Twenty-eight year old Albel Nox was on the verge of becoming a full general. He was young, but a capable leader and a strong fighter. The State was currently embroiled in a very tough war. They needed men like Albel, men who weren't afraid of anything, if they hoped to win.

Albel paced irritably on the ridge, watching the heavy shelling off in the distance. His men were all settled safely in the forest behind him. They were all waiting anxiously for the enemy to approach. Albel could feel the tension in the air. His brigade was composed of strong, well-trained men from the Glyphia provenance. They were itching for battle just as badly as Albel was.

Albel stared moodily off into the distance. The nearest enemy battalion was over three days away and although he could see the distant explosions and hear the resounding booms, he was safe. He could stand out in the open without fear of getting shot at or shelled.

Albel did not like being on the defensive. He wanted more than anything to charge down the ridge and take the enemy right where they were, but his orders were to stay in position and defend the line. His men probably needed a little rest from all the intense fighting, but with the enemy so close it was doubtful that anyone would sleep much.

Albel sighed wearily and headed back into the forest. Several soldiers were gathered around a fire, eating and talking, trying to get rid of tension. They scrambled to their feet and saluted as Albel walked by. He nodded at them and they slowly sat back down, looking nervous.

A temporary command post had been set up in the clearing out of tents. There was no need for much else. The fighting would be close range hand-to-hand combat unless the enemy tried to blow up the forest. Albel's men knew the forest well. Everything was camouflaged, perfectly hidden. They would ambush anyone who tried to pass through.

The supply sergeant stepped up to Albel and saluted. "Brigadier general Nox, sir."

"Sergeant Mooda," Albel said calmly. He frowned at him for a moment before muttering, "At ease."

Sergeant Mooda relaxed and put his hands behind his back. "Sir?"

"Yeah?" Albel asked indifferently.

"Would you like to hear the report?"

"Oh, I suppose. Are we running low again?"

"Only on some things, sir."

"I'll put in a call to command," Albel grumbled. "Give me the list of what we're short of and I'll yet at those fools to hurry up and bring us our stuff."

"Yes, sir." With another salute, Mooda scurried back off to the main tent, which served as both a supplies storage room and a command center for Albel.

Albel paced again. He hoped General Arzei knew what he was doing by having him defend the region to prevent the enemy from breaking through. His troops were called in to be the first line of defense, so they would at least get to see plenty of action. And even with an imminent battle, supplies were still readily available. At least when Headquarters remembered to send them…Albel was itching to strangle whoever was responsible.

Albel preferred to be deep in enemy territory, fighting fiercely for his life. Supplies would be scarce, but then again everyone would be running on adrenaline anyway. With nothing to do, lack of supplies was more apparent because the men needed something to do if there was no battle. Albel wanted supplies quickly so he wouldn't be faced with much complaining.

Mooda hurried back out of the supplies tent. "Brigadier general, sir! Headquarters wants to speak with you."

Albel growled under his breath and went to get the phone. "Yeah? Oh, hello General Arzei. Yes, I know. Now, if you expect me to do any good here at all, I need my supplies brought in. Yeah, tell them to hurry up with it. No more delays. Well, that's good. Thank you, General."

Albel hung up the phone and scowled at the general vicinity. "Well, I'll be in my tent."

Albel's tent was obviously the largest. At either side were his top colonels, Vox and Woltar. The rest of the troops were scattered across the camps in tents shared with a few other people.

Albel grumbled under his breath as he threw himself down on his bedroll. He wished for some way to fast-forward time to three days later, but sleeping would have to do.

Albel woke up some time later to the roar of a helicopter. With a curse, he rolled out of bed and brushed off his uniform. He flattened down his hair as he walked to the landing pad in the distance.

The cry of "supplies!" rang through the camp. Sergeant Mooda hurried out of the supplies storage with his clipboard to take inventory.

The chopper landed smoothly and the young pilot leaped out. He adjusted his flight goggles before saluting Albel with a broad smile. "10th brigade, right?"

"Yes," Albel acknowledged, frowning at the man's ill-fitting bomber jacket.

"Headquarters sent me here with the basics. If you need anything else, make me a list and I'll be back tomorrow on the way to the 47th."

"Thank you, sergeant," Albel said smoothly, glancing at the boy's uniform insignia.

The sergeant pushed back his flight goggles and removed his helmet, shaking out his tousled blue hair. His face was smudged with dirt but his green eyes shone brilliantly. Albel had never seen someone look so fresh and hopeful in the midst of war.

The sergeant turned and hopped back into the helicopter to toss down several bags of supplies to Sergeant Mooda, who in turn lowered them to the ground and began inspecting the contents.

