The battlefield, once filled with the deafening roar of bombs, gunfire, and the snarls of Grimm, now gave way to the quieter, somber sounds of recovery. The echo of explosions had faded, leaving behind the grim reality of war—the wounded and the dead. The UNE forces, Atlas soldiers, Nomadic tribesmen, Huntsmen, and White Fang fighters all gathered to do what had to be done.

Medics and corpsmen worked tirelessly, weaving through the field with the utmost urgency. The cries of the wounded were their guiding stars amidst the chaos. The medics rushed from trooper to trooper, treating injuries ranging from burns and lacerations caused by the Grimm's attacks to those who had taken brutal hits from the Ultranationalists' A-10 Thunderbolt II strafing runs. Shrapnel wounds, torn flesh, and missing limbs were common sights.

Ryan knelt beside a fallen marine, helping apply pressure to a young private's leg wound while a medic injected morphine. The young man's face was pale, his expression twisted in agony. Blood stained his combat fatigues, and his breath came in ragged gasps.

"Stay with me, kid," Ryan urged, his voice as calm as he could manage. "We're getting you out of here."

The private nodded weakly, his eyes brimming with tears. The medic nodded to Ryan, indicating that he needed more space, and Ryan quickly stepped back to let him work.

Nearby, Franklin "Little Giant" Graves stood over one of his fallen comrades, his usually sharp, commanding demeanor softened. He pulled a dog tag from the lifeless form of a fellow Scotsman, his jaw clenched as he murmured a few words in Gaelic, then slipped the tag into his pocket. There was no time for ceremonies, but he would ensure they weren't forgotten.

"Medic!" Graves called, waving down Elise, who was hastily running over to tend to another injured soldier. She spared him a quick glance, and though there was exhaustion in her eyes, she gave a nod of recognition. It was enough.

Corpsmen were all around, lifting bodies onto stretchers, attending to burn wounds, stabilizing broken bones. Some were too far gone for help, their bodies covered by tarps or whatever the medics could find to offer them some dignity in death. They were the unlucky ones—the ones who had faced either the Ultranationalists' relentless strafing fire or the ferocity of the Grimm at close range and paid the ultimate price.

Dae moved with a weary sense of purpose, helping carry wounded on makeshift stretchers. Her face bore a haunted look; she'd seen friends fall today, and her mind kept replaying those moments. But there was no time to grieve now. She had a job to do, and she'd honor the fallen by ensuring that those still fighting would live to see another day.

"Hold on, buddy. You're gonna make it," she reassured a bleeding Nomadic tribesman whose leg had been shattered by Grimm claws. She grasped his hand, and despite the blood and dirt, she managed a small, determined smile. "You got this."

Nearby, Kenji, Jonas, and Rigel were busy tending to another scene. They worked in tandem, Kenji applying a tourniquet while Jonas held the injured soldier steady. The screams from a burn victim made Rigel wince, but he continued applying ointment to another wounded fighter's shoulder, his hands steady despite the chaos.

"It's gonna sting, brother," Rigel warned. "But it'll save your life. Just stay with me."

"How're we doing over there?" Dmitry called, approaching with a pack full of medical supplies. His uniform bore fresh streaks of blood and soot, a reminder of his tireless efforts throughout the battle.

"Could be better," Jonas responded, giving a quick nod of thanks as Dmitry handed him additional bandages. The exhaustion in everyone's eyes spoke volumes, but their resolve was unwavering.

Further down the line, Miho moved among her Ooarai Battalion, offering words of encouragement. She wasn't a medic, but her presence meant something to those around her. She knelt beside a tank crewman who was being treated for shrapnel wounds, her hand on his shoulder. "You fought well today. Rest easy. We've got this."

Graves moved through the wounded, keeping a close watch for any more signs of life among his men. It was during his sweep that he came across Hyena, who was sprawled out on the sand, her face bruised, and her arm bleeding. She looked up at Graves, her lips curling in a weak smile.

"Look at you, big man," Hyena said, her voice rasping. "Still kicking ass, I see."

Graves knelt beside her, lifting her slightly so the medics could reach her. "Yeah, well, someone's gotta do it. You stay with us now, alright?"

"Yessir," she whispered, her eyes fluttering.

Nearby, Karma, covered in dirt and grime, carried another wounded Marine to a triage point, her own face lined with pain. There was zero exhaustion in her body, her steps heavy, but her spirit was unyielding.

Ryan, making his rounds, finally spotted Anthony, who was busy tending to a soldier, stabilizing him for evacuation. The two exchanged a look—one that needed no words. The battle had been brutal, and though they were bruised and battered, they were alive. They had made it through another day.

"Hey, Ant," Ryan said, forcing a smile, "you holding up?"

