The convoy rumbled west at a measured but steady pace into the night, stopping only for brief minutes to allow time for the troops to urinate and take rations. Hitch and Kieu-Linh had ridden in the back of a modified Humvee which was crowded with equipment and supplies. They huddled together in the hot interior, sweating, but at least they were moving towards Willow. They said little, doing their best to doze and stay calm.

He had no idea where they were going. The driver insisted he was unable to tell them what little he knew, only explaining that Delta Company was rotating back to the line, replacing another Company which was due for a month in the rear. Other than that, the man drove in silence, the occasional squawk of his radio passing cautions and instructions from time to time.

Hitch grew more and more eager as the sun rose in a partially-cloudy but bright blue sky. They raced through the mountain passes and down into valleys, their westward course becoming more southerly around midday. Another short rest was followed by more hours of beautiful but monotonous time on the road.

They finally stopped for an hour after dark, allowed to void bladders and bowels and eating a hot meal for the first time since they'd been at Captain Justice's home. The beef patties, mashed potatoes, and gravy were served with tins of pound cake and crackers. Hitch thought it wasn't too bad, and Kieu-Linh rather enjoyed it.

“Are you nervous?” she asked him as she used her finger to wipe up the congealed remains of her meal.

“A bit.”

“I hope you get to see her soon. I can't wait to meet her, James. I'm nervous, too.”

He smiled at her, let himself imagine that moment only a few seconds before he pushed it aside. They were close to his daughter, and he didn't want to spoil that moment by fantasizing about it too much.

The Humvee driver came over to them and explained, “we will be at the bivouac shortly. Right now, part of the company is passing through Alpha, which is falling back. Fighting is close enough for you to put on these.” He handed each of them flak jackets and kevlar helmets. Kieu-Linh looked uncertainly at Hitch as he realized they had gotten very close to a very dangerous situation. The uncertainty passed quickly, though, and the girl visibly steeled herself and put on the protection.

It made her look very young again. The weeks and months on the road had added definition to her curves and muscles, a dense, lean frame showing clearly in her face and her neck. The too-large jacket and the thick helmet made her look small again, despite her above-average height. He smiled at her, as much to reassure himself as her, feeling a measure of dread that he was, once more, close to the fighting.

They had allowed him to keep his M9 strapped to his side, but their rifles and his M4 were stowed in their gear. He asked the driver, a Corporal named Pierce, if he could retrieve them. The driver shrugged, said he didn't know, and disappeared towards the front of the convoy.

- - -

Hitch and Kieu-Linh stood outside the tent to which they'd been ushered after reaching the bivouac, men and women in green fatigues shuffling quickly from place to place in the darkness, often in ones or twos, but sometimes in squad or platoon strength. The sounds of camp brought Hitch back to his instinctual responses, listening to orders barked and the sounds of machinery, the cries of a wounded woman from somewhere nearby.

In an unwanted but familiar way, it felt comfortable without effort. He spoke quietly to Kieu-Linh as they shared a canteen of water, giving her lessons in real time about what she was seeing, what to do if mortars came in, how to fight back if she could find a weapon, and where to go if she could not.

He made it clear that he wanted her to stick by him at all times, but his messages, given so many times to young Marines seeing combat for the first time, implied the need to act alone if they were parted. Hitch thought about giving her his sidearm, but he couldn't bring himself to part with it, knowing he could do more to protect her than she could him in the chaos of battle. Plus, he acknowledged, giving her a weapon was admitting that his young wife might have to use it. That was a hard line to cross, in those moments, but the longer they waited for word from his daughter, the more the idea grew on him.

They slept in the tent for a few hours, Hitch waking regularly to familiar noises. He heard no mortars, but the shouts of men made it clear that the firefight was not far away. The rumbling thunder of an approaching storm made it impossible to differentiate natural from manmade cracks and booms.

A young woman yelled into their tent in the night, “James Hitchens!”

Hitch called back, “yes?”

The woman did not await permission to enter, but she was inside quickly, saying, “Colonel Hitchens is having you moved to the rear. The CP is not safe for you.”

