Bound by Honor: Primal

OOC: This thread is closed for Luna.

As long as anyone remembered, there had been war. Generations of battles, sometimes frantic and frequent, other times few and far between. But there was never peace between the two major factions on this planet. Nobody knew how it started, or why it continued, but people were dying nearly every day. No numbers, figures, or concrete facts, just death. They say that war used to be fought. Quickly, with numbers and territories like some sort of game, that there were countries and great lands that would fight over beliefs and threats. But now, there was only the one war... And the population was faltering.

Resources were scarce, like food, metals, and fuel. Which meant that this war was taxing in more ways than just death. Machines of battle and flight were used less frequently, fields and herds were guarded ferociously, and attacks made against either were considered dishonorable, and rarely ever happened. There were relics of the past, if one knew where to look. Ruins of great structures, statues, even grand cities. Memories of times no longer to be. Now, the entire population was spread in small villages and military camps, with no clear battle lines. Just random fighting, and still no knowledge why.

Sergio Leothin was called the Lion by his friends, comrades, fellow soldiers, and anyone else who knew him among the Solarian Confederation. He was a pilot, which seemed to be a rapidly shrinking specialty, but he was considered one of the best. The Lion had yet to find an equal, and in the ten years he'd been flying patrols, recons, and occasional dogfights, he'd not received a single scratch to his baby. It was kept in pristine condition at the small airfield he and a handful of other pilots and families resided in, and it was a fact never taken for granted.

As the sun broke over the horizon and began the arduous task of burning away the morning haze, Sergio was starting his pre-flight prep work. The heavy canvas tarp was pulled from the craft, the gun metal grey carried no shine against the orange backdrop. His fingers trailed over the nose of the beauty, before he studied the skin for new cracks or chips. Dual maneuvering thrusters were checked and double-checked for debris, and fuel tanks were topped off, with the realization that within a few months, this airfield would be bled dry of its fuel reserves. With a look of remorse in his face, he remembered the fact that the entire group had known for a while now; it would soon be time to move on. As it always was.

Two hours later, his wingman (a young pilot only known as Duffy) and the other team of two, Samantha and her wingman Connor, were all seated in their cockpits as collective engines roared to life, one by one. Radio checks, last minute system checks, and navigation checks all performed. The Lion was first for the take-off. The crafts they occupied could hover, using the thrusters, but it was generally considered easier and safer to use the old-fashioned take off and landing procedures. So that's what they followed. The throttle felt good as he pushed forward, generating the necessary thrust to achieve lift. He wondered, as he often did, what the original designers knew about flight, and why everything worked as it did. He only knew how to work the beast of war and air power, not why it worked. But sometimes, he had to admit a curiosity.

A few minutes and several thousand feet in the air later, the group of four aircrafts were accelerating south, on a regular patrol. They had enough fuel for a four hour round trip, but they would only use half of that, today. Three thirty-minute legs, and then a return trip of the same, meant two hours of flight time, with fuel to spare. It wasn't until the second leg of their journey that Sergio's radio fed him anything but the playful banter he shared with the other pilots.

"Lion, this is Duffy... I got something on my screens here."

"What is it?"

Looks like a small group of unknown craft... Could be friendly.

"Only one way to find out, Duffy. Sam, Connor, eyes open, let's check it out."

Affirmatives were given, and the machines of war were careening towards the unidentified group of planes, ready for anything. At least, they hoped.

Genevieve waited, her small foot tapping, her green eyes lazily surveying the air field they had discovered no more than a month ago. The other four squad members were in the midst of a debate, trying to decide who would be going up in the second machine. She could hear the excitement the others felt and it shook her, just a bit. This wasn't a pleasure trip. This was going to be hard, harder than anything she could name, harder than surviving in the Dead Lands. She wanted to yell at them, give them a reason to chatter loudly. She couldn't. It wouldn't help.

She sighed and moved away from the squabbling. Her co-pilot knew how she dealt with stress so he said nothing, only slipping silently into his accustomed spot on her left. She raised her head to look at him, shaking her head as she heard raised voices. The argument was well on it's way to heating up. With a sigh, she turned away and strode back to the group of four, her voice, a whip crack of cold in the early morning quiet.

"Who cares? We are not going on a picnic. Do you think United Aeris believes any of us will return? If so, you are foolish. We do this because it needs to be done NOT because it is fun. Now figure it out and let's get our preflight checklists done."

She didn't bother to see the effect of her words on the rest of them. Instead, she moved to her own machine and began a methodical checking of every nut and bolt. She hated to fly, hated trusting herself to the thin shell that kept her so far above the world's surface. If she hadn't been the best in her age group, if she hadn't been the one with the quickest reflexes, she would still be safe, at home, back in Vulfgard. To be honest, she wished she could have fudged her test results. Dennis climbed inside the cockpit, calling out numbers. She glanced down, her green eyes focused on the paper before her. Finally, they were finished.

The final team was waiting for her, Domino and Lace, fraternal twins who were almost as good in the air as she was. She waited as Dennis climbed out of the plane before moving to confer with the others. Her voice still held a slight chilly trace but her words were to the point.

"We are to fly North, today. If we spot anyone, we are to engage. We take NO prisoners. Understood?"