Anthony looked up, a glimmer of exhaustion in his eyes, but he nodded. "I'm good. Just making sure we get these people home."

"Yeah, well," Ryan replied, clapping him on the shoulder. "You make sure you get home too."

The sun had begun to set over the desert, the light casting long shadows across the battlefield. The medics continued their work, the soldiers helping where they could. The wounded were being treated, the dead were being marked and covered for later retrieval, and the rest of the coalition forces formed defensive perimeters in case of further attacks.

Despite the exhaustion, there was a sense of grim determination in the air. They had survived, and they would continue to survive. This battle had taken a toll, but they were still standing, still fighting, and as long as they could draw breath, they would keep going.

The fires burned in the distance, the remnants of Rolling Thunder's destructive might. And beneath the flickering orange glow, the men and women of the UNE, the Huntsmen, the White Fang, and all the rest worked tirelessly—tending to the wounded, comforting the dying, and preparing for whatever came next.

Because the fight was far from over. And they all knew that, when the time came, they'd be ready to face it again.

The chow hall was filled with the low hum of chatter, the clattering of trays, and the tired sighs of soldiers and Huntsmen alike. The room was dimly lit, a few overhead lights flickering slightly, casting long shadows across the tables. The air carried the scent of reheated military rations, mixed with the lingering musk of sweat and battle.

Teams RWBY, JNPR, and CFVY sat at one of the long tables, each member with a tray in front of them filled with simple, utilitarian food—mashed potatoes, a slice of meat, some kind of vegetable mix that had seen better days. The kind of food that was designed to keep soldiers going but rarely offered any joy.

Ruby stared down at her tray, her fingers gripping the plastic fork tightly. She pushed the food around, her stomach twisting as images from earlier in the day flooded her mind—scenes of bodies torn apart, limbs severed, and the horrific aftermath of the A-10's 30mm cannon fire. The sheer violence of it, the raw brutality that painted the desert red. She could still hear the screams, the desperate cries for medics, and the silence that followed when someone couldn't be saved.

"Hey, Ruby," Yang said softly, her voice breaking through her sister's thoughts. Yang was sitting beside her, her usual bright demeanor replaced by a subdued expression. She nudged Ruby's arm gently. "You okay?"

Ruby forced a weak smile, her silver eyes meeting Yang's briefly before dropping back to her tray. "Yeah... just not very hungry," she mumbled.

Across from her, Jaune looked similarly affected. His usually bright, optimistic gaze seemed distant, his fork moving mechanically as he tried to eat. Ren and Nora sat beside him, with Nora's usual high energy muted. She poked at her food, the bounce gone from her normally cheerful demeanor.

"Today was..." Jaune began, his voice trailing off. He shook his head, unable to find the words.

"Yeah," Weiss said quietly, her own gaze focused on her untouched meal. She had been trained for battle, for the risks and dangers that came with being a Huntress, but nothing could have prepared her for the kind of carnage they had seen today. The Grimm were monsters, but there was something profoundly horrifying about seeing what human weapons could do to other people.

"It was rough," Coco of Team CFVY said, her voice steady but her eyes betraying the weight of the day's events. "War isn't like our missions back at Beacon. I knew it would be bad, but... I didn't expect this."

Velvet nodded in agreement, her ears drooping slightly as she picked at her food. "Seeing them... the soldiers, the wounded..." she paused, her eyes growing watery. "I—I never thought I'd see something like that."

Fox, sitting beside Velvet, placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "We've all seen and heard things today that we won't forget. But we need to stay strong, for each other."

Blake, sitting at the far end of the table, had her gaze fixed outside the window, staring into the dark expanse of the desert beyond. The Grimm, the Ultranationalists, the overwhelming force of the UNE—it was a lot to process. She clenched her fists, the images of the wounded flashing through her mind—their cries for help, the sheer terror in their eyes. It was a stark reminder of why they were there, what they were fighting for.

Pyrrha, usually the one who held everyone together, looked visibly shaken. Her emerald eyes were clouded as she stared down at her tray. She'd always been ready to protect those who couldn't protect themselves, but today, seeing the extent of the suffering, it felt like the weight of the world was resting on her shoulders. She glanced at Jaune, who looked back at her, and they shared a moment of understanding—no words were needed.

"How do they do it?" Ruby asked suddenly, her voice barely audible, her eyes still downcast. "The UNE soldiers and the Marines... they see this kind of stuff all the time, and they keep going."

Ren looked at her, his expression gentle. "They have each other, Ruby. They have their comrades, their brothers and sisters in arms. It's the only way to keep going—to fight for the person beside you."

