The Undying
1630 Late Summer
I cannot be exactly sure of the date. I believe it could be late July, maybe early August. I had tried to track dates by making tick marks in my notebook, but my last notebook disappeared into the aether during our last sky jump. This was at least a week or two ago, but it is hard to keep track of time when you are out in it, instead of in the mud and muck of the trenches or the relative peace and comfort of the rear bases. Life is chaos when we are out in it, however. We spend our days darting from one building to another, scurrying like mice for our next shelter.
Wake-up is early tomorrow. Though it almost always is. We are on the move again, though there is rumor spreading that this time we are setting up a landing zone for the rotobirds. What a marvelous invention that is, the rotobird, and there is nothing as thrilling and enchanting as being on the deck while she glides peacefully through the sky! It is a marvel of technology, and now that I’ve been Sky Jump Infantry I wouldn’t have it any other way! Sky Jumps still terrify me, though, despite having done hundreds. I would never openly admit this, nor would any of my other brothers’-in-arms. How can we openly admit that our primary mode of transportation strikes fear into our hearts? It isn’t the Rotobird itself, though. No. It is the jump, the fast-rope down, the “short drop and sudden stop”, as my sergeant calls it. The ride itself is supreme bliss. It is peaceful. The calm before the storm, so to speak. We all develop our own rituals to deal the the nerves and discomfort that come with jumping. Jones talks to a pict of his old lady. He keeps it in his brain bucket and pulls it out prior to jumping and has a heart-to-heart with her. Rooda, a very religious and devout man, spends his time praying. Me? I just close my eyes and listen. I hear everything around me. I spend my last few minutes in a semi-meditative sleep state.
Somehow they found a way to get us a hot meal tonight, also. It wasn’t anything exquisite, on the contrary, actually. A simple hamburger gravy over potatoes, but a boiled shoe would have been a luxurious meal compared to the canrats we stuff into our rucks. The canned rations are heavy, and every single one of them tastes identical, regardless of what the stenciled print on the can says! Yesterday Thompson had one labeled chicken, mine was beef, but they both had the same weird gray hue and dog food smell. I think the labels are some sort of psychology experiment.
Anyway, Sergeant Harris said the hot meal means we are probably getting stuck in it tomorrow, and that it isn’t a good sign. I’m not as long in the tooth as he, but even my relatively shorter experience tells me he is correct. He told the squad to get plenty of sleep because 0430 comes fast and early, and once again I’m inclined to agree, so this will conclude my writing for the day.
Jump Day Late Summer
Sergeant Harris was right. The morning briefing was to inform us that we are securing a landing zone for the RBs, but once we are aboard we are going to prep and immediately hop deeper behind enemy lines. We are to sky jump into Bagden. The primary objective is the Bagden Fortress. There will be a brief about how we are supposed to achieve that, but it’s later, and probably better I don’t write those details down. Don’t want to risk anything falling into enemy hands should I get planted on the next jump!
This jump makes me nervous, I feel a lack of confidence. I’m not sure why. Maybe it is the food? We’ve done combat jumps before, but we’ve never gotten a good meal beforehand. Mostly I think that there seems to be tension in the air. The lines have been at a standstill, both sides are dug in and entrenched. We’ve been in it for weeks, with no rear rotation and no resupply. We have been low on critical supplies like food, and I think that also has my stomach turning. I should stop journaling and write home while I can. I’d like to get back for a rear rotation. No mail for weeks is brutal.
Jump Day 2100
My ritual was off. Everything was off. Everyone was off. We are lucky we aren’t all planted! Normally about two hours before a sky jump my bowels do a sky jump of their own, but today it didn’t happen. Instead I just felt queasy and sick, everything inside of me felt like a tornado. I tried to force myself to throw up over the side of the rotobird, but even gagging and heaving didn’t alleviate it. Most jumps I’d stand on the deck of the rotary zeppelin and let the breeze blow through my hair, eyes closed, enjoying everything around me. Instead I tried to focus on emptying my stomach anyway I could, but I just couldn’t. Maybe there wasn’t anything there, or maybe the cooked meal upset my balances, but in the end my rituals were thrown off and I just couldn’t do it! The rappel-master came and hooked me into my zipper-line when it came time to jump and I told him I simply couldn’t jump! He looked bewildered at me and asked why. He wasn’t angry, but he was definitely confused, and when I told him I had not had a bowel movement he stared at me even more perplexed, slapped my helmet and told me to shove off!
And shove off I did. We zipped from the RB down into the landing zone, a field not far from the edges of the city. Farms and some of the most beautiful green countryside stretched to the horizon in all directions.We followed a cobblestone road into Bagden, and what we saw when we approached the city was a real horror-show. Rotobirds had spent days bombing military and civilian targets.
We saw sights I can never unsee, they will be forever burned into our brains, the mental scars of an unseen injury. A bakery had the misfortune of catching the dropsies from the rotobirds, and I dare say there were folk eating there. Mangled bits of the patrons were sent in all directions making it a terrible sight to behold. Jones, who had only just recently joined us, became ill, this was his first real taste of being in it, as he was a boot, and not all-together used to the carnage of the war. When I had looked upon the bombings I swallowed those bad feelings down and buried them deep, and kept on.