Heads bobbed in unison. Genevieve and Dennis moved to their machine, climbing in and then strapping up. Twin engines throbbed to life and a few minutes later, both machines were airborne. Genevieve radioed the others.

"Remember keep your eyes peeled, finger at the ready. Until we find someone to engage, we will maintain radio silence. We use no names. I am Wolfling. Give me your nicks and sign off."

Names were sung out: Raider, Blue, Bandit. They flew into the wild blue, silently.

They had been in the air for about an hour, on a steady Northward course, when the radio sprang to life.

"Wolfling. Blue. Enemy machines spotted."

Genevieve responded, speaking in staccato bursts.

"Move to engage. No quarter. Fire when ready."

A scream tore through his head piece as bullets and shrapnel riddled what would have been calm sky, and his eyes glowed with the reflection of the fireball where Connor's craft had once been. Sins of the fathers! Silence followed in the radio. Or at least, relative silence, as the panicked chatter of battle seemed like nothing compared to the scream. More rounds rippled the air around Sergio's cockpit, and he rolled into a corkscrew, while diving to the left. They technically outnumbered the enemy, still three planes to their two, but the foes' craft were bigger and more resilient. The Solaris machines were faster, and more maneuverable, but the larger UA planes had rotating mounted turrets, which were constantly giving the smaller beasts problems.

Miles below, charred earth lay as far as the eye could see. The Dead Lands. They had drifted far off course in this aerial skirmish, and the Dead Lands stretched below them menacingly. They couldn't have picked a worse direction to drift, but here they were, and every second drew them further into the harsh plains.

Nobody knew how or when the Dead Plains had come to be, whether product of men, or machines of unimaginable destruction. Hundreds of miles, they reached, the most savage land known to this world, the Plains were surrounded in legend and reverence. No one dared to venture into them, and none were ever known to return alive. It was considered a worse fate than death, being lost there.

The black and grey land stood as a stark contrast to the clear blue sky, and circled in his vision as he spun. He flipped the release, separating the two throttles from one pulley, and yanked back hard on the right. The engine screamed in tortuous obedience is it spun backwards on its swivel, and the Lion nearly blacked out with the shifting of blood in his body while yanking back on the left throttle a fraction of a second later. The machine screeched in reverse as he squeezed the trigger and the gun ports opened. Smoke issued from his target, signaling a hit, but the craft wouldn't be going down that easily.

He banked hard, attempting to circle around for a real pass, and when he caught his moment, the guns spat fire once again, riddling through the back of the glass in the cockpit of the same target. He had hoped to get both pilots, but if he had managed to kill at least the gunner, it would make the beast easier to take down. They needed all the luck the could get, and it seemed like a small victory.

Until Samantha's screams reached his headset. He swiveled in his seat in time to see her machine rip apart, a lifeless body thrown into the air to free fall into the empty expanse.

"Jenuit! You Aerien scrons!" He cursed, choking back rage as he beared left to avoid a new line of fire.

Genevieve maneuvered her machine, allowing Dennis to take care of the smaller planes riding her back end. She could hear the stutter of gun fire and wished she could stop watching the read outs long enough to glance around and see what he was aiming for. Off to the left, she could see the shadow of the twins' machine. They had been hit, twice, and Blue was struggling to keep the big beast level.

A sharp crack, a whistling shriek, that took a moment to register. She watched in horror as the other big sky beast gave up it's flight and plummeted toward the ground. Her radio crackled alarmingly. Tears formed but she shrugged them off. She had warned them. They hadn't listened. She disengaged, allowing her mind to retreat to a quiet place. She couldn't save them.

Her machine rolled alarmingly. There was a cessation of noise, no shots being fired. Banking slowly, she made ready for another pass. It was then that she noticed the shaking of her machine's frame. Her displays were blank and the strong stench of fire filled her nostrils. She glanced over, a look of pure horror as she noted the wing. It was shredded, hanging on by a proverbial thread.

Air. She felt air. Straightening the machine out, she glanced back and then down. Dennis, the turret, the gun...all gone. Wordless rage. She wanted to shriek, scream, cry! She was alone, up here. As she debated flying back to base, another shell hit the opposite wing, causing the plane to spin. Fear dropped into her belly like a fist. Her eyes fastened on the world below as she fought to to return the machine to an upright position. Endless moments. She was losing control!

The machine slid down, losing altitude, losing the ability to stay above gravity. Genevieve struggled with it, trying with every ability she had mastered to keep it flying, still aiming south, still trying to make it home. Her mind was screaming at her...didn't matter. She could do this...she could...*CRACK*

Sergio snapped his head to the side, cursing at the smoke from his left engine. Warning lights flashed, and the stick was sluggish. He set the craft to single engine momentarily, hoping that the one thruster would be enough to limp home. Just then, a flash, and streaks of white rounds seared by his cockpit from... Down?

His eyes scanned the ground in disbelief, struggling to comprehend. Another flash, definitely originating from the ground. Anti-aircraft fire? Where was it coming from, this far into the Dead Plains? The question lost its urgency as his right wing was sheered off by the shells from below. Panic filled him, as his hand searched for the ejection handle.

