Protection's Price

Note: Image associated is from Ironage.media, specifically their prompt, 'The Aviatrix'

For everything she loved about her job, days like today made it almost impossible to endure. The days when you couldn't save everyone who needed you. The days you were forced to make impossible choices, knowing that whatever you do, the faces and voices of those you left to die will haunt you until your final day. As she finished putting the day's rescues behind her, she stood up from the tarmac, reminding herself to look at the wider war, not just her corner of it.

Today, well, it likely wouldn't even be remembered in the broader scope of things. Who cares to remember a cargo ship going down? The first one to fall in a war, sure, that'll get headlines. The 12th? Old news, now just a risk of war against a merciless enemy. Even the loss of hundreds of civilians and wounded soldiers being sent home alike wouldn't get much notice outside of her coworkers being that bit nicer over the next couple of days.

If it wasn't for her contacts with the enemy, she'd probably be against the war just like her sister had become. 4 Months ago, their little brother was reported MIA, and nothing had been seen or heard of him since. That had nearly broken her, and it turned her sister from her closest friend to a staunch crusader against the war and against her for being in it, even as a non-combatant. Today would only make her worse, with her eyes glued to every reporter covering the war. Regardless, she deserved to know that her sister was still alive, so she picked up the phone from its booth. "The brass does so love their secure lines," Ansfrid muttered to herself as she dialled the number for home, pressing her wrist to the reader to authorize the call. She waited through the dial tones before she heard the answering machine in her ears, all three of their voices greeting her, the message they all recorded the night before she and Jack shipped out.

The promise they'd made that night played in her ears as the loud beep broke her reverie. "Hey, sis. Still kicking out here, and Jack hasn't come up in any intel yet." She wanted to ask Winfrid to talk properly to her, not leave messages on the other's machine. Still, the words lodged at the base of her tongue, jumbling in amongst each other until nothing sensible was passing through her mind. "Miss you sis." she said before hanging up, grief twisting into a wounded rage as she stalked to the mess hall. Food was the last thing on her mind, but regs required three meals before the canteen would let you in for drinks. 'Blasted I.D chips.' she thought as she waved her wrist in front of the scanner, logging herself through the door to see if anything the chefs prepared would be worthwhile. It was a long shot against her day, but the chefs knew their business well enough to make even monotonous rations almost stand up to proper food. And in a base this close to the lines, fresh ingredients made up more of the food than rations did, so maybe something would soften the day's ragged edges for her.