ThreeA ~ WWR : Deep Powder Corp Grunt Private Dunn.

Cheaper than robots.

Easier to programme.

Welcome to war...

"I raised my head. The offing was barred by a black bank of clouds, and the tranquil waterway leading to the uttermost ends of the earth flowed somber under an overcast sky--seemed to lead into the heart of an immense darkness." ~ Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness.

A (mis) interpretation:

Name: Christian Dunn.

Age: 21 years.

Affiliation: 
Former: 77th "Winter Defence" Mechanized Division; XXV "Deep Powder" Corps; Second Army; 4th Eurasia Army Group.

Rank: Private - ID # 89045768192347OOAGHK.

Current: Nom di Sciple, Legio XXV.
Std. Armaments : Hobson & Dolch 4.6 x 30mm MP7 sub-machine gun w. suppressor and targeter x 1; Hobson & Dolch 12 gauge dual mode pump action/semi automatic M4 Super 90 combat shotgun x 1; Hobson & Dolch .45mm autorevolver x 1; Frag grenades x 3; Krak grenades x 3; Flak armour x 1; Chem-inhaler x 1; Arm shield x 1.

From 22nd June to 5th December 1941, the Ecclesiarchy of Mars launched Operation God's Thunder across the Eastern Front after the conquest and incursions into majority of Eastasia and Oceania sectors. The Council of the High Lords of Terra plan was to wage a brutal battle of attrition with which to wear down the enemy over the period of one year on the Eastern Front. The Coalition Army men and women formed the primary backbone of the defences with support from the warbots. The entire battle culminated in the final counter offensives against the Reds Army and lost almost 4 million men and women. Approximately 8 million people of the East Eurasian original population were wiped out, the numbers of the Martian losses incalculable.The battlefield itself is actually a vast graveyard since the mortal remains of over 1.5 million missing combatants are still dispersed underground wherever they fell. The entire sector becomes physically and environmentally destroyed. Because of millions of human corpses and unexploded ordnance that contaminated the land, some activities in the area such as housing, farming or forestry were temporarily or permanently forbidden after the battle. The Terran pyrrhic victory nevertheless marks a turning point in the Great War against the Ecclesiarchy of Mars. Subsequent crusades undertaken by the Martians upon Terra are successfully repulsed by the Terran Coalition Armed Forces as the latter begin to successfully capitalise on their combined industrial potentials to built up their war resources and organisation. The following is an extract from data recording of one Private Dunn, taken between 2nd to 6th October 1941. He is listed as MIA just a day after completing his rotation. All Terran privates were implanted with a "peacekeeper", a device which main function is to ensure orders are followed at synaptic level. A jolt is delivered to the brain's pain centre, if orders were not followed and conversely, those who carried out their duties well are given another jolt to the pleasure center. Effectively any Terran grunts would become Pavlov's dog within a month or two with their free will controlled by the Army Groups Command Centre. But it is not without setback. The brain can be controlled but they overlooked the fact that each cells in the human body genes generates a slight hum, which forms personal unconsciousness. Thus, cases of AWOL and MIA still occur. One can't tame free will it seems. All Terran troops are standard issued with chem-inhaler, which are combat-drug dispensing rebreathers, the drugs' effect minimizing any instincts of self-preservation. Their use is a cheap and expedient method of making soldiers dependable, which causes the user to become fearless and fanatical in combat. The psychological control drugs induce many different mental states, such as frenzy, hatred, fear, and so forth. These drugs are most notably administered to penal colonies troops to temporarily produce the desired effects during combat. Other different combat drugs induce similar effect, like speeds up user's reflexes and movement and increases physical strength and endurance. Some are known to mask pain and push the user past the point where their body would give up.  The longer the drug remains in effect, the greater the chance of the drug causing injury, often permanently to both mentally and physically. The Coalition Army human troops are also standard equipped with flak armours, a cheaply produced, low tech, lightweight armour vest provided en-masse to the Army human units. A flak vest consists of a skeleton of lightweight, flexible metal. This skeleton is then wrapped in multiple layers of a high-tensile fabric that is the main protective component of the armour. These multiple layers of different ablative and impact absorbent materials designed primarily to deflect or absorb the majority of the force from a shot or blow. It is meant to provide defence against low-velocity, dispersed damage, such as explosions, shrapnel and ricochet material, rather than to protect against a direct impact, in which case the armour's protection is almost negligible Thermal-absorbent materials are sometimes applied to reduce the thermal signature of the infantry, help with staying invisible during night recon missions. Rarer still, heaters are incorporated into the outermost layer of some Army Groups, particularly those fighting in the Eurasian Front in the cold, merciless, icy winters. Specialised warbot snipers are equipped with Camo-Cloak, hooded cloaks composed of a mesh backing woven with thousands of ribbons of colour shifting and light-absorbing material, weaved for its durability and ability to help hide the wearer. The Camo Cloak is coated with an absorbent material called Cameoline which takes on the colouration of the surroundings giving the wearer a great deal of individual concealment and can give the wearer near perfect concealment. Each grunts are issued with three Frag grenades and same number of Krak grenades. Frag grenades (or fragmentation grenades) are small, anti-personnel grenades, exploding in a hail of thousands of tiny and deadly shards of metal, the effect being to deny an enemy the benefits of any cover as they are assaulted. Krak grenades are anti-warbot weapons - the opposite of the anti-personnel frag grenade - they are designed to crack open armoured targets through a concentrated implosive blast. Although a Krak grenade can easily kill a man, they are only used to attack armoured vehicles and warbots. They are very effective at destroying hard targets, building structures, and for tearing holes into defensive structures. The krak grenade must be placed on the target, thus percentage of success of placing a Krak grenade on a warbot by a human troop is incredibly low. The standard issued sub-machine gun, prone to jamming most of the time, has a targeter which possesses various optical sights, range-finding or prediction systems. The end result is that they allow the user to determine if a target is in range before firing.

