I was in a war of sorts. I met with a member of the OpFor at my car, the old blue Buick, in the middle of a sprawling complex of derelict and partially destroyed buildings. I was a sniper, but for a moment played the role of diplomat.
The woman I met came with her daughter. They were attractive, bluish-gray humanoids with elongated (laterally, front-to-back), sort of rectangular heads, and they seemed to be composed of some sort of hard material.
She and I made negotiations over a pile of Cadbury Cream Eggs that sat in the driver's seat of my car. She was proud and kind. I offered the woman and her daughter a couple of eggs of my own. Though touched, she refused due to the constraints of whatever organization with which she was affiliated. I think I gave her the eggs to deliver to her superiors, and she was pleased.
After the woman and her daughter departed, I took my rifle out of my car and resumed the role of soldier. I now faced the daunting, age-old trope of placing personal feelings aside as I fought an enemy with whom I had begun to feel an emotional attachment. At this point, the point of view shifted from first-person to third. A loose narration, more felt than heard or spoken, indicated a budding intimacy between myself and the woman, almost a "star-crossed lovers" sort of thing.