Corbin was sitting in the Comm tent, waiting for, hoping for, some more signals from inside the city. A hand waving in front of his face brought him out of his reverie.
"Shift's over, Corbin. My turn for the bells of false hope," the other communications officer smiled without humour. So often signals had come through just to be investigated and a simple radio left on among corpses that the job was a soul-desroying one, "Get anything?"
Corbin replied, his accent obvously British, "No. Only a couple random dots. Y'know, the normal stuff."
Getting up he pulled his bottle of root beer from the table, holstered his pistol, and headed back to their tent.
Walking through the flap he went and sat on his bed, looking enquiringly at the civilian.
"Make it here by herself? I'm impressed."