 

Day 215. 
The fall rains have commenced. The rasputitsa. We lie deep in the  mud of the trenches as the temperature drops to sub zero. Marlow is suffering from frost bite. He lost his left eyesight and deaf from its injured left ear courtesy of the Reds artillery shelling earlier. Ahmed is sitting on the glutinous mud, rocking back and fro repeatedly. Both his hands are frozen stiff on the gun. Yii Ching stops talking altogether and keeps caressing at her personally decorated tiger strip grenade launcher in disturbing manner. Five more days to go and I'm off the rotation. Food, fuel and ammunition supplies are at all time low. The Reds had earlier cut off one of our major supply routes. The BcELL Thunderhawks' drop pods are facing difficulties trying to get the supplies through. Most are shot down. A turkey shoot for the Sloggers. I saw some resorted to cannibalism, but were caught and shot on the spot by the Kommissar. The body thermal heating device in the jacket is unpredictable and prone to malfunction. 30 died during first week due to the cold. Another 5 were killed from internal combustion due to overheating. The weapons are prone to being jammed and need constant oiling. Our boots and uniforms perish easily under the muddy conditions. The chem-inhaler is no longer effective. The gas re-fills are running out. The trench is filthy as hell. We eat, sleep and shit at the same place. And I couldn't even remember what fresh water taste like anymore. And when was the last time I bath and wash myself? My body is itchy as hell, with rashes and scabs forming from scratching too much. Lice everywhere. So are the roaches. There was an outbreak of dysentery but the medics manages to contain it and innoculates all of us whom remain with some form of drugs.  The backup divisions were supposed to arrive yesterday. According to the Sarge, she said the Reds Sloggers and bots are simultaneously assaulting the Central Ruthenia Upland Sub-Sector. So the Big Reds Divisions are tied down and concentrate on defending that sector. We are on our own.  There are new recruits to the front. They look like they are not even out of puberty yet. Could not help but notice that the noobs were getting younger by the days. I am tired, and numb. The adrenalizers and gas mask helps abit. They also feed up with some pills which keeps us awake most of the time. But I am beginning to feel numb to all these. Fatalism sets in. I am scared. I want to go home, see my baby girl, get a real job, fall in love and marry a woman who truly loves me and accept me for who I am, have more kids, see them grow up, grandchildrens, grow old and die. But this, here. It ain't a proper place or manner to die.

