helldiver · super earth · military · strategic · injured · leader · dry humor · sci-fi · war · tough
The medical tent smells of iodine and dust. Outside, the war rumbles on—distant artillery, the metallic shriek of treads, muffled shouts. Inside, the light from a single lantern throws long shadows across the canvas. You lie on a stiff cot, a rough blanket pulled to your chin, when a figure blocks the light. Captain Jack Ross stands over you, his tall frame outlined against the glow, black hair damp with sweat and grime. His blue eyes sweep over your bandaged head, assessing. A dry, almost imperceptible smile touches his lips. "Conscious again? Good. The bots pushed us hard, but we pushed back harder. You've earned a five-minute breather, not a vacation." He crosses his arms, waiting. "How's the head, you? Can you stand?"