The craft went into a spin, and his world almost went black with the force pressing against him. His fingers couldn't get a grip on the handle that would save his life, and his vision was far too impaired to even see how much time he had left. A low yell grew from deep inside him, rising in intensity as his frustration and fear grew with every moment. And somewhere in the distance, he was aware of Duffy's scream in his ears.

As he spun out of control, his fingers groping uselessly for the ejection, his brain seemed to slow. He saw old loves, old enemies, all waiting for him to join them in the afterlife. Beckoning him closer, as warning alarms and screams seemed now so distant, so detached. He was slipping, and he knew it, even his hands started to relax in their struggle for escape. He just had no fight left in him, nothing left to give, but to accept the inevitable. To join the phantoms of the past, as calm overtook him.

No...

Digits finally gripped the handle, and with a hard tug, the canopy ripped from its hinges and flew away from the dying beast. The seat fired, thrusting itself with him in it straight out into the clear blue sky, just as the craft below ripped apart under a new barrage of fire. Plumes of smoke were seen in the distance, but hardly noticed as Sergio separated from the seat.

He was in free fall now, the silence was deafening, before the wind rushing past finally registered.

He was hurling headlong towards the charred earth below.

The frame shook, her left wing snapped off. Someone from beneath her had...her brain went silent. BENEATH HER?? They were over the Dead Lands, how could anyone be aiming from the ground? The machine began a sickeningly quick fall, dead earth rising to meet her. She didn't have time to eject, the button was hidden beneath the remains of control panel.

"Oh Gods!"

Her stomach battened down and then lurched, a taste of her breakfast rising to the back of her throat. She swallowed against it, her hands fumbling to secure herself better in the cock pit. There was no choice left, she was going to ride this big beast down...and then get out before it exploded.

The plane hit the ground, shearing off to the side before bouncing off of a dead black hillock. Metal scraped, frame cracked, once and again. The girl struggled with the stick, trying to stop the machine. She vomited. Watery remains of the food she had eaten before sun rise hitting the dash. There was a crackling as the right wing caught fire. She fumbled for her straps, Had to get out!

Her hand caught the top of the emergency exit latch and it flipped up, taking a portion of the top with it. She crawled through her own muck, fingers scrambling for purchase. And then finally, she was out. Sliding from the top of the machine, she landed and rolled in the dead gray soil. A small scream as she hit her shoulder against the plane. It had been pulled out of socket from her battle with the stick. A sickening crunch as the shoulder returned to it's place.

Genevieve looked around. There was nothing here. She had landed in the middle of the Dead Lands and there was nothing here. With a sigh, she slumped backward, allowing her body to rest on the cool ground. She had to make a plan, had to figure out just how far she was from base. United Aeris needed to know about the artillery hidden here, in this desolate place. She shut her eyes. Not right now, though. She needed to rest.

The ticking of a final engine, cooling, kept her moving. She got up and moved as far away from the big beast as she could, her body screaming at her to rest. She knew she had to have cracked a rib or two. And it was certain that she was covered in bruises and abrasions. Didn't matter. Movement was needed and so she moved. Away from the plane, deeper into the shadows of the small hills that surrounded her landing area. She would rest when it was safe.

Plummeting towards the earth was a very unsettling feeling. His eyes were clenched nearly shut against the constant buffet of wind against his face, and it felt more like it was passing through him, rather than around. He was struggling to scan the ground as he dropped at maddening speeds, watching for more fire from below. His hand held onto the pull tab for his chute, but was unwilling to yank just yet, for fear of catching rounds in the canvas. Would not be a good step in the plan to reach the ground safely.

Sergio waited as long as he felt safe, before finally pulling the tab. The chute unfurled and spread, catching and slowing his velocity in a rather uncomfortable manner. His hands held the harness in a death grip, as his eyes could finally open wider, and his scanning grew more desperate. So far, there was no evidence of movement or fire from the charred earth beneath him. He glanced to the side, noting a plume of smoke north of his position. Another downed craft, most likely, would be a good direction to pick once he touched down.

He hit the ground hard, tucking and rolling, swearing as he caught the side of his knee on a jagged rock, and his shoulder was shoved into his side, wrenching his neck painfully. The chute dragged with him, and he grabbed the knife from his boot to start cutting the cords. When he was finally free, he shrugged out of the harness and checked for injuries.

His left knee was gashed, the heavy pants shredded while blood began to soak down towards his boots. His shoulder and neck seemed fine, though incredibly stiff, so he ignored them and focused on getting into his pack.

It took a good ten minutes to successfully wrap his knee, using strips of an extra shirt. He took stock of his supplies; a long coat, a pair of canteens of water, enough rations for a few days, and some cold-weather gear. Not much, and certainly not enough to make a huge difference in his survival. He field-stripped the rations into their packets, and shoved them into his cargo pockets, slipped the canteens into pouches on his belt, and scooped up the extra clothes. He would certainly need the pants...

After testing his weight on the injured limb, abandoned the empty pack, and set out north, towards the plume of smoke on the horizon.