Day 216. 

The forests have  been reduced to tangled piles of wood by constant artillery shelling. They were completely obliterated. Rain combined with the constant tearing up of the ground turns the clay of the area to mud clog with the remains of grunts and bots. In some areas, the ground is composed more of human flesh, bone, bots parts than of earth or vegetation. Shell craters become fill with liquid oozes. It becomes so slippery that Grunts who fall into them or takes cover in them could drown. Or those chemicals the Reds use would settled in one of those holes and if you're unlucky and slip into one, they would never find your body again. The Berts mobility becomes greatly reduced, sinking up to their chicken leg like knees in the slime and soon stuck fast. For the past six months, the battle had become a stalemate. But this morning before day break,  the Reds take advantage of a lapse in the defence line and launches an assault consisting of their own Droppies with support of heavy shelling from their artillery. They successfully breaks through a gap in the line and infiltrated the trenches. Marlow is blasted apart by one of the plasma grenades. We responds in kind. In the ensuing melee, we manages to repulse them off but we all know we could not hold onto the defence line further. Rations and reserves will last no longer than 12 hours. Sarge said orders from the top down is to hold on no matter what. For Eurasia. For Terra, she said. Later we receives strict order not to step back from holding the line. Any one who does so will be considered a traitor to the war and to be executed by the Kommissars. No prisoner of wars are to be held. All are to be shot on sight. The strain and exhaustion intensify. That night, the sloggers again broadcast their religious gobbledygook, blarring non-stop propaganda pleas through their vox casters for us to give up. Half awake and asleep, I recall the day I was drafted into the meat grinder. I did kill that man. Caught my wife and him red handed on the bed. Life sentence with no parole. I wonder what she is doing right now. F*** her. I love her but why she did this to me? Now, I can only think of my baby girl. Would I be able to see her again? The woman has probably hooked up with another guy anyway. I hate myself. I hate her. Not her fault. I blame myself. Why? I think I fall asleep unconsciously from the exhaustion and starvation. I thought I dreamt of my daugther playing with pebbles lifting it up with just her mind, forming a helix pattern.

Day 217.

Fifteen armoured divisions arrive comprising Droppies, LM herds, Brams and upgraded Berts. Mean mofo if you were to asked me. Several "friendly fire" incidents had occurred. Shitty steel bastards. Square recon units begin to gather field intel en masse. Sarge said a new Field Marshall is in town. She adds that the Martians had suffered a massive defeat during their offensives at the Ruthenian Upland and their numbers have been greatly reduced. Something about strategic error of being spread too thin. I look at Ahmed. Frozen stiff as a popsicle, his hollowed eyes stare back at me. 'You'll all gonna die', I thought I heard him tellin me. Yii Ching had been caught in one of the artillery fire. A plasma warhead. She vaporised instantaneously. The Reds loves to use energy based weaponries. Of all Zulu Company troops whom underwent the so-called training with me, only 8 remains. Supplies finally arrive. Glimmer of hope. Food rations, adrenalizers for the chem inhalers, medicines, and weaponry. The sarge briefed us about Operation Winter Lion, a large scale counter offensives to penetrate their front lines and dig out the entrenched Martians troops and warbots. That night, the big boys congregates at their bunkers. The warbots begin to take their positions. The Big Red Division grunts share some stories with us on the battle at Ruthenia. The massive battle was said to be so intense, just to protect one sub-sector bearing the name of the bastard Eurasian High Lord, that all bots, grunts, armoured vehicles from both factions were literally shooting at each other at point blank at most time. Ironic that the CCCP Storm Divisions are nicknamed Reds, coloured in red, while the real Reds, the Sloggers and bots, are coloured in mostly blue-yellowish motif.

