That night, I do not dream. I just turn off until morning, for I have no energy for dreams. When the alarm rings for us to wake up, I feel almost refreshed. We are sleeping in some of the abandoned houses and apartment buildings, the occupants of whom are currently being evacuated to district 2. I go through with my regular morning routine, brushing my teeth and redressing into my peacekeeper uniform and armor.

Soon enough, I am once again standing behind a barricade. The only breakfast I had was a protein packet that I ate while walking over here, it tasted like chalk and stale oatmeal. I also got five loaves of bread to eat between meals, as I will not have much time to sit down. The bread is the same salty green goodness as always, but I do not think that will last long.

I shoot down rebel chargers alongside my brothers in arms, gunning them down as fast as they charge. Peacekeeper snipers pick off district 13 officers and rebel flag bearers, loyalist militiamen shoot with machine guns taken from dead Rebs, rocket launcher peacekeepers and landlines insure the Rebs can't get in any vehicles. Hovercrafts dogfight above, and anti hovercraft artillery prevents rebel hovercrafts from bombing us to oblivion.

The rebels aren't as suicidal as those in District 8, these actually run to what little cover there is before firing at me. However, this isn't enough to save them. Some die instantly, mostly those blown up by grenades or shot with many bullets. Some die slowly and painfully, caught in barbed wire, shot only a few times and left to bleed out, burned alive by flamethrower peacekeepers, or other grisly ends.

One Reb with only a rowing oar actually manages to reach the barricade and swings it at me. I duck down just in time, narrowly avoiding decapitation. A loyalist militiaman next to me plunges his whaling oar into the Rebs lower stomach, and swings it down and forward so the Reb collapses and rolls back off the barricade. The loyalist militiaman's whaling harpoon pulls out a length of the Rebs intestines, and he doesn't even bother to clean them off. I nod as a thankyou, and he nods back before returning to his position. He nods back and goes back to using his gun to shoot at rebel chargers.

I continue to gun down Rebs for hours and hours without end. Some are as young as eight years old, some as old as seventy. Once manages to get close enough to shoot a harpoon at me, but it manages to miss my head by a small margin. The moment the harpoon flys past my ear, I rest my gun back on the barricade and shoot bullets into the Rebs chest. He drops his gun at his feet and collapses face-first into a pool of his own blood. Red bubbles float out for less than a second, and his body twitches slightly.

We fight for many more hours, until our fingers are numb. By the our shift ends and other peacekeepers come to relieve us of our positions, the road in front of the barricade is running with blood and blanketed with corpses. It is very late in the night, and we have already eaten all of our bread. We are all looking forward to a warm bed, but it might not be so.

As my unit stands at attention a short distance down the road from the barricade, Commander Barca had this to say. "The defense the barricade we were defending is still too unstable, we have orders to sleep within one mile of it so that we will be able to defend it should Rebs try a full assault."

We are all resisting the urge to groan, for none of us look forward to a night under the stars. It was not cold in district 4, the night was balmy. But gunfire still occasionally rattled in the distance, and the floor was not enticingly comfortable.

But he continues,"When I say we, I mean that I myself am included. I am a peacekeeper just like you, and that means it is only fair for me to have the same conditions. These orders also apply to the loyalist militiamen. Stay within a mile of the barricade and be in sleeping positions within one hour, but apart from that you have permission to disperse. Food servers will bring dinner and blankets to you."

With those last words, we all let out sighs of relief and exhaustion. We gradually separated into smaller groups, huddled around puny campfires that we were permitted to light for cooking dinner or partially lighting up the night.

I take off my helmet, and sit down in front of a campfire. Also sitting at the fire is a peacekeeper I do not know, and two loyalist militiamen. One by one, Helena, Aric, and Harod come to the campfire. They take off their helmets, sweat running down their faces too.

I ask them, "Do you know where Jacobine is?"

I was relieved to learn from Jelena that he did not yet die in our honorable defense, "I last saw him with a local girl, or maybe it two."

This is surprising; who would have thought the awkward eighteen year old virgin in a white uniform would be able to bed two women. Maybe he is not a virgen. I will be the first to admit that I have not yet done it, but my reason is resulting from devotion of all my time to peacekeeper training and not being as outgoing as my late cousin. I was not really awkward, and Jacobine is still eighteen. But maybe he has more 'knowledge' than anticipated.

The official policy on inter-District relationships is general disapproval. While there have been cases of the Capitol granting approval for Victors from District 2 marrying a Victors from District 1 and 4, they are so rare that the known cases do not exceed single digets. One moves in with the other and brings their family with them, never seeing their birth district again.

