I'd attack you.

[She wants to do it even now, a nagging thought in the back of her head and deep in her gut. And even though Maketh has known hunger before, as a child and later in training exercises, it's never made her angry like this. Maketh doesn't trust that. Anger propels men beyond reasonable measures.

No. It's better this way. Safer. Logical. Maketh takes a shuddering breath.]

I left--notes. In my apartment. Tactics and corrections to the map. Use them.

[Maketh almost tosses the coat aside - it's a good coat, someone ought to make use of it - but hugs it to her chest instead. She's afraid suddenly, of what it might feel like. It's possible she's died before, back on Lothal, but she doesn't remember it. Only waking up afterwards.

This, she'll remember.

Maketh tips her head back, until she's sure she won't cry. That's not--professional. It will be worse if she cries. Henry might hesitate. This is an awful, cruel thing she's asked of him, but he can't hesitate. She gives him a crooked salute, eyes closed.]

That will be all, soldier.

[If she makes it an order, then maybe....maybe it won't be so bad.]