Sergio stared up into the clear sky. It was still morning, though not for much longer, so the sun was to his right as he held his northerly path. There was a cool breeze, that kicked up the back of his coat, as he trudged on. He would have been making better time towards the ridge several miles away if not for the nasty gash in his knee, but every step nearly caused a wince to cross his face. The leg could take proper weight, though certainly far from efficiently. Or comfortably. The mind tried to wander, to focus on anything, and drown out the pain. So, he found himself planning out his water and ration schedule for the next several days, at least, while the black ridge loomed on ahead.

His plan was contingent on finding fresh water supplies, and the alternative outlook of such was rather grim. He knew he could survive on minimum or no food for at least a few weeks, though it would hinder his ability to travel. But water... rather necessary in any plans of survival. Two canteens full wouldn't last him more than a couple of days. Maybe a bit more if he was very stingy. But again, that would certainly affect his pace and mobility in the long run. In short, the outlook was grim, unless he could find some sort of fresh water.

Unfortunately, the name of the place was being screamed into his brain as his eyes scanned the horizon. He couldn't picture the Dead Plains being abundant with water, as there didn't seem to be a whole lot of wildlife or plant life around, save wilted, dead bushed and smatterings of brown weeds. His hope was diminishing, and the sun was getting higher.

The ball of flame had long since passe the pinnacle by the time he reached the foot of the ridge. The plume of smoke had all but dissipated, by now, and he found himself hoping he could find the source on the other side. Then wondering if he really wanted to. Whoever had shot him down could be at the source of the smoke. There were children's tales and legends about wild men living in the Plains, but he'd always brushed them off as fantasy and hearsay. Something had shot him and others down. Certainly something was living here, and wouldn't take kindly to strangers. And he was unarmed, which unnerved him even more.

He started scrambling up the ridge, making slow progress, cursing at missed steps, catching the wrapped knee more than once and practically howling in pain. His voice was controlled, though, as he wasn't really willing to have anyone hearing him scream and carry on. Especially since he had no idea who was around to hear, if anyone.

It took several more hours, and the sun was heavy in the west before he finally peaked over the top of the ridge. Nothing, for miles. The source of the smoke was near the horizon, still out of sight. He would have to find a safe place to rest and recover, before trekking any further. Something about the land was unsettling, and he didn't want to be traveling at night unless he had to. He clambered into a nearby crevice and settled in.

It was a meager meal of a small packet of his rations and a few swallows of water, before he drifted off to a soundless sleep in a dead world.

Genevieve had made steady progress. The sun had risen, beaming down at her with a fierce glare that caused a few dizzy spells, but she had persevered. Her ribs had decided to ease up for the present, which made the walk almost pleasant. A good portion of the morning and early afternoon were spent in a slightly downward trek. Somehow, she had managed to crash on a small plateau. The surrounding hills had kept her plane hidden and made visibility a pain in the hind end.

By mid-afternoon, she was in the foothills surrounding the ridge and debating whether or not to take a sip of water and open one of her rations. She knew divvying up her supplies would be the smart thing to do. After all, who knew just how long she would be stranded here? She began to dump her pack, making a start on doing the dividing up when the idea of sipping tepid water brought to the forefront of her mind just how thirsty she was. Cracking open the canteen, she took a measured drink. A moment's pause and then she backtracked, searching for shade.

She ended up next to a slight overhang. Sliding her body down the rough surface with a sigh, she opened a packet and began to eat, thankful that Dennis had thought to pack a few field supplies. Gods knew, if it had been up to her, she would be in worse straights. She ate steadily, not allowing the silence that surrounded her to wake fear in her mind. 'Control what you can, let the rest go.' It had been her father's mantra and it had always been good advice.

A semi-full belly lured her toward sleep and she fell into it with a sigh. She was reasonably safe, and not really hurt. Things would look better when she awakened. A slow smile, sweet and unguarded, as her eyes slipped closed. A passing thought had put it there. 'Maybe I will find company when I wake up.' Then the poor girl, alone in the Dead Lands, knew no more. Just the deep blackness of body healing rest.

Sergio awoke to the throbbing pain in his knee, the sun long-since set by now. Jenuit. He had to get the wound cleaned, there was no more putting it off. It would require precious water, but he knew he had better chances of finding more water without an infected leg. It would take more than just water, though, and he knew it. He had something quite a bit more precious and dear, something that he knew he couldn't get more of while he was stuck out here. A hand slipped into his front coat pocket and drew out a flask of whiskey.

A heavy sigh as the cap was unscrewed, and a sip was taken. Then the flask was set aside carefully, and he grabbed the half-full canteen from its pouch. Then he set to work removing his tattered pants, the fresh ones had been used as a pillow, and were ready for the end of the process. His face set in a pained grimace as the bindings were slowly stripped off, exposing the wound to the cold night air. He couldn't really see it too well in the half-moon light, but he knew from memory that it wasn't pretty.

Careful amounts of canteen water were poured over the wound, cleaning as best he could. The bleeding had subsided, which was a good sign, but the tough part was still to come. He picked up the flask and too a heavy draw before setting his jaw in anticipation. When the burning liquid hit the opened flesh, he slammed his free fist into the dirt beside him in an effort not to yell and curse.

