A: Those who share my purpose becomes allies, those that do not become casualty.
B: There’s nothing about this war that is that cut and dry.
A: Because you still have hope, that this war will end with your honour intact
B: I do
A: stand in the ashes of a trillion dead souls and ask the ghosts if honour matter. The silence Is your answer. -- Anon Guest
War. They say it never changes, but it does. It gets increasingly brutal as opposing powers seek to be more intimidating to their foes. It used to be seen as "the fun" in the days of yore, back when it was possible to leave a battlefield with minor injuries. Now? Now there are weapons that are terrors to people not even tangentially related to the conflict.
Brass considered the field of inhuman conflict, and considered the newbie who was their charge. If the kid was lucky, then the Generals in Ivory Tower would let him die. Some, like Brass, were not that lucky. There wasn't a lot left of hir original flesh any more, and they still wouldn't let Brass die. At least, they said, the soldiers in combat would go straight to paradise. They had already served their time in hell.
The kid was still an idealist, thinking there were reasons to fight. All goal and objective and honour. Adorable. "Listen. It's as simple as your gun. Shoot them, not us. Anyone with us is as good as us. Anyone not... gets dead. Or as dead as you can make 'em." War had made things infinitely more brutal than the good old days of clean annihilation by thermal blast.
"That's... that's not true," said the kid. "There's complicated reasons for this war. Our honour is at stake. As well as--"
"Kid." Brass cut him off. "I'm an Indentured GroPo. Honour don't matter two shits to the dead, and it sure as hell doesn't count once you start making sure you stay alive."
"But--"
"You'll learn kid. If you're lucky, you'll learn while your butt is still intact." Five minutes until landing. They had time. "Look at me," Brass hit the release switch that exposed what was left of hir original body. "My job is to teach you how to fight and survive before you wind up like I have. You either be useful enough that they keep you alive, or useless enough that they let you die." Ze closed the armour panels once more. "Starting to wonder if I should'a chosen useless."
Kid was throwing up.
"Get it out now," Brass advised. "You'll see plenty worse on the field. Which is in five. Take your hits now. They'll kick in by doors-open."
Brass and the other nanny-soldiers like hir were in the middle. Let the gung-ho idiots and supertanks absorb most of the fire while the newbies realised war wasn't as fun as it was in the sims.
They'd learn.
They'd all learn.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / AlgolOnline]
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