Hitch didn't want to be set back after coming so far, while being so close. “I... I'd rather stay.”

“Colonel's orders,” she replied, her name patch reading 'Vickers.'

“I understand, but—“

“We can fight!” Kieu-Linh burst in. “Please, we'll fight.”

Hitch stared at her but didn't find the words to interrupt.

The young soldier glanced doubtfully at Kieu-Linh, then said, “noted. If you please?”

“He's a Marine,” Kieu-Linh said, “an officer. Major Hitchens, 2-2-Bravo, 2nd Marines,” she added, overly eager to impress the woman. “We can fight!”

Vickers looked at Hitch a few seconds, then responded, “I'll inform my CO that you have requested to stay, but don't count on it. Prepare to step off in 10 mikes.” She was gone without awaiting a response.

Hitch started to wonder aloud what the sixteen-year old had done. He didn't want to fight! But, he also didn't want to leave. He was a practical officer in his service, and idlers around camp were a burden. If someone was hanging back, not assigned or not performing a task during combat, it drained efforts elsewhere. The only way it made sense to keep them around, as Hitch wanted, was to volunteer their service.

He felt quite proud of her as that came to him. Kieu-Linh had known that was the right argument. He smiled, his nerves on edge but his long-drilled focus on the moment was sharp and active.

It was only moments later when a short, stocky man entered the tent and stood facing Hitch. “Marine?” he asked brusquely.

“Yes?”

“Captain Leonard has need of you both to help move the wounded to the rear. Come with me.” The man turned and stepped out.

Hitch gave Kieu-Linh a serious look, then followed, his wife a step behind.

At a quick pace, they were directed to carry stretchers from a tent to a make-shift ambulance nearby. He heard shouts to the west and south. “Step it up!” A rough male voice shouted. “Move!” Hitch and Kieu-Linh grabbed hold of a stretcher and soon had an unconscious man with a serious head injury in the truck. The pain was still there, the long-held horror of seeing the bloody results of combat, but it was a dull edge to a sharper focus on the task at hand. He'd have time to decompress and mourn later.

He kept an eye on Kieu-Linh as he worked, her face tight and soon speckled with blood. She drove through the task with purpose, but he could tell she was starting to measure the weight of what she was seeing.

Some of the injuries were gruesome, insides sometimes falling out, moans and cries, hastily-bandaged stumps. Man and woman alike were among the wounded. There were thirteen of them in all, the last put on the second truck which then roared to life and sped off to get their charges to the rear.

Hitch crouched down and motioned Kieu-Linh to join him. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, a bit distantly, “yeah, I'm okay.” Kieu-Linh paused and looked at him, “you?”

“Hanging in.” Without further thought, he removed his holster and tied it quickly onto Kieu-Linh's belt. “Take this. Use it if you must. If you have a shot, take it, don't wait for orders. But... be absolutely sure you have the Imps in your aim. Its easy to mistake in the confusion.”

“Hitch,” she suddenly reverted to using his nickname. “I can't take your piece...”

“Yes, you can. I want you to have it, comes in handy in close quarters. And earlier, I spotted a pile of M4s around the side of that tent,” he said, pointing it out for Kieu-Linh. “I'm going to go claim us a couple.”

He crept to the collection point for gear and weapons carried by those who had been wounded or killed. He collected two M4s and a couple of bandoliers of ammo magazines, as well as four of the improved impact grenades which were detonated after thrown with a remote keyed to the pin pulled seconds earlier. It meant better control of the timing of the explosion.

He pressed an M4 into Kieu-Linh's hands and she took it easily. He'd drilled her with his own many times, but she'd never once fired it. He had feared the sound of military arms might draw unwanted company. He also passed her a bandolier. Kieu-Linh had her finger close to the safety, ready to switch it in a split second.

Hitch nodded to her, saying, “let's see where we can help.”

They strolled through the west end of camp as it was quickly broken down from west to east. They helped moving tents and boxes and crates of ammunition for hours. The storm rushed in quickly, pounding down on them and making the tension grow more thick and frightening. Hitch knew they were packing up for what seemed to be a retreat, and that meant that the fighting was getting closer.

