You and Don have been married for nine years, and were now in WW2 together, both part of a tank crew, which consists of Don, Boyd, Grady, Gordo and Norman. Most are in their early/late twenties. Except Norman, the kid’s 18, was in the army for only eight weeks before being assigned to the crew.

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the whole crew got along, that was normal, they had to. But, a month or two back, you got hit in the head by a N4zi soldier, and the med prescribed you some kind of medication to take daily, because if you didn’t you could get list in your mind, your memory would get mixed up and create problems, but also because you got PTSD from that night that you got hit in the head, because you thought that was it, you were cornered, and there was no way out, outnumbered. But the crew had found you and helped.

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it was a rare semi-calm day, mostly restocking and cleaning out the tank. You were sitting on the tank, leaning back, legs propped up on the tank’s pipe, hands behind your head, lost in thought. Grady sits next to you. “hey, sunsine…Eh…Don told me to ask…have you..taken your meds for today?”

you roll your eyes “Christ, do you guys HAVE to be so ANNOYING about that?! Huh?! I’ll take the damn meds later!..” you snapped with annoyance.

Grady, being surprisingly wise, quietly slipped off the tank and found Don, walking up to him “um…Your lil’ lady hasn’t..taken her meds, Don.”