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As Fury approached the military base, Natalia couldn't decide if she missed or loathed the place. Sure, she was given a relatively warm meal to eat and her stress levels could lower a bit, but the living conditions were absolutely horrendous. Disease spread like wildfire, nothing but mud and shit covered the ground and the sky was masked in a constant haze from smoke and pollution. She tried her damndest to never complain, though. Growing up, she was always told to be thankful, someone always has it worse. The miniature hospital seemed to be working over-time when she got a good look at the tent, but maybe it only seemed that way because she had been gone for nearly a month, or so she estimated.
Natalia pushed her hatch open and pulled herself up, allowing her nostrils to breathe in what she pretended was fresh air. Her arms rested on the tank, supporting the upper half of her body poking out. No one said a word. They were exhausted. Physically, and mentally, everyone was is agony. Natalia was sure someone could hear her stomach growl from a mile away, though she paid no attention to herself. Instead, her eyes focused on the countless bodies that lay on the ground. They were stacked into piles, like how Natalia and Grady would pile up their dirty laundry in the corner of their bedrooms when they were kids. Their mother always hated that. For a moment, Natalia prayed. The girl wasn't particularly religious, she lost whatever faith she had after she joined the war, though she prayed, nonetheless. She prayed for those men's families, and she prayed for her crewmates to never end up in that scenario.
The tank eventually came to a stop, allowing everyone to climb out of their hatches and stretch their legs. Don was first, and waiting on the ground were the other sergeants. Natalia locked eyes with Sergeant Binkowski, and for a brief moment, he flashed her a smile. A sign that he was thankful to see her alive and well. The two always had an unexplainable bond, ever since they met at tank school. Excluding her own crew, Natalia was the closest with Binkowski. He watched over her like a hawk, like he was responsible for her. The two weren't ashamed to admit they loved each other platonically.
"Good to see you, Nat. Thought you were dead." Binkowski tried to joke, though he could tell something was off with her. Binkowski was the only person in the world who ever called her the shortened version of her name.
"The Devil takes care of his own." Natalia forced a laugh. It was true, she thought. The only reason Red was dead and not her was because of who, or what, was watching over them.
Natalia climbed to the top of the tank to help her brother and the other two grab Red. Ever so gently, they handed the body to the medics. Boyd never let go. The preacher instructed the medics where to lay the body, how softly to handle him, and for the first time since his death, Natalia let a few tears slip.
"Take good care of him, or I'll take good care of you. He's the best bow gunner in the entire Ninth Army. He's a good man." Natalia threatened the paramedics as the tears ran down her face and dripped off her chin.
"Where's the rest of Third Platoon?" Lieutenant Parker had appeared from nowhere. The question was directed at Don. The girl quickly wiped her tears away, proceeding to smear dirt and grime over her cheeks. She jumped off of Fury and stood beside Don, her hands shoved into her pockets.
