Christoph's trip in the convoy had been a little different from all the others'. While the armies of the world were used to the sight of female witches on the front lines of combat, the presence of a warlock was another matter entirely. Call it poor luck. Call it excellent camoflage. Or call it plain old bureaucratic sexism. But after disembarking from the plane into the harsh sands of North Africa, Christoph was herded into the soldiers' truck rather than the regular witches. There, he was a common conscript like so many of the others, but he couldn't bring himself to bring up the mistake made by the time he realised he was in the wrong vehicle. After all, they were already underway at top speed to the front. And besides, everyone in the truckbed was easily twice as big as he was, and he didn't want to make them mad just because he was a dumb kid.

The Neuroi attack was also an eye opening experience- one of the aliens' beams grazed the side of the truck and disintigrated a Britannian soldier into dust and ash just before the strike witch destroyed the enemy craft. The rest of the truck ride was very quiet.

It wasn't until the rear hatch was opened and Christoph spilled out the back did it become apparent that the mistake had been made. One of the witches at the main briefing waved him over to the line and Christoph slunk quietly into place, standing straight and at attention for his commanding officer. When the briefing was done, he took a step back and sprinted across the sandy terrain, avoiding the poorly paved roads and making use of his own latent power. Wolf ears and tails sprouted from his skin as he whipped up a sand-devil in his wake before arriving at the tent he would be bunking alone... with- Odilia?

The warlock dropped his satchel pack and glanced at the roster inside the tent, between the two cots. For good measure, he took it down and read the name next to his. Once. Twice. "Wait... I mean... aren't men and women supposed to... sleep separate?"