[GZG] RE: [GZG Fiction] Dear Ma.... 1 of 5

-----Original Message-----
From: Fulton, Beth (CMAR, Hobart) 
Sent: Sunday, 19 November 2006 1:30 PM
To: 'gzg-l@lists.csua.berkeley.edu'
Subject: [GZG Fiction] Dear Ma.... 1 of 5

Dear Ma - Letters Home

There is no stereotypical service man. This is no more evident than when
considering their messages home. While some really post, getting caught
up in the job at hand, others make contact with home a priority above
all else. The content of their letters also varies widely, from mundane
to philosophical. For those at home though each represents a precious
connection with their loved one at war. Given that news of the latest
events on Mars are still being cleared, instead we present here is a
small collection of messages from the front line.

>>>>>>

Phil Daley, Age Correspondent, writing to his editor
Feb 4th 2196 

Hi Mike. Saw the piece on the wire from Stellar News this morning about
Roy buying it. Talk about floor me. After all these years as an embed
you'd think the idea of one of us dying would be old news. Cuts me up
every time. 

You know me, not renowned for the deep thought right? Love 'em and leave
'em in aspects of life, a motto I've lived with. And now I find myself
brooding about it all, about the whole huge, horrific, scary,
apocalyptic, damn thing. I made my name by being bullet proof, or
pretending to be. Yeah I've been careful, well mostly, you're dead
otherwise, but now there's this overwhelming personal reluctance to die
that is always there in the back of my mind, like a dead sucking weight.
I thrived on this stuff in the past, used it to fuel me, to grow strong
and hard with the good guys, the long time vets. I'm crippled Mike, this
time I've become weak and frightened. This whole palaver is giving me
the creeps. I've never known a job to get under my skin this way, but
the Kraks have got me pretty badly on the hook it seems. I'm ok when I'm
in the thick of it, but when we pull back and I get time to thick it
drowns me. I can't even get decent shut eye anymore. You used to tell
people I could z-up in the middle of a nuke drop. Not anymore. Now its
all half-awake hideous dreams about alien monsters eating my guts while
I watch. 

I've pretty much reached my end run. I've had it. If I thought I could
live with myself, and if there was a clear run past those Krak patrol
boats, I'd quit and go home for good. Meredith would love it until I
went nuts and ate a pistol-name or something. Figure I might as well
stay here after all, the weather might turn nice here, and there'll be
plenty of action, for a while at least. I did commit to an extraction to
do a two week stint with the bombers. Can you see if you can get me out
of it? I think I'd find the Air Corps torturous after the infantry.
They'd love me for that assessment wouldn't they? But those VR fighters
always give me a nose bleed, its got something to do with having the
world jacked into my frontal cortex. I'm always certain I'm gonna end up
with a lobotomy for my trouble. 

Better sign off upload hour approaches. Forget pretty much everything I
said, except getting out of the Air Corp work, I'm spaced on lack of
sleep and will probably be my old self in a few days. 

Phil

>>>>>>>
Lieutenant Henry Tilford, 2nd Battalion, New Yorkshire Regiment, to his
father 
July 4th 2916

Well Mum another clearance period has passed and I am again free to
update you on some of our experiences on here. I hope it does not
distress you, but I find it quite calming to tell of what I have seen
and done.

As you may have guessed from my last few letters, patrols are a pretty
endless exercise here. Take the one on [BLACKED OUT]. They loaded us up
with the usual kit, and then they handed us a bunch of extra besides; a
pick or shovel each, oxy-rations, ammunition and even real paper maps!
That's a sign of what those alien monsters have done to us Mum, real
paper maps, can you imagine?! We sat around in the mess halls painting
our faces with that mud-muck should our cam suits fritz again. Willy was
his usual wise cracking self, had us in stitches, with his
impersonations. Most of us had taken communion on the Sunday, you'd be
proud of us Mum, actually lots more boys are doing it now than when we
started, must make their mother's heart swell. The padre still had a few
words for us though, he always knows just what to say to make you know
he cares and shares even if he's left sitting back behind. Some of the
other ranks are quite crass about that topic, but in my opinion the
padre is quite racked about having to stay behind and I think the men
are simply covering their own nervousness at their plight so I indulge
them. 

Even before we've set out I begin listening on my headset for updates.
It's almost invariably dull in the morning here now, with the land
obscured by dust and smoke. This makes it very hard to see with your
eyes alone, but with vis-aids its not bad. Our last patrol was the
stiffest yet, the first few hours were pretty uneventful, but then it
became crystal clear over my sets that we were in for a harsh time.
Messages from the lead sections: "Heavy opposition", "Heavy casualties"
and "Pushing on". By that point the tach-a-tach-a-tach and tzzzzz of
enemy fire was audible directly, sets or no. Then the strident
explosions of that blasted Krak artillery began, peppering the patrol
line and approaches to our side of the contested zones. 