When the pain finally subsided, he tore up some more of the shirt he'd used before and set to re-wrap the knee, taking more time to get it good and tight, though not so much as to create a tourniquet. Making his foot fall off from lack of blood would have been bad, to say the least. He pulled on the fresh pair of pants and sat with his back to a large rock on his ridge under the open night sky, nursing a few sips from his flask and fishing out a rolled piece of paper from a small tin from another pocket in his coat.

The flash from a match was brief, and the smoke from the home-grown tobacco filled his lungs, calming him. This wasn't so bad. Beautiful, star-filled sky... Eerie silence... A smoke, a drink... Just like a camping trip. In the Dead Plains. It could be worse, after all. At least he didn't see the need to worry about wild animals.

As he finished his smoke, he stamped it out under his boot and sighed heavily. He decided to wait out the night, as he was no longer tired, but unwilling to traverse the black lands under the night sky. So, he began to softly sing, in between sips of whiskey.

Not so bad, at all...

Genevieve had awakened just as the sun disappeared beneath the horizon line. The darkness was no gradual thing, but brisk, enfolding the landscape quickly, shuttering everything from sight. She stood up, allowing her compact frame to stretch itself into some semblance of wakefulness. A sip or two of water and she was refreshed enough to begin her journey into the great unknown.

She walked, her eyes open to even the slightest movement. There was no noise, no animals, no night flyers, nothing. The place was quiet, desolate, a wasteland in truth. She didn't allow those thoughts to stay. After all, she could do nothing to change the truth. She had landed in a dead place. What else was there?

Her steps took her over the dry land quickly, with a few minor missteps that only a small light could have prevented. She shrugged those few bumps and bruises off. The walk was calming, almost hypnotic, so she didn't note the sound of soft singing until her subconscious mind had catalogued it as an oddity. A pause as she tilted her head, eyes closed, trying to guess a direction. An abrupt right and she stepped forward, toward the song~sung by a man with a passable, tired, husky voice.

The snap of a dry twig announced her presence. Her green eyes fixed on the large man, seated, singing. Her voice; light, dry, quiet: "Hello. Do you always sing to keep the boogeyman away?"

Whether it was the dulled senses caused by the pain and booze, or his tired mind that concentrated more on singing than his surroundings, Sergio never noticed the female's approach. Her voice interrupted and startled him, as he never once imagined any company out here in the middle of these desolate lands. His green eyes struggled to pierce the darkness, but all he could make out was the silouhette of the figure owning the voice that had questioned him. A hand flashed towards the knife strapped to his thigh, but he didn't free it just yet. Instead, his voice remained calm and even.

"I would be genuinely surprised if the boogeyman could survive in a place like this..."

He was still trying to get a good look at the woman before him, trying to determine if this newcomer had any visible weapons. His legs were slowly drawn under himself, attempting not to make any sudden movements, lest he spook her into action before he was ready. He wasn't sure of her intentions, but he wanted to be sure he was ready for anything. Something about this place enhanced his survival instincts, now that a possible threat had arrived. It was keeping him on edge, though he was desparately trying to remain calm and gaurded.

"Well, its considered polite to introduce yourself when approaching someone, and I should think even more so in the Dead Plains. I am Sergio..." He decided against offering any more information than his name, as he was uncomfortable knowing nothing about her. "Who are you, and where did you come from?"

His knee was screaming in protest now as it was folded completely under his body, ready to respond to any percieved threat. He only had to wait for an answer or motion he didn't like, and he would spring into action. His knife would remain sheathed unless he saw a weapon, as his honor wouldn't allow him to attack with any more than the opponent had. It just seemed cheap and cowardly to do otherwise. Part of him hoped that this was not someone looking for a fight...

But he was ready, nonetheless.

"I would be genuinely surprised if the boogeyman could survive in a place like this..."

Light husky laughter, that was all she had in response to his statement. She watched him, enjoying the discomfiture she saw in his face. She could see the movement of his leg and the spasm of pain that accompanied it but she tried to get no closer. Debating the use of tying herself to someone who was obviously damaged, made her hesitant and unsure. She stood in shadow, watching him. His next words startled a response from her.

"Well, its considered polite to introduce yourself when approaching someone, and I should think even more so in the Dead Plains. I am Sergio...Who are you, and where did you come from?"

Dry throat, scared. "I am Genevieve. No sur name. I imagine I am here for the same reason as you. My plane crashed." A momentary silence before stepping closer, her hands showing no weapons, her eyes fixed upon his face. She wasn't sure how he would take her appearance. Not being considered conventionally pretty; she was small boned but muscular, short with a tiny waist and amber skin. She hoped the scar that traced her cheekbone wouldn't cause him to say something he would regret. She didn't need a weapon to cause damage. "I am United Aeris. I assume you are from another side. Doesn't matter. Will you pounce me now or wait until we escape this place?"

United Aeris. The name hit him right in the gut, as his eyes narrowed in anger. But it do him no good to attack her, with his knee banged up as it was. So he sat there, unmoving, digesting the information and trying to decide the best course of action. But all he could do was see the images of his friends and fellow pilots burned into his mind. Dead. All shot down by this woman and her comrades. His green eyes closed for a moment, then opened just enough to study her once again.

There was something about her, as she approached and displayed a lack of weapons. An unconventional beauty, but beauty nonetheless, as much as he hated to admit it. She had been responsible for those deaths, and he was having a hard time getting past that. Of course, he had been responsible for his own fair share of deaths, but as a pilot, he never had to face the ones he'd fought in the air. It was a very different feeling, and he didn't like it whatsoever.

