The battlefield lay in ruin, the remnants of the behemoths' carcasses scattered across the desolate landscape like grotesque monuments to the carnage they had wrought. Smoke curled into the air, a constant reminder of the destruction that had just unfolded. The air smelled of burnt metal and ozone, the stench of a war that had only just begun.
Carter's mech stood at the center of the battlefield, its weapon smoking from the heat of the recent barrage. His mind was still processing everything—every shot fired, every life saved, every near miss. But there was something else gnawing at him, something deeper. It wasn't just the battle. It was the recruits. Their first real taste of combat, and how some had barely made it out alive.
He climbed out of the cockpit, his boots crunching on the shattered earth as he made his way toward the others. The other mechs were slowly powering down, their pilots emerging from their cockpits, eyes wide with shock and disbelief. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.
Sierra was among them. She had removed her helmet, her short hair damp with sweat. Her face was pale, but there was a strange intensity in her eyes, as though she was still processing the events of the battle.
Carter approached her cautiously, unsure of what he'd find. She had fought well, but he could see the aftermath of it on her face. She was a soldier now—whether she wanted to be or not.
"Sierra," he said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder. She flinched slightly but didn't pull away. "You did good out there. I'm proud of you."
She didn't respond right away. Instead, she looked at him, her expression unreadable. The anger that had once burned in her was still there, but it seemed more distant, buried beneath the weight of what she had just experienced.
"I almost died," she said quietly, her voice strained. "I almost died, and I—" She broke off, her breath catching in her throat. "And I didn't even know what to do. I was just... trying to survive."
Carter's heart tightened. He'd seen that look before—the moment when a soldier realized that survival wasn't guaranteed, that they could be taken out at any time, no matter how hard they tried. It was a look that came with the burden of knowing that every step forward might be their last.
"You don't have to have all the answers," Carter said, his voice steady. "In battle, you do what you have to do. And you did that today. You survived. You fought."
Her gaze softened, and for a moment, Carter thought she might say something more. But instead, she looked away, her jaw tightening as if she were holding something back.
"Thank you," she muttered after a beat, though it was clear she didn't quite believe the words. It wasn't gratitude. It was more like a concession—something she felt she had to say, even though she didn't fully understand it.
Carter nodded, giving her a small, reassuring smile. He could see that this was just the beginning for her. It would take time for her to fully accept the reality of what they were fighting for—and what she was capable of.
Later that evening, as the recruits gathered in the mess hall, there was a noticeable shift in the atmosphere. The usual chatter was absent, replaced by a heavy silence. The taste of victory was still in the air, but it was bitter. They had won, yes, but at what cost? They had barely survived, and none of them could forget the faces of those who hadn't made it back.
Sierra sat at the far end of the table, pushing her food around on her plate without really eating. Carter sat across from her, watching her, wondering if she was still replaying the battle in her head. He had seen her hesitations, the brief flashes of fear in her eyes when she was almost overwhelmed. He wasn't sure if she knew it yet, but those moments of fear—that was what made her a true soldier. It wasn't the absence of fear; it was what she did with it.
He cleared his throat, trying to break the silence. "I know it's hard. It always is after your first real battle. But this is what we're here for. To fight, to protect. And to remember that it's not just about killing the behemoths—it's about keeping each other alive."
Sierra didn't look up, but he could see the way her hands gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white.
"I just… I don't know how you do it," she said, her voice small, quieter than usual. "You've been through so much. How do you keep going, knowing that... that you can lose anyone at any moment?"
Carter didn't answer immediately. He took a deep breath, his gaze shifting as if to gather his thoughts before speaking. "I don't know, Sierra. Some days, I don't think I can go on either. But you keep pushing forward because if you don't, everything you've fought for... everything you've lost... it means nothing."
He paused, his eyes softening as he met her gaze. "We all lose something. That's the price of this war. But what matters is what you do with that loss. You honor it by standing tall, by fighting for those who didn't make it. You keep fighting, because if you don't, then you're letting the behemoths win. And that's not who we are. We're survivors."
Sierra's eyes were wet, but she didn't shed any tears. She was quiet for a long time, her thoughts clearly a whirlwind of emotions. Finally, she spoke again, her voice steadier than before.
"I don't know if I'll ever be as strong as you, Carter. But... maybe I can try."
Carter smiled, the first real smile he'd given her in a long time. "That's all I can ask for."
The mess hall buzzed with quiet murmurs as the other recruits slowly began to eat, but there was a subtle shift in the air. It wasn't just about survival anymore—it was about something more. Something that transcended the fear, the anger, and the doubts that had plagued them. It was about finding a reason to keep fighting, even when it felt like the world was falling apart.
And in that moment, Carter knew that Sierra—like the rest of them—was learning to be more than just a soldier. She was learning to live.