearing to seek out any other intruders.

Shlain dropped down to one knee beside the body, ignoring the blood that soaked up his fatigue knee. “You shot a civilian?” He looked up, eyebrows raised slightly.

I couldn’t talk, just stand there mouth open, holding out the meal-ready-to-eat packet.

“Nah,” I heard from behind me and the last member of our squad appeared. I hate Johnson. I stay as far away from him as I can, but he’s a part of our five member squad and its hard to get very far from him. There he was, smirking at me from over the body of the man I had just killed. “Deserter.” He pointed to the issued belt and boots. “See?” The low sunlight glinted off of Johnson’s bright blond short hair as he dropped down, hands hastily undoing the black belt and pulling it off the body. “I call it,” he claimed as he held it up, checking its condition. He threw the belt over one shoulder and shoved his hands into the man’s jean pockets.

Shlain glanced up at me and shrugged. “Good job, then,” and grabbed one of the legs, holding up the boot to inspect the size. Content, he unlaced the boots, jerking them off hard enough the make the whole body shift.

Nausea started to build at the bottom of my stomach.

Wright and Burked came back from the other side of the clearing, slinging their M-4’s over their shoulders. “Nothing else out there,” Wright explained as he watched Shlain and Johnson go over the body. “Find anything interesting?”

Burke crouched down beside the body, and the three soldiers descended on it like wolves, hands running over every section of him, looking for something of value.

“Holy shit,” Shlain peered down at the man’s face. “I think he’s still alive.”

“What?” I found my voice and with it a rush of relief. Visions of medics and surgeons danced in my head as I envisaged rushing the man to the medic tent, seeing those eyes crinkle when he awoke, healthy and safe. And I would ask him his name. Because through our whole conversation, I never once asked him his name.

“Really?” Johnson drawled and before I could let out a cry he pulled up his M-4 and straddled over the body. The shot was quick and loud, sending the few birds that had rested on the above branches scattering into the sky.

Shlain fell backward with a roar, his face painted with bright red freckles and globs of brain matter than dribbled down the side of his face. “You sick fuck!” He screamed, falling back on his butt and smearing red all across his jaw line as he wiped the blood with the back of his hand. “What the fuck is wrong with you!” He stumbled to his feet, pushing away from the body and wiping his face with both hands frantically.

“Fucker’s dead now,” Johnson grinned, his bright white teeth reminding me of a savage dog’s smile. He dropped down back over the boy and continued his search alone; Shlain, Burke, and Wright leaving him in disgust to the newly dead body.

There’s a reason I hate Johnson so much. War has ravaged his mind. There’s nothing left but a body with out its humanity. Inside his eyes are just blood and gore, and he’s nothing more than a vicious wild animal. A dog, barely contained on his leash, everyone knows Johnson is dancing with insanity, but he’s one hell of a soldier on the battlefield, and for that, he’s allowed to wander free, his wide grins promising pain and death.

“Fucker’s nuts,” Burke whispered and Wright gave some sound of agreement.

Hot waves rolled over me and I dropped the ration packet, hunching over. I stumbled away, tears blinding my eyes and nausea clogging my throat. I fell to my knees just as I heaved, bile burning as threw up into the bushes. I coughed, tears running down my cheeks in hot trails and my spine shuddered again. I dispelled that last of what was in my stomach. When that was gone, I dry heaved, my body shaking with the effort.

Gasping for breath, I wiped the strings of spit away from my mouth with the back of my hand, still coughing and my body trembling.

I felt a hand on the back of my neck, strong and comforting and knew it was Shlain. “You okay?” He asked in a soft, low voice.

I nodded my head and spit into the dirt.

“You’ve killed before,” he stated. And I have. More times than I ever care to remember. Their last gazes haunt me, wide eyes and disbelieving stares as their bodies jerk in death throes. Too many eyes, too many faces. But never have I ever stood and talked with a single one before hand. Never have I heard their voice or seen the lines that prove they can laugh.

“I didn’t ask his name,” I gasped out and I don’t know why that bothers me so much. Why I feel the need to put a name with his face.

Shlain’s eyes hardened. “He doesn’t have a name.”

I blinked up at him, noting the red streaks marring his otherwise handsome face. “Everyone has a name.”

He shook his head. “No. The enemy doesn’t have a name. They’re no one. They are here to kill us and we’re here to defend ourselves.” He paused and for just a moment I could almost hear that firm mask slide, like the crushing of stone falling away. For a brief second I saw the man behind the jokes and quick smiles, and he was haunted. Lips parted as if in agony, ghosts and shadows flickered across his eyes. “They have no names.” And quick as that the mask was back, Shlain was himself again.

But I wasn’t ready for my mask yet. Holding Shlain's gaze, because I couldn’t bear to look at the body or Johnson stripping it, I said, “I gave up everything for this war.”

Shlain’s brow furrowed together. “We all have.”