While it is not illegal for peacekeepers to sleep with district women (so long as they meet the age/mental capacity requirements and consent without payment), it is discouraged and frowned upon as a rule of thumb. Any peacekeeper not stationed in District 2 who fathers or births an illegitimate child is relocated, retrained, and demoted to the rank just below his or her current one. There are stories of peacekeeper veterans who anonymously send half of their pension to unwed mothers in far away districts.

On the other hand are peacekeepers like Cray. Peacekeepers who are caught soliciting underage ladies of the night have the book thrown at them. On first attempt, they receive full demotion, fed lebido repressers, and forced to serve without armor for a year. Cray also had a lockdown mark added to his record, permanently preventing him from being promoted. This extra punishment is for letting District 12 fall into its current primal state.

In borderline non-existent cases where a peacekeeper is caught committing rape, he is dishonorably discharged an hour before being executed by burning. Assuming he is not immediately torn apart by the other peacekeepers, his execution can range from boiling in oil to electrocution post to burning at the stake to flamethrower.

One of the militiamen, an elderly man with a black beard, asks a question that interrupts my thought. "So, what is District 2 like?"

Harod asks, "Huh?"

The old man explains, "I am just wondering what type of place my grandkids are going to."

I answer, "It is a good place, they will be taken care of."

I then look over at the other loyalist militiaman, who is about in his early thirties, and ask his a question. "Do you have any family members they are evacuating?"

He shakes his head, and I do not press more. But on his own accord he mumbles, "My family was ... murdered."

None of us say anything for a while, it is practically spelled out for us. None of us need look far to find the unjustified political movement responsible for depriving this man of his family. Just more blood to soak the hands of Katniss Everdeen.

In an attempt to revive conversation, Harod looks up at the older loyalist militiaman. He asks, "What type of job did you have? I mean, before ..."

The old man responds with no small amount of pride, "I was captian of the P.S.S. Victoria, a steam powered seal hunting ship. When I started, I was just a cabin boy. That ship took me to the farthest corners of this watery world."

His voice became bitter and angry in equally large measures, "Then the traitors stole it! From what I was able to pick up from rumors, they renamed it Odair before it got sunk. I hope they all drowned, and I hope that traitor Finnick gets the electric chair."

Now, he asked, "Anyone else ever been on the high sea?"

The peacekeeper whom I did not know, who had kept his helmet on and until now remained silent, had something to say. "Before becoming a peacekeeper, I rode a ferry up and down the Rig Grande. My Pops ferried people along the river. I don't know the name of the ferry, but he always called it Big Red."

Harod, Helena, Aric, and I all look up in slight surprise; none of us expected anyone in District 2 to have much nautical know-how. The two loyalist militiamen seem amused, and the younger of the two is lightened up enough to speak again.

He comments, "I was a cargo loader for dock 53, I fished with a simple rod in my spare time."

The old loyalist militiaman laughed, "Who would have thought; a peacekeeper that has more experience with water than a District 4 native."

Harod addressed the younger loyalist militaman, "Its not common, the only experience I ever had with water is the bathtub."

This made us all laugh a bit.

Supply carriers brought us all dry food to eat, plastic bottles filled with water, sleeping blankets, and rock-like pillows. Even the loyalist militiamen got these. We wolfed down our food as fast as possible, drowning it with water.

Soon we all began to nod off despite the artillery fire in the distance. I noticed that while Aric was already fast asleep, reclined against a pillow, Helena rested her head on Aric's chest. She softly sung the tune to the first half of District Two Peacekeeper Boy*, an old song from the dark days. Even though she sung it so soft it was beryl audible, I recognized the tune because my grandfather told me a lot about the dark days history. Based off my memory, goes like this.

.

My peacekeeper love is true and brave,

He's off to the war and gone;

He's fighting for his Nanny dear,

His sword is buckled on;

He's fighting for his own true love;

The rebel he does defy;

He is the darling of my heart,

My District 2 peacekeeper boy.

.

O, if in battle he were slain,

I'm sure that I would die,

But I am sure he'll come again,

To cheer my weeping eye.

But should he fall in this our glorious cause,

He still would be my joy,

For many a sweetheart mourns the loss

Of a District 2 Peacekeeper boy.

.

I hope for the best and so do all

Who's hopes are in the field;

I know that we shall win this war

For peacekeepers never yield.

And when we think of those who are away,

We'll look above for joy,

And I'm mighty glad that my true love is

A District 2 Peacekeeper boy.

.

The fact that Helena is singing, and whatever it might hint to, escapes me. I am too exhausted to focus long on anything. I soon just let the embrace of sleep take me, and am no longer awake.

*The song used is based directly off the song Southern Soldier Boy, which was song during the american civil war