As fast as the thunderstorm had hit the bivouac, it left behind cool, calm weather almost as quickly. Platoons of soiled soldiers started trotting back through camp, some replacing others on guard, some moving through and heading north towards the rear.

Vickers was there suddenly. “Major Hitchens, follow me, Sir. We're all getting out of here soon, and you're going now.”

They hustled after the woman as she ran towards a line of Humvees and trucks pointed north along the side of the main road up the ridge. They were escorted to one near the middle.

Just before sliding into the vehicle, he saw his daughter.

Willow was hustling, not running, to a vehicle near the front. She was in utilities of digital greens and browns and grays, kevlar helmet on her head. She was tall and walked quickly with a deliberate gait. Her hair was obscured under her cover, and what he could see of her skin was weathered and tan.

He knew it was her when he saw the tattoo on her neck.

Willow did not look their direction, and Hitch was frozen, leaning on the Humvee. She disappeared a moment later after talking quickly to a short woman and a tall man who departed when she left.

Vehicles began to rumble, and Hitch had to jump in quickly when his lurched forward in step with the truck in front of it. He tried to see Willow again, but he could not make her out in the darkness.

- - -

The first mortar woke him immediately. It was distant, muffled, but he heard the impact. Maybe three thousand meters. Maybe two thousand. He didn't know his surroundings when he woke to find day broken over their new bivouac. He roused Kieu-Linh and they slid from the tent.

They'd set up an hour north of their previous position. He'd been given no details of the situation, and no one seemed willing to put them to work as uncertainty spread through the camp. It seemed to lack leadership that night after the fall back had been completed. He and Kieu-Linh had gotten some sleep when it was clear he wouldn't get a chance to meet with Willow any time soon.

A soldier passed him moving slowly as he stood with Kieu-Linh outside their tent. “Private,” he called out, recognizing his rank insignia, “why is that ammunition not secured in a proper depot?” He noticed it was left exposed and an easy target for mortars. As if to reinforce his concern, a second mortar impacted a half the distance from the camp as the first.

The solider did not reply, and Hitch was frustrated quickly trying to find out what was happening.

No one had taken their stolen weapons, and none had even so much as glanced at them. Hitch wondered if irregular troops were still common enough that it wasn't questioned, or if the situation was too troubling to pay attention to an old man and a teenager who carried carbines and grenades but weren't currently shooting at them.

The sound of trucks screaming from the south up the low rise came long before they saw them approach on the dusty road below. Hitch rushed up and out of the way, Kieu-Linh right with him. The listening posts which had been sent out for security in the night were hustling back from several directions, beating the trucks to the camp. He saw the camp defenses draw tight in case anything was following. Hitch longed to have a radioman nearby so that he could know what was happening. His need to control the battle rising easily, making the situation even more frustrating for him.

The trucks skidded in and parked, left idling as a few figures got out. It was a company-sized convoy, the trucks filled with soldiers and gear, a handful of wounded. Hitch pulled Kieu-Linh back from the commotion a bit, not wanting to risk interfering with the troops, though he wished he could listen in.

He saw Willow again, this time from the front and closer. She was quite beautiful, striking. She looked a lot like her mother. His daughter should have just turned thirty, but there was no youth left on her face. It was weathered and lean, a ragged scar running from below her right eye to her jaw. Her prominent, upturned nose had been broken at least once. Her skin was tanned and grimy, no longer the youthful, innocent sixteen-year old he'd left behind when he deployed in 2019.

This woman had been through hell.

Her grey eyes caught his and froze. It was the first moment he knew she'd seen him, and his heart skipped a beat as recognition came over her face.

- - -

Willow Hitchens had spent the last decade and more learning to control her emotions. While she'd been rash and sometimes opinionated as a teenager, she'd also been an eager student of social networks. She figured out early how to control others in the way she spoke, her tone, the details she shared, and by rarely showing her emotions on the surface unless those emotions helped her achieve her goal. Willow had learned to swallow the things she couldn't control and focus on the ones she could manage. It made her an excellent officer and a woman who was coolheaded in the middle of combat.