Day 218.

0300. The launching of the counter offensives begins with the most intense shelling of artillery I have ever witness, and under the thundering cover of the rolling barrages of heavy artillery fire, the Kommissars push us out and we moves in as fast as possible, with the Kommissars right behind us barking orders, over the craters and uneven surfaces, facing equally intense counter fire and bombings from the enemy. I run as if the Devil were right behind me, firing simultaneously, mostly blindly, and then take cover at one of the nearest Czech hedgehog obstacles. Lasers and plasma bolts whizzes pass me. All penetrates the hedgehog. I guess I am lucky. A Kommissar run and takes cover at the same place. He barks like a mad dog, tries to push me out into the no man's land while waving his bolt pistol into my face. But something hit him. Reduced to a pool of goo. The intense heat nearly shear off my right arm. The Droppies run pass me, weaponry blazing all the way. They trample over the dead and half alive bodies on their way. We are ordered to clear lanes for the Droppies to cross belts of magnetic mines fields, hydro sulphuric acid bombs, and Tesla coils. Meat shields, that what we are. Clearly the initiative is due to our greater numbers. The Brams and Berts move in with their heavy machine guns, taking out almost everything that moves. Including most of us standing in their line of fires. The bombardments successfully takes out the Reds defences. Debris and smokes turn the already inky darkness of the morning into a black chasm. The night vision is often unreliable but it helps this time. High on the combat drugs, I run out together with my other comrades in arms at the Reds trenches. I felt like god, bullets will bounce off me, indestructible. My body was tired but my mind just could not register it. Most of us are mowed downed by their turbo lasguns, but we continues with our assault. It is a scene of carnage and massacre for both sides. What madness drives humanity to this point? With the roar of the Armstrongs flying above, we  manage to breakthrough and by the end of the offensives, the Reds are crippled and forced to withdraw to their '41 starting line. The Sarge says the Zulu Company is no more and will be absorbed by the Kilo Company. There's only three of us left after all. I look over the watch and its 0823. Five good hours of staring into the gate of hell. Sarge said that the train will depart at 1600 to the DMZ whereby I shall be debriefed and all the papers to be signed for release before heading for the rehabilitation centre. Sarge said she has been promoted and re-assign to the JEA Marine Corps. Kilgore, the other only surviving member and half assed crazy SOB, said the rush is too good to miss. 'War is addictive. And I wouldn't wanna miss the smell of napalm in the morning. Sure smells like victory over the Reds', he says. Watch too much movies I am sure. He is going to the join the Jungler Rangers in the tropics. I heard that's worse. I don't care. Me, I am going home though there's still a day to go before I am officially discharge. I will still need to undergo psychological evaluations and other forms of rehabilitation. But that's ok. Coz I survive.

Private Dunn arrived at the DMZ with the rests on board an armoured train as scheduled but he never left the place. His disappearance remain a mystery but no case is ever filed nor reported. There are millions, KIA, AWOL, MIA. The Ministry of Administration is too tied up. The medic whom evaluated Private Dunn noted a trinity shaped mark found near where he was last seen. A month later, somewhere in Pan Am City Two, United Americana, a girl of about five is playing by herself along the corridor of the mega block. 'Erin, dinner', a voice from the inside the house. 'Just a couple of minutes more mom', Erin replied. Suddenly, a man appears before her. He seems to be enveloped in some form of halo which dances around his entire being. 'Daddy?', Erin said...And he smiles with happiness at the sight of his daughter before vanishing once more, leaving only a trinity trinket behind.