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A folder with a leather journal, scrap paper and a bundle of crumpled of paper and photos

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Wexford, Ireland
Day 4090, 19.00 eRT

An old private from The Dude M.U left this with me to bring to Central Command in Liberty Hall. I showed it to our Barrack Sergeant and after he spent a while thumbing through it he simply threw it back at me, followed by a half hour dressing down. So now Central Command is telling us to basically feck off and get back to it again. Daily Orders to run. It's bad for morale and hearing the simulation sirens scream across the moorland, God above it's so loud it warps your head. Na Fianna have been wiped out nearly to the last man. There's a young Commander left apparently but they're defunct as far as anyone else is concerned. We looked for this "Roger" freak but after three days of wasting time, shitkicking and looting the corpses that our friend was probably leaving out for us to find, we just moved on. On the night we left, our rations were placed in the form of a stick-figure, like you'd draw in school. Some of the lads freaked the eff out, cursing each other for not keeping watch, but once we were headed south they shut up about it. The rain and sleet set in and that shut everyone up about everything.

I never seen real hatred until recently, I knew it was hatred when I shot that ferocious Russian "Simulated Soldier". She struggled and cursed right up until she was tied to the stop sign. My hands where shaking as I aimed. She stared at me with such pure, passionate hate. I shot but missed under the stress of it, I only managed to clip her shoulder. Birds burst from the bushes behind her and she spat out in Russian enraged, all the while staring at me with her big grey eyes. The lads fired a volley and that was that. Her head slumped down but she still stood, slumped over a bit with all her weeping wounds. She's probably still standing, but we had to move on. I wish we could have buried her. I'll never forget her utterly beautiful, vicious contempt for us.

I'd have know better to march my men all the way here had they simply told us on route but by the the time we arrived in Waterford it was mostly over. We were all hunkered down near the barrack just in case of a bombing raid when we found out. I asked the C.O for leave but that wasn't happening for anyone, we were winning. God above I hate heights. I joined the Infantry to stay on ground but planes are being sent up with pilots little older than teenagers now. So here I am, drafted again. I could never abandon my unit, so I'll go, even though I'll likely get blown out of the sky tonight. I hope the fireworks makes someone happy, mine or the enemies. Not likely though. This is war.

Such a brilliant clear night, a Waning Crescent Moon lighting the soldiers rushing about on the drizzly airfield. I can see my breath in the air, here in this massive hanger. I'm going to be flying for Ireland tonight. Better to rule hell than serve in heaven. I heard a pilot say it earlier. He's up there now. Ruling heaven and serving hell. A big burly lad from the I.C.A. It was sad to see him go, but I have a feeling he's not gonna get killed up there. Certain soldiers make it no matter what's thrown there way. Not me though, not tonight. I always imagined I'd have something cool or nonchalant to say in the face of death but I haven't much time 'til I'm up there and I don't feel like talking to anyone, especially Death. So I guess I leave this to you, the soldier who finds this. I'd no time for a pre-war "sweetheart" and pretty much all my family was killed during the invasion so please just pass this on to either;

Lieutenant Tadgh F. Mac Allistar, Na Fianna, 1st Regiment or,
First Corporal Thomas J. Kennedy, Irish Army, 2nd Regiment

If they're even still alive.

Right. I've been called up. Five minutes to get my "shit in gear". I've gotta write this fast. I'm to fly gunner tonight. Christ save me. All I can think of is that Russians eyes, like owls eyes. If you see a woman drooping off a stop sign near Wexford, I don't know, say sorry from me.

Signing off,

Private 1st Class, Joe Quigley, I.N.L.A, 2nd Regiment

Note: Please leave my trunk alone until you know I'm dead.
Please pass this on.

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