The words lingered inside the command center even after Adrian walked out.

Nobody stopped him.

Nobody tried to ask more questions.

Because after everything that had happened, everyone inside that room already understood what rebuilding truly meant.

Not just walls.

Not just vehicles.

People.

They had to rebuild people too.

The hallways of Basa Air Base felt quieter now compared to the chaos from the past several days. The constant emergency alarms were gone. The deafening thunder of artillery no longer shook the walls every few seconds.

But the silence did not feel peaceful.

It felt exhausted.

Adrian walked through the corridor slowly while passing soldiers carrying supply crates, mechanics covered in oil working beside damaged vehicles, and medical personnel rushing stretchers toward different sections of the base.

Even after the battle ended, Basa Air Base still looked wounded.

Outside one maintenance hangar, an M1 Abrams tank sat blackened from battle damage while engineers worked around the exposed side armor. Several sections of the reactive armor plating had been torn off completely, likely from repeated Hunter attacks.

Nearby, a destroyed M2 Bradley IFV rested beneath floodlights with half its front section crushed inward.

The battlefield had left scars everywhere.

Adrian eventually reached the medical sector.

The moment the doors opened, the smell hit him immediately.

Antiseptic.

Blood.

Burned flesh.

Medicine.

The building was crowded.

Far more crowded than he expected.

Rows of wounded soldiers filled temporary beds lining the hallways while doctors and nurses moved nonstop between patients. Some soldiers sat upright while receiving treatment for shrapnel wounds and burns.

Others remained unconscious.

Machines beeped quietly throughout the building.

One medic carrying blood packs nearly bumped into Adrian before immediately stopping.

"Sir."

Adrian nodded once.

"At ease. Keep working."

The medic quickly continued moving.

Adrian walked deeper into the medical building while observing the wounded around him.

Some had missing limbs.

Some were wrapped in bandages from head to chest.

Others simply stared blankly at ceilings, still trying to mentally process the battle they had survived.

A young infantryman sitting on a bed noticed Adrian passing by and immediately tried to stand.

"Sir."

"Sit down," Adrian said calmly. "You’re injured."

The soldier hesitated before sitting again.

Adrian noticed the heavy bandages wrapped around his left arm and shoulder.

"What unit?"

"Delta trench line, sir."

Adrian remembered that sector.

One of the hardest hit during the first night.

"You held the line?"

The soldier nodded quietly.

"We lost a lot of people there."

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then the soldier finally asked quietly,

"Did we win?"

Adrian looked at him directly.

"Yes."

The soldier slowly lowered his head after hearing that.

Not celebrating.

Just relieved.

"Good," he whispered.

Adrian moved further inside.

The deeper he went, the worse the injuries became.

One entire section of the building had been converted into a surgical ward filled with soldiers recovering from emergency operations.

Some had survived Hunter attacks.

And it showed.

Deep claw wounds.

Missing limbs.

Crushed ribs.

One soldier had nearly his entire torso wrapped in thick layers of dressing while machines monitored his breathing beside the bed.

A doctor approached Adrian after noticing him.

The woman looked exhausted beyond words. Dark circles sat beneath her eyes while dried blood stained parts of her surgical gown.

"Sir."

"How bad?" Adrian asked quietly.

The doctor exhaled slowly before answering.

"We stabilized most critical patients after the resupply operations reduced frontline collapse. But during the first two days..." She paused briefly. "It was ugly."

Adrian nodded once.

"How many amputations?"

"Forty-two so far. Possibly more once additional surgeries begin."

Adrian looked around the room silently.

Forty-two.

That number sat heavily in his chest.

The doctor continued quietly.

"Most severe injuries came from Hunters. Those things..." She stopped briefly before continuing. "They didn’t just kill people. They tore them apart."

Adrian already knew that.

He had seen enough footage himself.

Still, hearing it directly from medical staff felt different.

Further inside the ward, one soldier suddenly shouted in his sleep.

"CONTACT LEFT!"

Several nearby patients flinched slightly.

The wounded man continued struggling against his restraints while breathing heavily.

"Shoot it! SHOOT IT!"

A nurse quickly moved beside him, trying to calm him down.

"He’s been like that since yesterday," the doctor said quietly. "A lot of them are."

Adrian stared at the soldier silently.

The battle ended.

But for many of them, it clearly had not ended inside their heads.

Adrian continued walking until he reached another section filled with wounded tank crews and vehicle operators.

One tanker sat upright beside his bed with heavy bandages wrapped around his forehead and neck.

Despite his condition, the man still grinned slightly after recognizing Adrian.

"Sir."

Adrian nodded.

"You were with the southern armor line?"

"Yes, sir. Abrams company."

"How’s your crew?"

The grin faded slightly.

"Driver didn’t make it."

The room became quiet again.

The tanker looked downward briefly before continuing.

"Hunter got on top of us during the second night. Tore through the optics first. Then it started peeling armor plates off like..." He stopped speaking.

Like paper.

He did not need to finish the sentence.

Adrian already understood.

The tanker eventually forced a weak laugh.

"Still though... we killed a shitload of those things before they got us."

Adrian nodded slowly.

"You held the line."

"That we did, sir."

Further down the hallway, Adrian saw several pilots resting inside recovery beds while flight surgeons checked them for exhaustion and stress injuries.

One A-10 Thunderbolt II pilot sat with an oxygen mask hanging around his neck while staring silently at a tablet displaying battlefield footage.

Another pilot from the Lockheed AC-130 crew slept sitting upright against the wall, still wearing parts of his flight suit.

Nobody inside the medical building looked untouched by the battle.

Not physically.

Not mentally.

Adrian finally stopped near one of the large reinforced windows overlooking the airfield outside.

Recovery operations still continued beneath the floodlights.

Damaged vehicles moved constantly across the tarmac while helicopters landed carrying the final wounded personnel from cleanup sectors.

The base was alive.

But wounded.

Behind him, doctors continued moving between beds while injured soldiers quietly endured pain, exhaustion, and grief.

Adrian stood there silently for several moments.

The victory at Basa Air Base had saved thousands of lives.

Maybe millions later on.

But victories like this always came with a cost.

And now he could finally see that cost directly in front of him.