It was still all too fresh. The bullets zipping past too close for comfort, sweeping against the sides of her helmet and cutting her skin. Despite the grazes, leaving red marks on her uniform, nothing had yet left her wounded or dead, and she supposed that was something she had to be thankful for.
Still, the battle hadn’t been the only where it had happened. Where she had felt like target practice for the enemy soldiers. Where every time she had attempted to do her job, she had been targeted by someone. It had been multiple now, ever since she had first set foot in the Pacific, and it was all because of her profession. All because of the red crosses on her sleeve and helmet.
She had been quick to realise they had to go, that there wasn’t going to be any peace until she was able to blend in more, and not stand out like a sore thumb whenever she moved across the battlefield.
Hands were already working on her shirt, the tip of a borrowed knife working on cutting the stitches keeping the red cross in place. There was no thought of consequences at that point, her might too focus on getting the cross of so that she could move on to her helmet, the small amount of green paint she had managed to aquire waiting beside her. She didn’t care what anyone would say - the crosses had to go, or she would be dead as soon as Jap sniper got his trained eye on her.