Not much further down the road a dropsy had landed square on top of a man. Had flattened and ripped him in two, but it never went off. I tell you, we gave that bomb a wide berth, none of us wanted to be responsible for it going off out of sequence. The bomb itself was gray, which contrasted with our normal green, and on its warhead was an odd symbol, a yellow diamond. Inside its center was a red circle, but on-top and overlapping were three black hollow circles, and sitting center upon that is a skull and crossbones. I’ve made my best representation of it in my journal, but I daresay I’m no artist
“Imagine that luck, that’s karma, isn’t it?” I found these words escaping my lips as we looked on. Of course most of the squad laughed at this, except Jones. Jones hasn’t developed his war callous yet. This is all new and terrifying to him, and he cannot accept that we make jokes about things so horrific. He doesn’t understand that this is just as tragic and horrific, but we must cope. When we return home we shall be looked upon with pity and horror when those that love us hear us making light of tragic situations!
In our world, though, if you catch a case of dropsies but for whatever reason the bomb doesn’t explode! Well! I should say you had it coming, and this is definitely karma!
We moved from the bomb and we pushed inwards towards the ever-famous Fortress of Bagden, also known as The Citadel. The massive fortress sprawled through the center of the city that sprouted up around it. Curiously, as we approached we took no fire. The streets were empty, and what remained of the buildings stretched up around us, crowding the streets with rubble and debris.
The officers called for a halt and we set up a few blocks outside of the walls for a security halt and a briefing, which is when I am taking the time to log my thoughts. No doubt they are adjusting battle plans and conversing about the state of the city. Almost no combatants, and our platoon made it to the objective with zero resistance! Some of the soldiers meet this with optimism, but I have far too much skepticism for that. I cannot help but think something awful awaits us!
Jump Day +1 early morning
I don’t know what time it is, only that the sun is just now peeking over the horizon. Normally I’d marvel at the beauty, but after last night I fear I’ll never admire anything good or wholesome again!
After dinner we held our briefing, battle plans were laid out, and we were to strike late in the evening and early morning. It was an attempt to catch the defenders with their pants down, but unfortunately for us, we were the ones caught by surprise! We had no sooner finished our brief than we had heard a shuffling noise deep in the darkness of the streets. And these streets were pitch black! There are lamps everywhere, but no one to light them. We dare not, so as to retain the cover of darkness. This shuffling noise scratched through the night, and had the sound of injured limping, in which one foot drags rather than walks. I was nearest to the noise, so I began looking about with my headlamp. The sun wasn’t high enough to be able to see clearly.
A few of us poked about with our headlamps, only wishing to unsee what we had seen. One of the many roads that lead up to our position, one that went straight into The Citadel had unknowingly become a highway for foot traffic. People as far as the eye could see were walking down the street straight towards us. Only… They weren’t walking. Their bodies moved with a stiff shamble, while their arms jerked about in a macabre dance.
I stared in horror as I watched. I didn’t know what to do. Some of these people had wounds so grievous they should be dead! These walking dead ambled slowly towards us and created quite a frightened commotion amongst our ranks. Thankfully Sergeant Harris was nearby and able to restrain his fear! He began barking orders, putting soldiers in their positions. He yelled for me to man the pig as I stared in fear. I did manage to do what I was told, and found myself seated behind the machine gun, though I wasn’t so sure I was ready to lay down the fire. It was pure chaos all around me as soldiers struggled to understand what was happening. Before I could truly grasp the severity of the situation the commander had ordered the ambling crowd to halt. They didn’t, however. Like a slow gentle wave they pressed on towards us and the order to fire came. I opened up with the machine gun, the rapid fire pebbles creating small ripples into the wave of people.
I had been in hot zones before. Deep in it, you know? But this was different. At first I struggled to cope with shooting people for merely walking, but after a few moments my mindset changed. It changed when the corpses of those I had already cut down continued their relentless pursuit of us. Legless bodies dragged themselves by the arms towards us, hands calloused and bleeding on the asphalt. They seemed to feel no pain, only an unending desire to get at us. One of the men got too close, a young soldier named Kipp… They snatched him with their lazy limbs and managed to pull him apart. Each participant took handfuls of Kipp and stuffed it into their dirty corpse-mouths.
It was here that panic set in. Not only could they not be killed, but they were also feeding upon us. These were foul denizens of the most severe pits of the abyss! The captain ordered a withdrawal, but we only had one place to go… And so we stormed the Citadel, taking our chances with whatever was inside, as it had to be far less dangerous than what was awaiting us outside.
It is within this span of time that I’m writing this entry. We managed to get within the walls, and even within the building. Casualties were low, but I fear we may be trapped here. The plan was for us to take the fortress, and we have, but there was no extraction plan. We were to be relieved by one of the ground units, but they won’t be here for at least 7 days. I hear them outside, shuffling, moaning, their filthy dead nails scraping against the walls. Even if I should live the seven days, who is to say we won’t be driven mad by the ambling lifeless moans that hang in the air like a thick fog?