Nom de Guerre.

	The heavy dispatch pouch bounced against Marlow's hip as she hurried towards the command bunker. Even here, inside the sealed building, piles of North Africa sand had started to gather in the corners, lending the building a desolate atmosphere. Faint music drifted out from the Captain's quarters, a type of classical music that hadn't been popular for several years. Marlow knocked twice before pushing the door open and stepping into the room.
	“Captain Cyrielle, I've...” Marlow began, her voice quickly dying when she realised that Cyrielle was naked, or close enough. The contrast was the first thing to catch Marlow's attention, the pale flesh of Cyrielle's back standing out against her deeply tanned arms and neck. The Captain turned at the sound of Marlow's voice, giving the mercenary a clear view of her full breasts. “What are you doing?” Marlow blurted out before she could stop herself. Captain Cyrielle could be a cruel taskmaster, and several troopers had taken beatings for speaking out of turn.
	“Calisthenics.” Cyrielle answered matter-of-factly, her soft Parisian accent sounding out of place in the austere room. The sound of her accent made Marlow think of upmarket cafés and luxurious fashion shows. She had never been to Paris but the city, capital of the European Coalition, had an almost mythological status among mercenaries.
	Marlow realised that she was staring, jaw slightly ajar. Cyrielle stretched languidly, lacing her fingers together and reaching up towards the ceiling. Toned muscles danced beneath her skin as her breasts were pulled tight against her chest. A light coating of sweat glinted on her dark skin as Cyrielle stepped forwards into the well lit centre of the room.
	“But you're... naked.” Marlow stammered, taking a step backwards, away from the taller woman.
	“Shouldn't I be?” Cyrielle asked, giving Marlow a fierce grin. A sudden heat rushed into the younger woman's cheeks as Cyrielle held out her arms, flaunting every inch of her body. “Am I not beautiful?”
	Wide-eyed, Marlow slowly looked Cyrielle up and down, taking in every detail. Time after again, her eyes were drawn back to the taller woman's breasts. Firm, and well proportioned to the rest of her body, they put Marlow's humble chest to shame. A flash of jealousy, as well as an unexpected rush of arousal, filled Marlow's thoughts for a moment. Cyrielle's nipples, Marlow noticed, were hard, jutting out like a pair of bullets.
	Marlow looked lower, taking in Cyrielle's wide hips and long, well-muscled legs. Not naked after all, Marlow realised when she saw a thin slip of silky fabric between Cyrielle's legs. At that moment, Marlow wanted nothing more than to slide the flimsy garment down and see what was underneath. She had never felt that way about anyone else, let alone another woman. Her mouth was dry, and the air in the room felt warm and thick.
	Cyrielle reached out and touched Marlow's cheek, lifting her head with a hand that was gentle, yet firm. There was no point in refusing, and Marlow let herself be guided until their eyes met. With her other hand, Cyrielle took Marlow's hand and lifted it, pressing it to her left breast. The taller woman's flesh was hot and slightly damp with sweat, the heartbeat beneath strong and steady.
	“I asked you a question.” Cyrielle leaned closer until her forehead was almost touching Marlow's. Her voice was low, almost a sensual purr, but it seemed to fill the small room. Marlow opened her mouth, but the sounds wouldn't come. She nodded instead, but even that small motion seemed to take an enormous amount of effort. Cyrielle's smile deepened, taking on a victorious air as she tipped Marlow's head back and kissed her forcefully on the lips.
	Marlow let her hands wander, caressing Cyrielle's soft flesh as they kissed. She rolled her thumb across one nipple, relishing the feeling of it growing stiffer as she played with it. Cyrielle shivered and wrapped an arm around Marlow's waist, pressing her naked body against the younger woman. The kiss was long, and when their lips finally separated Marlow felt faint, trembling and breathless.
	“Oh, I like you.” Cyrielle growled, her breath hot against Marlow's ear. Marlow sighed, growing limp in Cyrielle's arms and letting herself be lowered into a chair. “Now,” Cyrielle said, the arousal seemingly banished from her voice, “I believe you had something for me?”
	“What?” Marlow blinked a few times, trying to get her thoughts in order. Suddenly, she remembered the dispatch pouch she had been carrying when she entered the room. At some point, it had fallen, unnoticed, to the floor. “Of course.” It took a great deal of effort for Marlow to keep her voice steady as she handed Cyrielle a sheaf of documents. Their fingers brushed together for a moment, and Marlow felt her stomach turn over.
	“That will be all, soldier.” Cyrielle said, already devoting all of her attentions on examining the papers. Marlow stood, feeling awkward and foolish, before turning to leave. “I hope you'll have another delivery for me soon.” Cyrielle added in a low voice, giving Marlow a smouldering look. Speechless, Marlow managed a clumsy salute before stumbling out of the room.