The sergeant dusted himself off as he hopped back to the ground. "Right, that should be all of it. Now, how about a little refueling before I go?"

Albel frowned. "That accent is strange. Completely foreign, yet familiar."

The sergeant smiled sheepishly. "I was raised in Glyphia and then I moved to Aquos with some relatives. I probably have a mix of both accents."

Albel's eyes narrowed. "Your name, sergeant," he barked.

The young sergeant's hand swiftly and automatically moved into a salute. "Sergeant Traydor, sir," he said firmly.

"Liar," Albel spat venomously.

"It's the truth, sir."

"Don't fuck with me, Fayt," Albel growled.

Fayt blinked, looking surprised. He looked down at his feet and chewed his lip. "It's my aunt and uncle's last name. They made me change it to theirs if I would live with them."

"Well, after the war, you're changing it back," Albel hissed.

Fayt looked at him tiredly. "Why, Albel? There's no point."

"Yes there is. Come on, what happened to your enthusiasm. Did you finally realize war isn't fun?"

Fayt smiled coyly. "War isn't fun, but flying is."

Albel rolled his eyes and pushed Fayt ahead of him. "Alright, Leingod. Let's go have a drink and catch up on stuff."

Albel settled onto his bunk and pulled a bottle of brandy out of his duffel bag. "Here," he said gruffly, handing Fayt a glass.

Fayt sipped the liquor delicately. "Albel?" he asked softly.

"What the hell is a little flower like you doing in the army?" Albel demanded.

"I was drafted," Fayt said simply.

"So what? You're a pansy, Fayt. You couldn't fight to save your life. I'm surprised you're still alive."

"I can fight,' Fayt said indignantly. "I've killed before."

"Bullshit," Albel snorted. "You're just as weak and defenseless as you were as a kid."

Fayt glared at him. "I'm not a kid anymore. I don't need you to protect me."

"Fine then. We'll pretend our childhood friendship never happened."

"That's not what I mean," Fayt growled.

"If you want to still be friends, you've got to handle a little threat," Albel said irritably. "You don't look like the typical soldier. You're too goddamn happy. You must not have been here long enough."

Fayt shrugged. "I was in the National Guard for two years. My uncle sent me there to toughen me up and they were offering money for college. With that money, I went to a flight school. But then I was drafted and I'm spending my time flying choppers and trying not to get shot."

"Sounds lonely," Albel muttered. "Don't you have a division to belong to?"

"No, I'm stationed at Headquarters. I fly supplies all across the continent all by myself. I don't really have a troop to belong to; I just follow the orders from the Chief Supply Sergeant. It's like fighting in that I get to be shot at and like a desk job in that they don't give me a weapon to fight back."

Albel snorted. "You're so cynical, Fayt. I need to get you hooked up with one of the crazy-ass military chicks we have and you'll realize you don't have it so bad. Those chicks are scary."

Fayt sighed. "Albel, I don't need to a girlfriend to tell me that war is bad. I already know that. People die and I'm lucky I'm not one of them."

"Not the point, Fayt. You need to get laid. It'll help you cope."

"And you think those scary gun-toting girls will make me happy?" Fayt looked skeptical.

"You don't have to do a damned thing with those cursed females. There are plenty of open-minded men about if it's just a matter of relieving tension."

Fayt's eyebrows shot up. "What makes you think I'm that way?"

Albel put up his hands defensively. "I'm making a suggestion. If you don't like the girls, try the guys. Don't bite my head off, damn."

Fayt didn't look entirely convinced so Albel tried again. "I'm trying to make you feel better okay? Maybe a little less lonely. Sex is supposed to feel good. Whatever floats your boat. Hell, if I knew it would get that stick out of your ass, I'd even sleep with you."

Fayt's eyes darkened and his jaw tightened. "So, this whole discussion is about sex?" he asked dangerously.

"Of course, Fayt. It's about the only thing I can think of right now."

"I can't believe you!" Fayt shouted. "We were best friends, like brothers and you want to have sex with me."

Albel was stubborn. "Why not? It might be fun."

Fayt was almost purple with rage. "I can't believe I almost believed all this shit. This hasn't been about making me feel better. It's about trying to get into my pants."

"Fayt, I'm not making you-"

"Shut up!" Fayt screeched. "No more lies. You're not the boy I was once friends with, but in respect to our old friendship, I won't bring any sexual harassment charges against you, even though I should."

Fay backed out of Albel's tent, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "And stay away from me bastard!"

As soon as Fayt was gone, Albel rolled his eyes, not learning his lesson at all. "Fayt's so bitchy. He needs a good toss in the hay even more than I thought."