Her father staring back at her from a dozen meters away threatened to tear a hole in her armor. Her heart leapt and pounded, her stomach turning over. Despite her weariness, she felt her energy surge to see him. She'd been a girl the last time he had stood before her, parting with her before he was deployed to Israel, never to come home to Montana again. She had been sixteen.

“Colonel!” Her aide-de-camp, a young woman named Tomason shouted. “LPs reporting in. No kilos, one whiskey, she's ambulatory. Ready for orders, Ma'am.”

Willow snapped back to attention, swallowing emotions bubbling within her, her father's face still in her vision even as she turned away. “Op Plan Charlie-Seven. I'm on my way.” She glanced back to where her father had been, but passing vehicles and soldiers blocked her view. Willow had no time to pause and think about what it meant for her father to be alive and with her, and that caused her a sliver of pain on top of the ones from her twisted wrist, her constipation, and the cramps from her goddamned period, which was imminent.

She'd gotten the message about her dad from Captain Justice days ago, but had been unable to think about a response. Of course she wanted to see her father, but the battles north of Las Vegas had been brutal and difficult. The Imps surprised her brigade. Her force, usually consisting of 4,500 soldiers at full strength, went in with less than 3,700 and was disengaging with casualties from the battle of over two hundred and counting, thirty of them KIA. Their artillery was being harassed by counter-battery and had suffered losses which kept it hard to employ. Most of the air power had been directed further east to aid a much larger force trying to flank the Imp Divisions strewn across the area above Flagstaff, hoping to turn it and push it from the Colorado River and Lake Mead. Her brigade's presence near Las Vegas had been a diversion.

Willow had decided to send for him when the Imps fell back suddenly a few days before, hoping to at least have a moment to talk to him. The Imp movement had been a feint which the brigade had not fallen for, so they reversed their apparent withdrawal and renewed their attack within hours.

Her dad was now caught up in camp along with the rest of the rearguard. She'd ordered him to be sent to the rear, away from danger, but either her orders were not followed or her father had decided not to obey them. She had to smile to herself as she stepped into her Humvee. It wouldn't have surprised her if he had insisted on staying. Even from so long ago, she remembered how the man had insisted on taking on the risks himself. She'd heard stories of his days in Iraq and Afghanistan many times in her life, especially from her father's friends who had served with him. He put his own life on the line to protect his men. It didn't surprise her to see, in her brief view of him, that he had a carbine slung around in front of him.

She did not recognize the tall young woman who stood next to him. Willow had barely noticed her, but in thinking about that instance, she stuck out. She was a teen, despite her height, and the way she stood near her dad made Willow believe they might have travelled together. The girl was not anyone she recognized in her brigade, and Willow had a sharp memory of faces, especially those whose lives she had to spend as frugally as possible to survive.

Whoever she was, Willow shook her head and cleared the emotions swirling through her mind. She needed to plan, to evaluate. The movement further north was going to be longer than the one in the night, and it was, with effort, on her mind as the convoy pressed on through the mountains too slowly for her liking.

- - -

It was a miserable journey to the north and east despite the exhilaration Hitch had felt for days since seeing Willow again after so many years. The rain came in and covered their movement the entire way. There was no time for bathing or many opportunities to pee or void bowels. He and Kieu-Linh stunk from sweat and days of wearing the same clothing. She'd gotten her period the night he'd seen Willow, and she was trying her best not to let it show that she was uncomfortable each time the loose rags spilled blood into her jeans.

Hitch had come to believe the movement north was not so much a retreat as an attempt to draw Imp forces behind them. It smelled of a diversion, and he suspected they would eventually pick a strong point to hold before long, a bigger engagement likely further east.

They finally stopped on the fourth day, digging in a couple of kilometers back from where Hitch had seen ground capable of being defended by the force of the brigade. When they were ordered to make camp, he smiled knowing his daughter had seen the same advantage there.