Yet here they were, staring each other down amidst the silence of this dead world. And there was a battle raging in his mind, knowing he would need her to survive, but still a strong desire to kill her where she stood. Pounce, indeed. He needed to calm his nerves, in a bad way.

With his green eyes locked on her, he took another deep swig of his whiskey, noting that the flask was near half-gone by now. Then he pulled out another wrapped stick of tobacco and lit it with a match. He never smoked more than once every few days, but given the circumstances... He was desperately trying to overcome his urge to release every ounce of rage on the woman, with the small scar on her cheek.

A deep drag of the smoke, and he found himself wondering how she got that scar.

"I guess we're stuck with each other, then."

Genevieve released the pent up breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. His eyes had held an unreserved need to beat her senseless. Obviously, he had decided doing so at this time would be stupid. "Yes, we are." Her voice was low, a sighing sound that was almost lost in the silence of the night.

She resumed her pace, until she could squat, just a bit off to his right. With no other words, she opened her pack and began digging, looking for her medikit. Eventually, she found and opened it, her fingers going unerringly for the tape, guaze and pain meds.

"You may want to stop drinking your whiskey, now. I have some medical supplies." Her eyes went to his face, touched in an odd way by his visage, the hidden depths of pain in his slightly glazed green eyes. It had to be hard for him, one so used to commanding, to controlling, to be lost. "The pain medicine is not narcotic but it is strong..and may knock you on your back side..."

So saying, she tossed him the things she had gathered and rose to her feet. Her knee popped and she exhaled a brief gasp of pain, nothing else. Ribs that had been quiet since long hours before joined in the hurt body chorus and she turned away before he could note the agony she felt. "I will go away, just far enough to tend to my own wounds, as you dress yours. I will return." She moved back into the darkness, her legs carrying her quickly out of sight.

She removed her shirt and tightened the bandage that held her ribs still. She breathed out a sigh and whimpered, almost silently. It was one thing to be seen as rude, arrogant, even an enemy by the man hidden in the darkness. In her mind, ANY of those was acceptable. But to be seen as weak, FEMALE? No, not acceptable, in the least. She waited until the edges of the pain fell away and then headed back.

Sergio stared as the woman moved off, seemingly in pain of her own. Maybe the really did need each other, as neither of them seemed anywhere near one-hundred percent. And that's what they would need if they were to have any chance of surviving this forsaken place. And here they were, lost together, two soldiers from each side of a never-ending war. Quite the situation, indeed.

A heavy sigh as he put away the flask of drink, now half-empty. The supplies she left included medical tape and some pain killers, and he realized that the tape would allow more mobility in his leg than the strips of cloth, but he was leery about the idea of being knocked out by the pain killers.

He pulled up his pant leg and set to work on the once-again painful task of removing and re-wrapping the wound. At least this time, it was dulled by the whiskey. He still sucked air through his teeth as the bindings came undone, and he set to work wrapping once more.

But his mind kept turning as he worked, trying to distract himself from the dull pain. They needed to figure out how they were going to survive. Food, water, protection... All these would be necessary. That was, of course, as long as they didn't tear each others throats out, first. That would probably be the hardest part, more so than finding food and water. Finally, the wrapping was finished, and just in time for the woman to return.

"So... Since we have nothing else... Tell me about yourself. Or would you rather sit in silence, both of us refusing to trust or sleep near each other?"

He glanced at her face, searching her for signs, or any reaction whatsoever.

"So... Since we have nothing else... Tell me about yourself. Or would you rather sit in silence, both of us refusing to trust or sleep near each other?"

Genevieve settled herself, leaning her head against a near by rock. His words were slow, thoughtful, and she wondered if he would be like that all the time. 'Was he the sort of man that could only allow thought when things were completely FUBAR'ed?' She grinned at that and turned her head to look at him.

"About me? I am United Aeris's only female flight Captain. I scored higher than most men for my area, test wise...with better reflexes than anyone near my age. I am young, barely 25. A loner, I suppose, as I can not abide stupidity of any sort. The best hand to hand trained person, bar none, within ten years on either side of my Class. I am my father's only child. Supposed to be our village's healer...but my hands were destined for other things."

Her voice tapered off. She worried that she sounded as if she were bragging. She did not want to cause offense. They had to work together to survive this mess. She couldn't afford for him to be upset or waiting to kill her off as soon as her eyes closed. She shrugged and looked toward him, once more.

"I don't really talk about myself, much. Not in the how are you today, sort of way. I guess I sound abrupt or arrogant. I apologize. That is not my intention. Please, tell me about yourself?"

Sergio listened, slowly nodding, as the woman went into a little about who she was. She focused mostly on her training, which made sense. He couldn't expect much more than surface information to be given freely to a man who would normally be her enemy. From what she said, she seemed quite capable in and out of an aircraft. These would be keys to their survival. They both were injured and in a savage land, and would require all the training each had received in order to survive. It was clear that they needed each other for this.

