I am Second Lieutenant Rhona MacKenzie of the third Batallion of the Anglian Regiment, or was, I guess. The date is… February thirteenth twenty thirty nine. I have been asked to create a series of running logs on my thoughts, feelings, the day to day… business. So, right, I am tired, uncomfortable… hungry. I… what else can I say? Everything went tits up when it happened and we've not had a moments rest ever since.
A pause filled with the sounds of shuffling
I learnt yesterday that my dad died in the initial incursion.
A further pause
Not heard about mum though, I guess her situation wasn't as 'important' to those in charge.
A long drawn out sigh
I guess, I don't know, it hurts? All I can do is to continue doing what I can, help these people. But it's not soldiers they need, it's doctors, carers, people who can find some way to sustain us all. All I can do is shoot things, so I guess I'll keep shooting things. But this… this war. It's not a war. It's a cleanup operation and we're the ones that need swept clean. If there was a hell on Earth, then… Jesus, 'on Earth' actually means something now, doesn't it.
I will keep fighting but… we're not winning.