A/N: This story is going to be sort of a continuation from my high school story. It takes place in a fictional country in the middle of a fictional war. This is my first dip in this sort of genre, and I'll say it now: I will only have the prologue up until I finish the other series. If you want more of this, I'll have to finish the other one first, so goad me into it, ok? It is not necessary to read the other series to understand this, but it may help for references and maybe a couple jokes.

I realize the other series actually took place in Japan. Let's just say between then and this story, the deity/scientist/muffin of your choice came down from the heavens/up from the Earth/out of my brain and completely changed everything. I like the names of my cities and my fictional country better than doing massive research on Japan, only to find people telling me otherwise. This is for your sake and mine.

Well, enough about me, let's get down to what you really want.

Hello,

I have never kept a diary or journal or whatever it is you could call this, but somehow I feel it is necessary. Not to me, but to anyone who might happen upon this, that they may send it to someone I know someday, should I never return home. You see, I've been draft–

The cross between a bus and a jeep jostled and his pen flew to the other end of the page. Even though it hadn't been steady before, at least he was able to write legibly. He waited for the road to even out some more before continuing.

I'm being stationed about 20 miles out of Isli-e. It is much further from the capital than it looks on the map, as it has already been a 3-day journey from Galat by bus. I should be arriving after dark. The unit is about 4 miles behind the front lines. It wasn't until today that I actually began to see the evidence of war. Several deserted, decimated towns, jeeps overturned by mines–some still burning as we pass. Once or twice, we've been shot at by snipers. I don't know what kind of person would be so inhumane as to shoot at us. What kind of human being shoots at a bus with a red cross on it?

The surgeon I'm replacing snapped last month under the strain. They call it a Section 8, when you are sent home for going insane. I wonder if I will end up the same way. Already, I am a nervous wreck and my hands are shaking. I don't know what I'm going to do.

I've only just graduated med school, and they send me off to the war. They expect someone as inexperienced as myself to be able to perform surgery under the conditions they are sending me to. The only doctoring I have ever done was in the classroom and lecture halls. I just know I'm going to screw up somewhere along the line and some soldier is going to pay for it.

What am I doing here? Why me?

We are pulling into Isli-e now, and stopping for dinner. By the time we leave, it should be too dark for me to write.

Should someone find this and I am already gone, please send this to my father.

My name is Krad Hikari. Today is April 24th, 2010. I am the new surgeon for the Mobile Medical Unit, and I feel more scared than I have ever been in my entire life.

He leaned his head against the cool glass of the bus, not minding as it vibrated, causing his head to patter against the hard surface several times a minute. Perhaps he could get a head injury and be sent home before he even arrived. His blond hair fell into his face and he exasperatedly noted that they needed to be trimmed, again. He missed the long hair of his high school days, but he had chopped it all off within a month at college. Long hair would only get in the way, and would be incredibly difficult to keep sterile.

He wasn't sure if he had taken a long blink or had actually managed to catch a nap when the bus pulled to a stop. Dazedly, he glanced around briefly, determined he could see nothing, and figured the doors opening meant he was supposed to disembark. He had just barely stood when a man boarded the vehicle. From his silhouette, Krad could tell very little. He had broad shoulders and was about his height, wearing perhaps a jacket or just a loose button-up that concealed his build. The man glanced sideways, and Krad marveled at the size of his nose.

"You Captain Hikari?" He seemed friendly enough.

"Yes," he answered, disguising his exhaustion with confusion, "sir."

"Name's Tanaka. And you don't need to 'sir' me. I'm just a Corporal." Krad didn't know the difference, but he took Tanaka's word for it. A hand thumped across his shoulders, reminding him very much of someone from his high school days. "Welcome to the nut house." The hand clamped down again before Tanaka broke the embrace, endeavoring to capture some of Krad's luggage. "Corp. Niwa would usually be the one to greet the newcomers, but we have him down in town to scrounge up some supplies."

Tanaka continued to talk, leading him out of the bus and across the compound, but Krad's mind stuck to the thought of Niwa for a minute. He dismissed it quickly. There was no way little Niwa would be in the army. He wouldn't be able to take it. "Kid would be sent home within the month," he muttered.

"–is where you'll be staying. Captains Kobayashi and Watanuki are probably asleep by now, so don't even bother unpacking until morning. Just get a good night's sleep. That ride can be pretty rough, especially for newcomers like you." Another clap on the back and he heard the boots scuff against the gravel as Tanaka began to walk away, but he must have heard Krad's lack of movement and paused. "Don't worry, you'll be fine."

Again, the man began to walk away, and Krad didn't make a move for the door, instead pivoting in place and speaking softly into the night so as not to be heard. "Tanaka-san?" The boots stopped and a questioning hum sounded from the darkness. Krad wished for a moon. "Where are you from?"

He heard a chuckle and the silhouette crossed his arms loosely. "Small town out of Histor. You?"

Krad smiled just a little. "Naphal."

Three months passed, Corporal Niwa was missing, and Krad, scared to death of all the destruction around him, became decidingly less friendly.