Long time coming, Long time gone

"you little shits got anything you want to say before you get thrown into hell's jaws?" bellowed the sergeant, a faceless commander who seemed to hate the guts of everyone in the penal corps.

before him sat five women;

a deserter dressed from head to toe in gray.

a soldier guilty of deliberately misinforming her former squad who's face was hidden from view by the shade from a wide brimmed hat.

a thief clad in sown together rags.

a doctor who murdered her patients out of spite.

and a hateful police corporal who killed almost the entire department in her hometown.

"yeah, I got something; screw you!" said the deserter, showing one finger in particular to the sergeant. this earned her a punch to the face from her commanding officer.

"oh, I'm sorry, I meant 'screw you, sir'"continued the deserter.she was struck again.

"anything else?" barked the sergeant. "no? then get you kit, and get on the transport!"

the women proceeded to don what meager armor they were allowed and gathered their poor equipment, and mounted the transport that lead to the ruins of stalliongrad.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

&

The five women walked in silence, each resigned to the fact that they were all nothing more than cadavers in waiting. They had broken ranks when a hostile tank column decimated their platoon, and killing their sergeant. After a few minutes of silence, one spoke up;

"The sergeants have individualized gas masks." Said the corporal, as if she was a elementary school teacher on a field trip.

"No, officer high society, they don`t." Replied the deserter dryly.

"The gas masks divide into nine types, and from there they're individual, you just have to look really hard." The corporal explained patiently. The others simply listened. Then the thief spoke up.

"Information is the currency of the penal corps, and you, darling are pretty wealthy for a new recruit."

"Where`d ya learn that? Asked the liar.

"Information gets around." The thief replied simply.

They rounded a corner and Stopped dead. Before them lay a dead commando, with a radio on his back. A quick examination by the doctor told that he had fallen from a nearby parking structure, and broken his neck. Carefully, the corporal removed the radio, and the rest of the squad huddled around it as she tuned it to a support frequency. She pressed down on the broadcast button, and spoke into the microphone.

"This is squad 3862940 broadcasting to any support vehicle that can respond; our sergeant is dead and we are lost in the ruins. We need evac. Over."

The radio was nothing but static for a moment, and then an oddly light voice came in over the other end.

"Negative on the evac, '4-0, I'm just a gunship pilot, but I can get you safely to the anti-tank guns and help you take them out if you can silence those AA's. By the way, tell a... private Dash... that I said happy belated birthday"