She sounded a lot like his wife, in the way she spoke, and Sergio's eyes flashed in a different kind of pain. Elisa had married him years ago, given him a happiness he had never thought possible. But then she had been killed in a raid by UA forces. It had been five years since then, but he still woke with the remorse daily. And here was this woman, his enemy, with similar speech and attitude his former love had. He closed his eyes for a moment, wishing to escape.

His head snapped up and eyes flashed in confusion as she asked about him. It took a moment after clearing his throat to compose himself and offer a reply. He probably seemed weak with that display, encumbered by his injuries, no doubt, but he answered in turn evenly.

"My name is Sergio, of the Solarian Confederation. A flight commander, with ten years of flight experience. Trained extensively in hand-to-hand combat, as well as light to heavy weaponry. I'm 32 years old, myself, and have seen far too much fighting..." Green eyes dropped as he trailed off. "Its good to know of each other's skills. They will most likely be needed if we're to survive the hellish place."

He leaned back against the rock behind him and stretched out his legs, allowing only the smallest of twitches in his face to show the amount of pain he felt. A hand rose to his neck and he grimaced while rolling his head. His landing had messed up his neck and shoulder, and it would most certainly be tight for days. Not good. He looked back at her, considering asking for help for a brief moment. But he thought better of it. She probably wouldn't be too keen on helping him cope with something so minor as stiff muscles, even if it would help his overall mobility. He would have to cope.

"We should get some rest. I want to try and get some distance covered at first light, and we need to be on the lookout for water sources," he spoke as he closed his eyes, then opened them again as he thought of something. "When we were up there... Did you see what shot us down?"

The fire from below had confused him, and he doubted it was the work of UA forces, but he found himself hoping it was. He would sleep much better with some sort of solid explanation.

His question confused her. For just a few moments, she had forgotten that someone else had been responsible for her tumble through the sky. There had always been rumors of a third faction, one that ran the between places. No one at UA ever gave any thought to the rumors, why would they? The third faction hadn't ever attacked them straight out. UA's mortal enemies had always been SC.

She shook her head. It was possible the others were responsible but if they were, why had they shot both planes down? She closed her eyes and shook her head slightly before responding to his query.

"I never noticed anything. I had been focused on your war bird and then fighting to bring my machine down without dying. I never gave thought to being shot at beyond the initial surprise. My people don't come out here. Why would they? There is nothing for miles in any direction. I had hoped it was your people, but from your question, I now know that is an incorrect assumption." Genevieve shrugged, her eyes watching him in the dark, her voice low.

She shifted around, putting her pack beneath her head, for use as a pillow and allowed her eyes to drift shut. His idea of leaving at first light was a damned good one. They needed to get moving and stay moving, at least until they found a viable water source. She had noticed his expression when he moved. Tight muscles obviously, from a rough landing. She debated offering him a rub down. After all, if he were stiff and sore, it would slow them down considerably. In the end, she chose to say nothing. Maybe in the morning, when they could both see what they really had available. She slept, visions of spinning desolation following her into oblivion. A whimpered moan, a sigh...silence. She slept.

Sergio was lost in thought while the woman who, until just a few minutes before had been his lifelong enemy, slept. His eyes alternated from staring into the distance, to studying her form, and then to drifting closed. But there was no sleep just yet. He looked back at Genevieve for what seemed the hundredth time while his mind continued to turn in overdrive.

It hadn't been her people.

This was a fact that Sergio had suspected, yet he had hoped it simply wasn't true. If it wasn't UA or SC forces that had shot them down, then that meant the rumors could be true. It seemed there really was someone or something living out here in this expanse, and that thought scared him more than gave him hope. As he scanned the darkened horizon once again, he wondered what kind of people (or anything, for that matter) could survive out here indefinitely. And what they had to gain from shooting down aircraft above.

Along with his wonder at who or what could survive, Sergio also found himself wondering exactly what could have caused so much devestation, so much barren land. He had heard that it was weapons of war, man's foolhardy mistakes that had rendered the land useless. But Sergio knew of no such weapon that could cause... this. Perhaps their ancestors had created truly powerful and terrifying monstrosities in their desire to kill one another. Brothers, fathers, mothers, and daughters all fighting one another with so much ferocity and power. Enough that the Dead Plains had been the result.

But why? What had started it all? Even today, nobody knew why they were fighting. Was it a case of honor that bound them all to this path of bloodshed? Should it be considered insanity that millions continued fighting without any knowlege as to why? Surely there must be more to life than war, than being raised with the lessons that another human being was your mortal enemy, and one must kill before being killed.

Sergio had never truly considered this before, and as his eyes once again traveled over the woman's form, he wondered why, and what had even set it off. It was either his current circumstance or the company he kept. Which, was a matter of speculation, that may never be answered.

Leastwise now, as his eyes closed heavily of their own accord, and he drifted into a light sleep. No questions were answered, and they still plaqued his taxed mind.

Sunlight drilled beneath her closed eyes. It hurt like the devil. Genevieve moaned slightly and turned her head away from the brightness. With a sigh, she pulled her sore body upright and glanced around, her eyes locking on the form of the man who slept only a few feet away from her.