Still, it continued to be days spent without seeing Willow. He and Kieu-Linh made themselves useful in generally laborious tasks, setting up tents, moving equipment, helping carry wounded and dead as needed. Willow was visiting the field hospital and speaking with the wounded men and women within. Hitch yearned to talk to his daughter, but he was not going to interrupt this vital and intimate connection she maintained with her soldiers when they were in pain and often frightened.

She looked at him briefly as she left the tent, he and Kieu-Linh carrying a small, mousy woman who had taken shrapnel to her face and arms. He paused and looked at Willow. Hitch gave her a small but warm smile, and it melted his heart to see it returned. A cry from behind them sent his daughter in that direction at a rapid pace.

- - -

The location had been as reported, perfect for her brigade to dig in and defend the western flank of the offensive. They'd managed to draw in two divisions in pursuit, a stupid mistake by the Imp commander who had not, apparently, realized his forces were going to face stiff opposition from entrenched positions with well-sighted fields of fire. The work had begun in earnest as soon as the first company arrived and prepared defenses. Already, almost a week since stopping, they'd suffered only ninety casualties, most of them non-fatal. The Imps, her scouts had indicated, had suffered ten times that amount, and possibly more as the artillery hit command-and-control areas behind the lines whenever not firing missions against assaulting Imp companies.

For the first time in days, Willow had the opportunity to wash herself. She used a canteen of water and a reasonably clean rag after dropping her clothing to the floor inside her tent. Willow washed her face and then under her breasts, still taunt and firm and small, almost the same as the ones she'd had at sixteen. The peppered scars on her left, the result of a friendly mortar shell which had hit the headquarters tent six years ago during a moment where she'd removed her flak jacket, were not yet drawing distinctive marks on her tit at sixteen.

There was no shame in the field. Even when her aide Tomason stuck her head into the tent and gave reports from the battalion commanders, Willow listened carefully while wiping between her legs, the rough cloth cool but not gentle across her sweaty, hairy genitals. She acknowledged the report, dismissed Tomason, and ran the rag through her ass a moment before tossing it into the bag beside her trunk.

Willow let out a long breath, then pulled new underwear and pants from the trunk, sliding them on and feeling just a bit better. She finished dressing, her small breasts never needing a bra for support, and wrapped her flak jacket around her body. It had become a second skin, more comfortable than her own. She'd always been awkward naked, not that she'd had a lot of time or experience over the years.

Oh, sure, she had no embarrassment wiping her privates with her aide or anyone else keeping her focused on the tasks at hand, but in quieter moments, she'd felt naked, in more ways than one, without her utility uniform and her jacket covering her flesh. She knew it went deeper than just a need for protection, a notion which was supported by the pain and disfigurement she'd suffered on her breast, but Willow had never had time to consider what other reasons drove her to cover herself and hide her nakedness. Even in showers, it was a weakness. If she had time to shower, where others were in with her, she rushed through it and quickly sought her towel, more comfortable only when she was back in full gear and cover.

Regardless, she stepped out of her tent refreshed, mostly, and she hoped she had time, finally, to seek out her father.

- - -

Hitch lay awake holding Kieu-Linh against him. The girl had grown quiet the last couple of days, and was currently dozing in the warm evening inside their tent. The flap was open to allow some breeze to flow in, but they were both sweating and uncomfortable. He refused to let her go, though, as it had become clear that she was starting to think too heavily on what she'd seen around her.

Casualties can do that to the strongest, and it can happen even if someone had years of experience around them. A powerful sadness, grief, helplessness can set in and it leaves a person unable to look past it, unable to see joy or hope in anything. Hitch talked to her throughout, kind words and light touches to keep her from sinking too far. Kieu-Linh had only shown signs of shock and mourning after being idle for a couple of days to the rear of the ambush site. He'd recognized it early, and he hummed to her then even as she slept against his chest.

He hadn't seen Willow in days. He knew better than to seek her out in the middle of a battle. Just knowing she was alive and well was enough for the moment, though Hitch was eager to talk to her finally.

“Major Hitchens?” a firm female voice called into the tent.