Colin and our best scout Felix piloted us in. For what felt an age, but
can only have been a  few brief minutes nothing happened except the
pounding of my pulse, the occasional vzzt of shots overhead, the
sporadic explosions of artillery, and the background that surreal music
of the guns, a rather comforting sound when it's the recognisable rhythm
of our own heavy gun fire rather than that gratingly harsh shriek of
those alien hyperguns. The ground was choppy and if it weren't for my
boat supports, I could have easily done an ankle. Felix had us swing
around a bit, but I approved heartily of the approach he'd chosen, much
more cover as we followed him in one by one. We collected in a defile
before we tried to punch across some open ground. We nodded the go,
clutched our weapons. Just as we started forward, we were thrown to the
dirt by a jarring thump to our left that knocked all your wind clean
from you. Looking up we could see the wall of rock to our left had been
torn by a direct strike. I was lucky, I was unhurt. Several rocks had
fallen though, one had struck Dick harshly and the ground around his
injured leg was quickly soaked. I stopped for a few seconds to help my
men and ensure they were being seen too. I attempted to radio through
out situation, but with our ears ringing we couldn't hear a thing. I
used my stylus instead. Our position was acknowledge, and we were
advised to push on regardless. With two down and Eddie (our medic)
staying with them, we would have some empty spots in our formation, but
our orders were clear so the rest of us set ourselves and struck out
again.

We staggered clear of the rocks, dispersed and lay down on the tip of
the crest. Dirt and clods and rock and bits of debris were falling
pretty close to us. I scanned around us trying to see if I could
recognise those around us. Looked like quite few had been hit; some were
dead, others struggling to crawl to more secure positions. We had to
push on so could not stop for long to help them, but I did crab run
across to my signalmen, Corporal Winters, who had a ragged wound in his
leg, and took up his radio. Passing it on to young Rhodes I got him to
send off the casevac coordinates for Winters and the four other wounded
that we'd collected with him. We lost another two to be their medic and
guard. 

Pushing further ahead, we got just off the road, in amongst some ruined
buildings that must have been an agri-settlement before the invasion.
Our Colonel was their already improvising a transitory field HQ. Turns
out the radio I'd picked up from Winters was the only main set to have
made it forward and this close to the enemy our small headsets were not
effective long range. The colonel sent me back, with Carlson and
Middlesworth, to collect up at least three more sets. Going back out
into the fire with dirt and pebbles raining down from the mortar and
howitzer strikes, we had to zig and zag to avoid becoming yet more
casualties. I did not feel afraid though, rather I felt quite elated and
full of beans. Back among the wounded my mood dropped a little, but I
was still quite thrilled as I raced about. There was some horrible
sights back there, artillery had chewed up at least five sections, and
there were not a few men in parts calling (as best they could) for help.

A movement to the edge of my eye drew my attention. Cambridge was
sheltering in the lee of a disabled tank. As I drew closer I could see
Petersborough, Whittaker and Osbourne and quite a bunch of my people. I
was about to bawl at them to get up and moving, as they were of no good
there and the new HQ was not that far away, but then it struck me quite
suddenly that not all of them were breathing and nearly all of them had
been hit. Nevertheless five of them were fit to continue (they had some
shrapnel in their legs and feet, but they were good for a few hours yet)
and in an astounding stroke of luck they had collected two of the larger
radio sets. After assigning Lawson to guard and tagging the tank as an
extraction point, those of us on the move pushed back to the HQ. 

The next few hours was the usual positioning and checking and securing,
which quickly lulls the brain. We remained out there for three days,
before we saw our next phase of the battle. This I saw from the back,
but for the first time I knew real fear. The day before the HQ had been
moved forward into an enemy position cleared on the first day. From here
we were to coordinate a larger attack further into the alien
territories. In hindsight, this was a rash choice since the monsters had
their mortars laid on that position. There was a small thickset rock
outcrop by the side of a hill road, and just as we began to cross the
mortars fairly laced into us. I cannot tell you, scarce dare to think
about, how many were wounded and killed there. I lost my major radio and
a whole crowd of men around me. We could not get away to front or rear
and we could not dig in, as the ground was hard as pavement. The shells
were bursting everywhere all the time. My vision was full of bright
sparks as my eyes were stung by bright flash after flash. I laid on my
face for a few moments, but was then stung into action when I saw the
provost sergeant bleeding badly not five metres away. I pushed over to
him. I must have been a sight on my arrival as he saw me, gasped and
vomited. I checked myself from looking down, knowing I had crawled
through the remnants of at least 3 men. I shoved my field dressing to
the back of his neck, where he had a chunk of someone's rifle protruding
from his shoulder. In the end it became clear it was not serious and we
got him out of it, but we both commented how curious it is that everyone
turns a pale greeny yellow when hit. 

We had to get out of it and we did. I finally got those who could move,
turned around and fighting back the way we had come. There we hooked up
with Dicky and Hugh and tried anew. This time the attack went in and was
successful, though Dicky did not live to see its end, sadly. Having
reached our objectives, well all but one, we collected ourselves and saw
how our chips sat. We had taken the ground that commanded the heights
and would be very useful for preventing further Kra'Vak strikes on our
camps to the southeast, at least for the next season. The cost had been
sticky however. Even of those making it to the final push, Dicky and old
Hudson were dead, Chelsea was wounded, as were a good many others,
though a bunch more besides were simply missing. Getting lost is quite
common in these quite desperate battles, some deliberately, more
typically by accident. We were relieved not too long after and were
pulled back a bit and made to secure there for the night, though we got
little sleep. The next day we moved on and so on - the rest since then I
cannot yet tell you. Suffice it to say this was not the end by a long
shot, nor is the end yet. By luck the core of my section has made it
through mostly in one piece, others have not been so lucky and for them
it is a tale of new faces.

Thank God for your news of Owen, Tony, Rich and Claire. It is grand to
hear they are still alive and well. Please tell Dr Meredith that Neil is
well also and pass on to Ms Roy that Michael is also his usual chipper
self. I have great confidence in our prevailing here father, we are in
great form now. 

Your loving son,
Henry

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