Personal Journal of Sergeant Placus Atrius, 5th Platoon Bravo Leader
The ashes of the Russian plain burn around me and I’m filled with this numbness. I never thought the fighting would turn into that bloodbath, the farmers we had to execute, the innocents blown to bits while we tore through their city. There was a time I believed in the cause, in the Great Protocol. Unification? You can’t make a group of people unified if you allow to think differently from their neighbor. That’s just the way it is, you can’t have both the mindless loyalist and the independent patriot in the same person. It just hurts to see all my battle brothers gone for this cause.
God I saw them all die in the span of one day. Here I sit now, the bottle well past half empty, their voices wringing in my head, their screams of pain bouncing off the walls of my mind. I was their Sergeant, their leader, the pinnacle of order that would lead them to victory. The Second Lieutenant trusted me with their lives, even now he doesn’t blame me. The aftermath of the battle still seems like a distant dream to me. As my men lay dying around me, Longinus, Alpha Squad’s lead, pulled me from the smoldering ruins of that pathetic stronghold.
As I lay on the ground, my grief crushing me, I watched in horror as their tomb was wiped away from reality. We didn’t even collect the dog tags! Those men and women, they’re just memories now, just names! There’s nothing left of them and the struggle they fought so hard for. A struggle their deprived families can’t even appreciate as the meager government stipends can’t make up for the souls lost for that idealism. I don’t know what to think anymore, those warriors were more than just names on a LIVECAST readout, more than just hollow chisels on a monument. I knew them and knew them well.
Of all of Red Company, our platoon was most organized. I heard amongst the brass that Wallace Hammer and his assault squad were sent to protect the president’s pompous son from playing soldier and getting us all killed. You know what happened? We were held back during the first assault, while all the underdogs and greenhorns could get their first bite of action, the intoxicating scent of glory. They were high on their own overconfidence! They pushed the units clear through to the enemy strongpoint and held us back until the dirty infighting broke out. They say any clown with a gun and plenty of space can be a soldier. It takes more than that, when you have a blade drawn and your so tightly packed you can’t tell friend from foe, it’s what proves a man from a newbie.
That was always the point of our unit, heavy armor and powered melee weapons. You rush the enemy and rip them apart before they can crack a single shot. We were raised to be soldiers, every one of us. We didn’t need sweet war songs or brash tank riding Generals to motivate us to victory. The cause was assurance the enough. Every soldier in Hammer’s squads knew his position in the grand scheme, it was in the front line in the enemy’s face, hard and fast.
But we were held back, we stayed behind and watched the young General play his war games. I watched as the farmers fell and our own men got picked off by volleys. God it keeps coming back to me in waves. The adrenaline was pumping through as we stamped through those sterile metal halls, our power armor clanking of the metal decks. I can still feel the air surging with electrical energy from out power hammers as we were finally pushed to the front lines.
My men were raked with explosive bolter fire just because the forces were running low. There was no planning, I only saw a blind rush, just as General Stryker was pushing forward to settle his damn vendetta. I saw how he looked when we got to the real fighting though, oh yes. He froze up after trying to play a damn hero. Up against a fully armored squad, his surprises and grenades didn’t work as well as he had hoped. He just jumped out of the way as their artillery units lit us up. To make it worse it all came down to our units and the enemy’s main General. Stryker held back and that madman Ivan Rasputin Markov just charged the line. That’s where I made the call that will haunt me for the rest of my days.
I made the order to charge forward, to protect that mere boy as he stood and practically waited to be executed. Markov tore my men to pieces. A squad already half depleted because we were held back as meat shields. Demoralized but not broken 5th platoon bravo paid for its freedom in blood and worthy warrior’s blood at that.
Markov slashed my men to ribbons with a vibro-sword and chain-axe in a few quick slashes, five brave souls whom I’d known for years, five brave souls who were my brothers and sisters died. I myself charged with all my might and it was only past experience which allowed me to dodge out of the way before meeting the reaper. A coward’s jest at best. General Stryker charged forward to claim the glory for himself. If only he acted sooner. If he hadn’t been such a coward. I want so badly to believe it was their deaths that drove him on. Was it their blood that finally gave him the courage to be a man? That’s too high a price to pay in my opinion. Half a squad wiped due to avoidable crossfire, half a squad gone before a madman.
My squad is gone and there’s little left for me. I did the best I can but their deaths haunt me. We’ve just gotten the regiment back from the front and already they’re forgetting those who died for their “unified earth”. Celebrity marriages with the officers, endorsements with the platoon leaders, when will this hypocrisy end? All they show is the propaganda that makes them look good. Those bastards.
The bottle is empty now and even though the field psychiatrist says it helps, writing down my thoughts and feelings hasn’t helped. Theo, Li, Marianne, Coogan, Blanco, Jarek, Takahashi, Nancy, Richard and Philip… I can’t find the words to say how sorry I am. In the end I got you killed for a cause that ultimately wasn’t worth it.
I can’t sleep tonight and it’s not because of that big farce of a ceremony. That’s just a distraction to keep the public eye away from the bald truth. We walked up to the enemy and slaughtered their peasants and tore the country from their bleeding impoverished hands, letting only the noble warriors suffer death for their crimes.
More tax dollars at work, but who really suffers… the common man on the street, the lone soldier who’s never going to get his due from the country he oath swore to protect … Something needs to be done…
Ziruas Community Member 
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