The bunker was filled with Borgents. Tzirrpe, one of the few females, sat staring at a monitor. She sighed at the images of death and destruction. Her own people were dying, killed by these humans.
It's not like Tzirrpe enjoyed fighting; very few people did. Anyone who could fire a plasma rifle was considered a warrior, no excuses. "Defend Talyn," the recruitment officers declared, "defend our homeland!" And this required hundreds of Talynians dying each day?
"Stand," a commander yelled. His serpent-like tongue flickered, betraying his emotions. "I'm afraid I have terrible news. The squads we just sent out were killed, no survivors. We will rest for a few hours, then send out more warriors. As you were."
The rest of the Borgents gave a four-fingered salute and sat back down. The commander pulled up a chair next to Tzirrpe. "It's not fair, is it?" he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.
"No, sir," she replied, resting her head on her hand, still gazing at the screen.
"Oh, come on, Tzirie, you don't have to call me 'sir.' I'm your father."
"Dad, stop, we're in a bunker. You may be my father, but you're my commanding officer right now."
"Fair enough." He leaned in closer and whispered. "Listen, I heard about a group of rebels that are trying to end this war. They're stationed not far from here, and we could--"
Tzirrpe sighed. "As much as I want this to end, don't you think the other warriors would find it a little suspicious for a commander and his daughter to just run off in the middle of a battle? We can't go, not yet."
"But if not now, when?"
They sat in silence for a few moments. "I'll think about it. Right now, you need to go act like you have some authority around here." She managed as much of a grin as a reptile could have, and her father returned it. Tzirrpe could only hope that things would turn out for the best; for a Borgent, that meant making it to tomorrow.