I shook my head. How could I explain that I had given up my femininity? Denied myself my woman side to fight with men? Removed from myself all that was soft and tender and warm to become the hardened, crude yet effective soldier I had become today? They would never understand that I work twice as hard, try twice as much to fit and be accepted. But as you know, Kat, I’ve given up far more than that. “My father was a military man.”

Shlain’s head twitched back slightly. We don’t talk about our past. It’s just not done.

“I wanted to stop the war. He couldn’t fight anymore, he was hurt in battle, I thought I could take his place. So I enlisted under the Republican Army.” I ignored Shlain’s raised eyebrows at that. “They were so proud of me, you know. For two years, I got so many letters, so many packages. All the praise and love my family could possibly heap on me.” I paused to collect myself, remembering back to when you all actually loved and remembered me. “But we both know how the Republican and Democrat armies were. And when The General started his own army, to stop the civil war all together, I couldn’t justify staying the Republican Army.” I shook my head to emphasize the point. “So I deflected. I can’t tell you what that did to my father.”

“He disowned you.” Shlain said.

I nodded again. “My mother went along with it, because she always went along with everything my dad did. My older brother,” I snorted out a bitter laugh. “Hell, he’d shoot me on the street if he saw me with The General’s crest on my uniform. And my best friend…” I hesitated when I tried to explain you, Kat. I didn’t want to describe five years of writing letters, faithfully depicting every moment of my life to only wait for five years for just one returning letter. I always think, maybe my father intercepted my letters; maybe your father won’t let you write me. Maybe this or maybe that. And I keep writing, because I always say who knows, maybe you’ll write.

Shlain sighed and un-Velcroed his body armor vest, digging into the front pocket of his uniform and pulled out a crumpled cigarette. He lit it and stared off as he took a deep drag, blowing out the smoke in a long train that was still visible in the dwindling light. “I lived in this little ass town in the middle of fucking no where,” he started. “We were pretty self-sufficient so the war never bothered us much. My father was a carpenter and a damn good one.” Another pause as he took another drag. “I was sixteen when the war first came a’knockin’. The Republican Army stormed down the hills that surrounded the town. They demanded anyone of age join. Anyone who told them to shove it was called traitors, unpatriotic.” He cast one glance at Johnson still at work at the body. “When they tried to take my older brother, my father said no fucking way. So they hanged him.”

I blinked at him, wondering if I had heard him right. “They did what?”

Shlain shrugged but continued to stare off into nowhere. “Hanged him. Right in front of my ma. She never was the same after that. None of us were.” He took another long drag. “When I finally turned seventeen, I hauled my ass to the Democrat Army recruitin’ station to make sure I could kill me some Republicans.” He smiled at me then, feeding me back my own words. “But we both know how the Republican and Democrat armies were. So here I am.” He flicked the cigarette butt away and jerked his chin to encompass Wright and Burke. “So here are we all. Ask a hundred soldiers, you’ll get a hundred fucking stories all the same.”

He wrapped one arm around my shoulder in an affectionate show that he normally saves for the dark when no one’s watching. “You have us now,” he smiled sadly. Maybe he’s right. We all have lost our families, one way or the other, either in the war or to our decisions. Maybe that’s why it’s never talked about.

Wright crouched down next to us and ran one hand over my neatly shaved head, his skin of his palm rasping against the stubble. “Who needs family anyway when you have you’re squad.”

“Minus one,” interjected Burke as he jerked his thumb to indicate Johnson. Nobody wanted him.

I wanted to smile, to be grateful. I wanted to say I only needed them, that Wright’s right, who needs a family that abandons you when things go a little wrong. But it’s never that easy. I just can’t forget the warm afternoons when my mom would read to us on the porch, or watching my father put up yet another lopsided shelf that books would inevitably slide off of. I can’t forget the summer nights you and I would lay awake in those freshly cleaned sheets, sneaking small secrets about God knows what. I may appear to everyone that I was born into The Generals Army, that I had hit the ground running with a pack on my back and no past to speak of, but I didn’t, and I can’t escape that.

I glanced up at the three soldiers crouched down beside me. These men accept me as an infantry man and soldier. We’ve become each others family, best friends. I took a deep breath and steadied myself. Pushing off my knees with my palms I stood up, shoving everything else down into that box deep inside myself where I hide everything I don’t want to think about. I can’t afford to cry, I can’t whine or complain or appear weak on any level. That’s my price for being a woman in the infantry. That and the dreams. And now, with all the other memories I can’t bury deep enough, I’ll have the vision of bright green eyes with laugh lines, flashing with betrayal just before death.

“Thata’ girl,” Shlain smiled and patted me on the back.

They seem to love me in their own way. I try to be happy with that.

But still, I wait, every mail call, anxiously standing by the mail sergeant. Because I have to believe you truly haven’t abandoned me to this war, Kat. And I always think, who knows? Maybe you’ll write.

Your Best Friend,

Samira de Ghaul