Ruby swallowed hard, her throat tight. She nodded, her eyes glistening as she tried to force herself to take a bite of her food. The mashed potatoes tasted like nothing, but she forced it down, reminding herself that she needed her strength for whatever came next.

Yang reached over, giving Ruby's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "We'll get through this, Rubes. Together. Just like always."

Ruby looked at her sister, a small, grateful smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah. Together."

The rest of the table nodded, a quiet sense of solidarity forming among them. The day's events had shaken them, had opened their eyes to the harsh realities of war, but they still had each other. And that was something they could hold onto.

As they sat there in the chow hall, surrounded by other soldiers and fighters, a quiet determination settled over them. The road ahead would be brutal, but they would face it—together. For the people they had lost today, for the friends they still had, and for the world they wanted to protect.

And for Ruby, as she took another bite, the thought that she was not alone, that her friends and her sister were with her, gave her just enough strength to stomach her food and keep moving forward.

Anthony and David moved into the chow hall, their eyes scanning for a place to sit amidst the bustling, subdued atmosphere. They looked worn, not just from the day's events but from the weight of their past. Their USMC uniforms seemed to carry the dirt of countless battles and a heaviness that could not be washed away.

As they approached, Nora waved them over with a smile, patting the empty seats beside her. "Hey, Marines! We saved you some space," she said, her voice trying to sound cheery, though the energy was forced, almost fragile.

Yang, sitting across from Nora, gave a nod. "Yeah, come on, sit with us," she added, her eyes softening at the sight of their tired expressions.

Anthony and David obliged, taking the seats offered. The smell of the meal in front of them wasn't exactly appetizing, but they knew they needed to eat. They were used to forcing food down under worse conditions. The table fell into an awkward silence, a tension hanging in the air—each person wrestling with their own thoughts about the battle, the horror of what they'd witnessed.

Ruby, her voice small, broke the silence. "Have you... have you guys seen this kind of combat before?" she asked. Her eyes were tired, almost pleading, as if she hoped the answer would somehow make sense of the day's chaos.

Anthony looked at her, his gaze distant as he considered her question. He finally spoke, his voice low and filled with a heaviness that seemed almost suffocating. "Life... life is complicated. I... I never thought I'd live like this."

"No?" Ruby asked gently.

Anthony shook his head, his eyes staring down at his food but not really seeing it. "When the 2nd Korean War came, we did bad things. We killed people, tortured people, traded people. We did whatever it took to win, to survive." His voice cracked slightly, and he swallowed hard, as if forcing the memories back down.

Ruby's eyes widened, her young face showing a mix of shock and sadness. She had always known being a Huntress meant fighting, protecting others, but this was different. This was a level of darkness that she hadn't imagined.

"And you don't worry about your soul?" a voice asked from behind them. It was Summer Rose, her soft but firm voice reaching them as she walked over, her eyes gentle but searching.

David sighed, the weariness of his soul showing in his expression. "After you walk into a village, and you see fifty children, all sitting neatly in a row, against a wall, each with their throats cut and their hands chopped off..." He paused, his voice trembling slightly as he remembered. "You realize that the creature that could do this doesn't have a soul. And it makes you question if there's any justice, any light left in the world."

Summer looked down, her eyes closing for a moment as she processed David's words. The silence that followed was heavy, the weight of the truth pressing down on everyone at the table.

Igor, who had been sitting a few seats away, overheard the conversation. He turned, his eyes meeting Anthony's, a calm resilience in his gaze. He spoke in his thick Russian accent, his voice carrying a certain conviction. "God is very complicated, my friends. You mustn't give up hope. There is always a way back to light, even after seeing the worst."

Anthony let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. "Well, Igor, my Russian friend and brother-in-arms... I don't know about that." His eyes were hollow, reflecting the countless battles, the endless trauma that weighed him down.

Igor leaned closer, a small but determined smile playing on his lips. "Hope is not about knowing. It is about believing when all else fails. You may not see the light now, Anthony, but it doesn't mean it's not there."

There was a silence, a contemplative quiet that settled over the group. For a moment, the sounds of the chow hall seemed distant, almost like an echo, as each of them considered the words exchanged.

Yang placed a hand on Ruby's, giving her a reassuring squeeze. "We have to keep going, Rubes. Even if we can't make sense of it all, we have each other. And that has to mean something, right?"

Ruby looked at her sister, her eyes moist but grateful. She nodded, a small smile forming on her lips. "Yeah... together."

David glanced at Anthony, who gave a slight nod in return. They had seen the worst of humanity, the darkest sides of war. But, perhaps, just perhaps, there was still something worth fighting for—something worth believing in, even if it seemed far out of reach. As they began eating again, it wasn't just for survival—it was because of the faint hope that, someday, they would be able to see beyond the darkness.