“Yes?” Hitch could see booted feet and camouflaged pant legs through the open flap.

“May I enter?”

“Yes.”

A woman stepped in and took off her field cover. Willow stared at him with gray eyes a moment before she smiled and rushed into his arms as he stood. “Dad! Oh!”

He embraced his daughter tight, squeezing her against him. “Willow! Oh my god, Willow!”

“I'm sorry I didn't come earlier, Dad. I've been busy...”

“I know. You know I understand command responsibility. My god,” he said, letting his happiness show fully, “look at you!”

Her smile quivered and he could see she was trying not to cry. “You look great, Dad... I didn't know you were alive until Captain Justice sent me your message. I thought you died around Tulsa. I tried to find out, years ago, but no one knew. Oh, Dad!”

They hugged again and then he realized his wife had stood nearby. “Willow. This is my wife, Kieu-Linh.”

- - -

Willow looked at the girl she'd seen the previous days and couldn't respond a moment. His wife? She's a teenager! Willow composed herself and finally said, “Nice to meet you, Kieu-Linh. I... I didn't know you had remarried, Dad,” she said, turning back to her father. His face showed no shame or embarrassment that he had just introduced her to a girl half her own age, and a third of his.

“Recently, just before we left to find you. She's... she's been everything to me, Willow. Everything.”

Willow smiled, genuinely happy to hear that despite how odd it was to have a 'step-mother' younger than herself. “I'm glad. So... you came all this way just to see me? Please, tell me everything you can. I have a few minutes.”

She listened as her father and Kieu-Linh explained how they had heard rumors of her and how they had mostly walked from far east to look for her in Denver. It was an amazing story, and Willow felt blessed that her father had cared enough to make such an effort. It also made her instantly respect Kieu-Linh. At that age, Willow doesn't know that she could have done so well.

“I just... had to know for sure, Willow. I had to know... I'd heard you died around Chelan.”

“I was taken prisoner by Russian recons,” Willow replied, “but I escaped about an hour after they started marching us from the field, me and a few others. We made our way back to where camp should have been, didn't find anyone. We spent several months avoiding the Russians in Washington, Oregon, and in the mountains, and ended up attracting a few volunteers to fight with us. We stole some arms and hit a few supply trucks, formed our own insurgent cadre and fought independently before formalizing the Denver Patriots a few months later.”

“Wow, incredible,” Kieu-Linh said, “you must be very brave. Like your dad.”

Willow smiled, running a hand through her close-cropped hair which had grown longer after weeks of combat. “I suppose he and I probably have more in common now than either of us knows.”

Hitch grinned at her. “I expect so. Damn, I'm so proud of you, Willow. I know... I know your mom would be proud too.” That made her smile fade. She'd not thought about her mom in a long time, never really dealing with her death in the middle of her own fight for survival. It made her sad to think about Dad being remarried, her mom left behind. She looked at Kieu-Linh a moment and felt a stab of hatred. Willow pushed it back, seeing how unfair that was to the teen. She isn't responsible for mom not being with dad. I just hope she loves him like she did. God knows he deserves that.

“Colonel Hitchens!” Willow spun quickly to see her aide stepping into the tent, the woman panting heavily. “You're needed, Ma'am!”

Willow let out a quick breath and steeled herself to deal with the next crisis. “I must go.” She paused only briefly, looking back at her father. “I'm really glad to see you, Dad.”

He didn't respond before Willow was out of the tent and hustling off toward the west.

James "Hitch" Hitchens, Male, 50

	- US Marine Corps and Turtletown Patriot officer, veteran of The War

	- 6'0, 180lbs, tanned beige skin, cropped brown hair

Kieu-Linh Miller, Female, 16

	- Daughter of Miller and Kim-Ly

	- 5'11, 150lbs, cinnamon skin, shoulder-length silky black hair

Willow Hitchens, Female, 30

	- Colonel of Denver Patriot Brigade, veteran of The War, daughter of Hitch

	- 5'11, 155lbs, tanned beige skin, short dark chestnut hair