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A plain light green office folder with an embossed sigil of Uranus. Various documents, papers and photos are stuffed inside.

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Be'er Sheva, Israel
Day 4127, 10.30 eRT

How do I even begin writing this. I'll try keep it brief but I feel like the others, most or probably all of the military should know this, no matter what their nationality may be. I never wanted to leave Ireland. Before I'd been forced to I'd never been that far out of Leinster, Christ even my hometown, Donabate. I'll try my best not to ramble on with my whole boring life story or any sappy well-wishing to comrades or loved ones who are all most likely dead. Well here it goes. My name is Tadgh Fiachra McAllistar, Lieutenant Na Fianna, 1st Regiment and now that my memories are mostly back to normal, I was a willing test subject of Operation Rasa Blank or Field Exercise Eagle's Freedom and apparently the first soldier to "find the Journal". And I know you where a test subject too.

Once I read it and started scribbling in my own entries I left it in Dundalk, near Castle Roche, an old Fianna camp outpost. I'd forgotten about the Journal almost as soon as I'd dropped it. Soon I'd begin to forget a lot more over the following weeks. I'll try my best to describe what it was like. Basically, all I could think lucidly about was the day's mission objectives and to kill the enemy. Those awful sirens the C.O's carried around seemed to weed out anything resembling non combative thoughts. We where in a constant state of alertness, like controlled fight or flight. I'm sure you're familiar, Private. A lot of my men where killed, went missing or deserted. I can't remember much from then except that mind-bending siren sound and the near constant gunfire. Sometimes I remember minor details about my surroundings but not a lot else.

The context of my memories began to seriously blur. I'd call out to a group of privates to go out on re-con and be told that they had been killed the day before or they had missing for weeks. It went on like this for a while yet each night I could sleep almost at will, a deep dreamless sleep only the siren could wake. I escaped by chance. My Regiment was down to only six. We were forced to sortie a lightly guarded airstrip after a pack of dogs had traced us hiding in the foliage.

There was a huge N.C transport airplane, a hangar and a large barrack. I ordered my men to try signal for backup, our comm-links had been malfunctioning. The Airstrip guards had all surrendered quietly and all of them seemed unusually calm, amused even, which made my men extremely nervous. I went back to inspect the transport plane when suddenly from nearly every direction a whole Regiment of the Tank Commune appeared, entirely on foot and dressed in black fatigues. I hid in the Airplane among the cargo which was mostly munitions and fuel. I heard the barking of dogs, followed by shouting and gunfire.

As my men where rounded up and about to be executed I waited until they counted down Tri, Dva, Odin! then I stabbed a barrel of crude oil with my knife and covered myself from head to toe while they fired. I patched the puncture with as much duct tape that was on the roll and then slid underneath the munitions, praying I wouldn't be found. I waited, hearing arguing. For all I could guess it was the Guardsmen telling the Soldiers I was on the plane. I waited for what seemed like hours. I could faintly hear the sounds of shoveling. Suddenly there was another commotion. The engines rumbled into life and two Tank Commune soldiers climbed onto the plane. They stumbled through the tightly packed spaces. One of the dogs growled towards my direction but it was thankfully ignored by it's handler. Soon after that close call they closed the main door, giving what I assume was the all clear in Russian.

God knows how long the plane was up there. I felt like my mind was about to burst once we where in the air. It subsided after sometime and I crawled out of my hiding space. The cargo-hold was lit in a dim red light and I was half frozen. I still had my standard issue assault rifle, pistol and field kit. I warmed myself up the best I could, ate what I assumed at the time was my final meal and got to work cleaning my gear for wherever we where going to land. I hid myself at the very back, careful not to leave anymore traces of oil.

I tore off my Fianna patch and Ireland Tri-Colour from my shoulder and left my Eagle tattoo showing. My thought at the time was that at least if I landed in a foreign country they'd assume I was just another crazy deserter and it wouldn't cause an international incident. I really didn't know how vital that'd be at the time but I'm sure if you've heard the stories by now there'll be another anti-war rumour marking me out as some sort of traitor or hero.

We landed in Israel and I waited for the longest time for them to open the ramp door to unload the munitions cache. I knew it was Israel because my Mother's side of the family was Jewish and my Grandparents had spoken Hebrew. I couldn't speak it that well but I could understand a bit. It was blindingly bright once the door opened. Soon N.C's began unloading the cache. I was puzzled by the lack of soldiers but held my position, hidden at the back, waiting for the inevitable skirmish.

Out of nowhere a little puppy found me and bound about looking to play. I drew a breath and aimed my rifle around the corner of my hiding spot. Still no one had spotted me. I walked off the plane, puppy at my heels, holstering my rifle on my shoulder. N.C's and Civilians looked at me like I was an alien, I suppose I must have looked quite strange, covered in oil and fully armed in a Civilian airport. I'd boarded a black market munitions for cash cargo plane. There wasn't even M.P on site. Apparently I passed out after demanding to talk to the C.O in broken Hebrew.

I woke up in Dr. Yossi Assoulay's apartment. He managed to spirit me away before the military could find me. He's a kind, bespectacled young academic and true nerd at heart. During my recovery procedure which his lovely wife Rachel assisted with, he had me reading all sorts of out there Science Fiction and Conspiracy stuff like "Pay to Play: Simulacra of Nations" and "Overnet: Will as Representation". What I was reading did seem a tad far fetched or maybe a bit too wordy for me but after what I've been through I guessed I should keep an open mind.

Often The Doctor and I would sit on his veranda drinking coffee and he would talk at length about how we existed within a simulation of a similar world. As my memories started to come back I tried explaining Operation Rasa Blank as best as I could. Even though Dr. Assoulay's apartment is outside Be'er Sheva proper it's cloistered enough not to be effected by the Simulation Wars. You can still hear it all as it goes on and the more I hear it the more I feel sickened, which for some reason still seems strange to me.

When I received these letters it took me a while to process it all. I was only beginning to remember the faces of the men I'd fought with and against. I admit I hesitated to respond. Even though Dr. Assoulay has given me a home here and good work within his munitions dissembling plant I can't sit by idly as this goes on. I'm a soldier, I must take action. I feel the duty to confront Dr. Fogarthy. Not just for what he's done to me, or to so many of my comrades. For the truth, or something like it at least.

You where the only soldier we could find without raising too much suspicion, Dr. Assoulay's anti-war associates within the Turkish Armed Forces should be able to get this to you Private Winters. I'll be back as soon as I can find a safe plane to stow away on, please don't worry it shouldn't take too long. Get a copy of this document and the others to Corporal Patrick Murphy if you can. If you see him face to face, tell him he's not alone.

My comm-link will be 12 strike 6 703, it will be active once I land back in Ireland in a few days. Lionel, I need you to check to see if it's live at 12 a.m and 12 p.m to establish the connection. Remember, if we want to get the drop on these guys they can't know we're coming so destroy this document once you've got the comm-link co-ordinates.

Your comrade,

Tadgh F. Mac Allistar, Test Subject, Rasa Blank


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