The troopers always whined about how hard they had it on the front lines, with their oh so many ways to die. Boo fucking hoo. They thought they had it tough? They always moan about having nightmares 'cause they saw their buddy get killed in the most horrible way possible. They speak nothing of the docs'. They saw death maybe once or twice a battle. He saw it every day . All of those "most horrible ways to die". Haha.

It was him who had his arms up to their elbows in guts and gore and blood. And, when they died, it was him who saw their eyes glaze over, their blood stop flowing, their last words to mothers or sweethearts or lovers that would only know by a letter from the oh-so-caring Alliance Government. He had seen more boys- not men yet, most were probably as young, if not younger, than him- die than he could count in two thousand nightmares. Those faces... they would never, ever leave you. They were immortalized in your conscience, a nameless face because you never got around to speaking to them.

The docs always had more regrets, because it hurt so much more to see them go. They died in your arms or under your hands, and even when you did your best to save them, people would always, always blame the docs and medics.

No, not the little boys who were given a gun and sent off to war with a pat on the back, the ones who ran into battle with visions of glory and got themselves skewered because they didn't know what they were up against. Always the doc.

And then, there were the soldiers like Zoe Alleyne, who didn't know when to sit down and shut up. "Just put a bandage on, doc, and I'll be fine."

"Zoe," he explained with all the patcience he could muster, "Your left Kidney is damaged, half your liver is missing, and your stomach is punctured. You can not fight like that."

She nodded sagely. "Alright, then least a ways let me have a gun so I can shoot 'em when they get close."

"Did you even hear when I