His breathing was deep and steady, like the tide, and she took a bit of pleasure in knowing that she had awakened before him, though by the deepening of his breaths, she would guess she wouldn't be alone for long. With that thought, she stood and stretched, her ribs aching in automatic protest. She moved away, her feet taking her out of sight, so that she could have a bit of morning privacy. Long minutes later, she returned, feeling gross without a morning wash.

They definitely had to find water, and soon. The idea of wandering through this waste land, this desolation, dirty and thirsty was not an idea she relished. Returning to her sleep spot, she grabbed her pack and dug it open. She needed to wrap her ribs again, before his eyes opened. Show no weakness... The words were a cadence that had been beaten into her skull from constant repitition. She took off her shirt and unwound the bandages that held her ribs immobile. "Ahhh" A slight hiss of pain, as the movements strained her silent stoicism.

She glanced down at the parts she could see, a grimace forming. Her side was terrible, covered in purple, deep blue and green from multiple bruises. She sighed and set her teeth, rewrapping her ribs quickly. Now, if only he would awaken....

Sergio drifted slowly out of his sleep as the sunlight filtered through his lids. His eyes drifted slightly open, but remained as such when her saw the woman from last night fill his vision. Her shirt was gone now, and was busy wrapping some rather bruised ribs. Thankfully, she was concentrating enough that she didn't seem to notice his slitted eyes watching her, and he kept his breathing even and shallow to maintain the illusion of sleep.

When she finished, he shifted slightly and fully opened his eyes. The pain in his leg had graduated to a dull ache and general stiffness now, but his neck and shoulder were worse off now than they had been before. For a moment, he tried to rub it out, but it was no use. The pain wasn't going anywhere without time or real help. He stood slowly, forced to keep his head in a relative position.

This isn't going to work.

He turned to look at her as he favored the good leg. "I hope you slept well. We have a lot of ground to cover today, and between my leg and neck, and your ribs, the going won't be easy." He stared at her for a moment, his green eyes devoid of emotion as he mentally took stock of their situation. He leaned down to pick up his belongings, but nearly collapsed in pain as the muscles in his neck siezed up suddenly and savagely.

"Jesuit!" A hand flew to his shoulder as he struggled for balance and he caught his breath. "Genevieve," he spoke through clenched teeth. "I don't know how much I will be able to take with my neck the way it is. As much as I hate to ask this of you, can you see what you can do about it? I won't be much use at all as long as it is this bad."

His hiss of pain and his words startled her from the self imposed silence she had held since awakening. Turning her head slightly, she fixed sharp green eyes on him, assessing his pain levels by the strain on his face and the whiteness bracketing his mouth.

"Hold on just one moment, I will see what I can do to help." He voice was husky, sandblasted, dry. With no further thought, she dipped into her back pack and pulled out the medikit. Slim fingers rifled through the mess of bandages and wraps, spray pain relievers and pills. Finally, her hand closed over a small jar of linament. She pulled it out and opened it, her nose wrinkling in distaste at the smell.

"I need you to lay on your belly. You are too tall for me to reach the right areas, otherwise." She struggled to keep her words business like, cold, methodical. Being alone in the Wastes, with a man who wasn't known to her...was scary. She pushed the fear away and moved to his side, waiting for him to find a way to accomodate her request. "Also, please remove your shirt."

Her mind gibbered at her~alone with a man who was hurt. She needed to get him up to par but how could she do that without endangering herself? Once he was healed, whole, he could hurt her. She was very good but he was bigger, stronger, a man. She shook those thoughts away, refusing to dwell upon them. It was just useless worry. She wouldn't do it.

Her mind stopped it's whining. Calm blankness replaced it. Pouring a dollop of oil in her left hand, she began to heat the linament by the simple expedient of rubbing her hands together. Her eyes avoided him, she didn't want to see. She just wanted him to get comfortable enough for her to help relax the pain away so they could move.

Sergio watched the woman work, his head still canted slightly so the pressure would be relieved a bit. It was curious, he had never thought he would ever be in this position; being cared for by an enemy was unheard of. Even if their survival depended on each other, it was still such a strange concept. As such, he was still slightly wary of what he was about to do. A heavy sigh as he resigned himself finally. She would either try and help or try and hurt. Either way, he had no choice but to accept the circumstances.

As she moved close to his side, he shrugged his coat off his shoulders slowly. The next task would require a bit more effort, as he began lifting his shirt by the hem. The garment was slowly and gingerly removed, revealing slight bruising and minor scratches along his torso. There were a few scars, as well, the evidence of old training mistakes and battles fought. The shirt fell to the ground as he started moving to a prone position on his stomach.

The ground was uncomfortable, and his injured knee wasn't helping in the task of getting down. Probably wouldn't be any better when he rose again, either. If he rose again. This woman would be completely within her rights to slide a knife into my back as I lay here. Even a simple choke would be enough to end my life. And I would be powerless to stop it in the condition I'm in.

He pushed the thoughts out of his mind and struggled to relax and control his breathing. He now lay on his stomach on the cold, hard ground, his head facing away from his enemy, and waiting for her to act. Such a strange situation he had found himself in. He decided to try and focus on something else for the moment.

"We'll need water. That should be our first priority..." He trailed off, unable to think of anything else to say after having stated the so blatantly obvious. Another heavy sigh. Why was talking so difficult?