[ARCHIVE] [2297-8] Journal of Lt. Yanick Blanchard

[Orwell]

Dec 29, 2297
 
We've spent the whole day setting up mines off the coast. Everyone's exhausted. I'm lying on the dirt in this tent we put up with bugs buzzing around my face. There's finally enough space that's been cleared for us to set down a proper encampment.
 
People are still shaken up about what's happened in Sanctuary. A lot of the guys are worried about if all their folks got out or not. Captain Conrad rallied us and told us that we signed up to serve the Federation. Hudson had failed in his duties as a Sky Marshall, and his actions have put our entire species at risk of being eliminated. He's requested discharge papers from command, and is giving us a chance to leave in light of current events. My only family's on Sanctuary now. O'Brian's our best bet at keeping as many people alive as possible. On the bright side, there are worse places to be stationed.
 
Jan 1, 2298
 
Happy New Year. I passed out papers this morning. At the end of the day, we only had a handful of signatures. Most of them were fresh out of boot camp. I don't really blame them. I figured that current events hadn't changed what my duties and responsibilities were as a trooper. Apparently others felt the same way. Captain Conrad keeps trying to get us off of Samson to go to where the action was on Earth. It's all people seem to be talking about. There's nothing we can do about it, for now. MOBCOMM has tasked us with maintaining an outpost on these tiny islands to keep water tigers from getting to the mainland. Don't we have more important things to be doing? We're needed in the Sol System, not here.
 
Jan 15, 2298
 
Every now and then, the buzzing of insects and lapping of waves is interrupted by a dumb bug swimming into one of the mines off the coast. Whenever that happens, everyone cheers. We have begun to call this place home. The heat is miserable, and the ocean is as warm as bathwater. Most articles of clothing were shed after the first few days. We started sleeping in shifts after the first night raid, a little over a week ago. Captain says command is stiff-arming him about reassignment. There is absolutely fuck-all to do here besides swim. When the sun sets, Josephides sometimes picks up his bass, and we all sing dumb songs together.
 
 
Feb 2, 2298
 
The boredom has set in. Between zipping around coordinating with Fleet to blow holes on the ocean floor with our skimmers and standing guard staring at waves, the lack of activities has become mind-numbing. On the upside, I've been getting quite good at swimming. I can swim between all three of the islands three times in a row now. All we hear about the war outside is through our radio. People are becoming more and more frustrated. Conrad's hands are tied on the matter, he says.
 
 
Feb 29, 2298
 
We lost Lewis today. There had been a fight, and his cap had been thrown out into the surf. He swam out to get it and got caught in a riptide. He was swept out to sea, then disappeared under the water. He washed up all sliced apart. The bugs have been getting a feel for our methods. We buried him, and Captain Conrad said a few words. It's been some time since he broke the news that command has denied his requests, and a malaise has set in over the troops. We encountered Unionists (maybe? hard to tell) who rode out on a little skimmer, like ours. They refused to answer any of our calls, and fired on us. Nobody got hurt. Couldn't tell if we had gotten any of them. No bodies have washed up since. Now they know where we are. Dumbfounded that these jack-offs are trying to shoot at us when there's Arachnid about. Sometimes we can see dogfights over the water.
 
 
Mar 4, 2298
 
We got buzzed by a TAC today. It's shaken everybody up. Our command tent is shredded; two of our prefabs have been ripped open. Andersen had a splinter of a tree blown through his arm. Janus has parts of a door hinge embedded in his side. Between the Bugs and the Unionists, I'm beginning to get really fucking sick of this place. Every time we try to make a move on the Unionists, we get fucked over by Arachnids. Every time we try to get one over on the Bugs, they can see our tracers and hear our blasts as we try to mop them up. We've tried to get our hands on different munitions to compensate, but command has decided that life is too easy for us, and wants us to suffer. Fucking useless.
 
Apr 12, 2298
 
Supply lines are becoming more spread as more Unionists move onto Samson. We couldn't always rely on the Sekigahara to be there for us. The Bugs, of course, have noticed this. Janus is dead, and Wong has had his right leg cut off below his kneecap. He's managed to get transferred to a hospital ship.
 
May 9, 2298
 
I miss my family more than anything. I feel confined on this miserable island. I find myself dreaming of being back home more often. We got hit by another TAC barrage, this time by a group calling themselves the Coalition, and the camp has been practically ruined. I got up, and looked around, saw Sedgewick with a look on his face. Started hollering and crying; throwing punches at anyone who came near him. Took a few people to get him to calm down. Captain Conrad is becoming more highly strung. He's snapped at me a few times, and I sometimes catch myself acting coarsely with the NCO's and enlisted. The whole situation seems to be getting to people.
 
June 17, 2298
 
I've found myself glued to the radio with the rest of the men. The Unionists have merged with the Coalition, and I have a feeling that it's only going to get worse. The raids have become more frequent, from both Arachnids and these rebels. Conrad is becoming irate with command. We all are, at this point. MOBCOMM has insisted that we stay here, so we will. We'll continue to sit here with our thumbs up our asses, listening to things fall to shit from a voice in a box. Fuck this god damned island.
 
 
July 24, 2298
 
We buried Montez and Cars- [The page becomes illegible as it had succumbed to water damage.]
 
 
August 22, 2298
 
 
They are lying to us about what's happening out there. These bastards never cease to amaze. This fighting has done nothing but lead to more and more troopers dying. They're lying through their god damned teeth. FedNet, command, they're full of shit. Command is threatening Captain Conrad with a CM if he tries to pursue reassignment further. I should've left when I had the chance. Brass would rather see us die on some good-for-nothing islands than send us where we're needed. Why? How many more need to die? How much longer will I have to tell them, "No, we're staying here for another month," and see the frustration and hatred in their eyes? This whole thing is pointless. God damned pointless.
 
 
Sept 3, 2298
 
Captain Conrad is dead. Arachnids attacked in the night, and as the Bugs were storming the beach, we were hit by a TAC barrage. The island was coated with napalm, and everyone in a tent was burned alive. There was fire and smoke everywhere. I tried to get as many people to the beach as possible, fighting off bugs with what little ammunition we had left. We'd been separated and scattered by the fire and bugs. I was knocked out when the ammunition cache exploded. It is about four in the morning now. Our numbers have been more than halved. Captain Conrad was trying to radio for help when he was wrapped in the burning tent he was inside of. The fires have died down now. Command has finally decided to retrieve and reassign us. I want to forget this horrible place. I hate this war, and I hate what it's made of us. I hate this life that we are forced to lead where good men die for nothing. To whoever finds this, know that all I wanted to do was fulfill the terms of my oath, and serve the human race. Conrad's Corsairs were good men, who stuck it through to the end. Whoever wins this stupid war, I hope that it's not too late for them to remember who it is being fought for.

 

- Lt. Yanick Blanchard, 202nd Moritas, Alpha Company *

 

 

 

*Alpha Company dissolved shortly after September, and Lieutenant Blanchard was formally promoted to captain on September 10th, 2298. The records from Sanctuary are spotty, but we can confirm his death on Epsilon Prime during the last days of the Civil War. Captain Blanchard was leading some of the last troops outside of Achilles when he was shot, presumably by the 92nd Moritas who were operating in their AO. According to the record, had he survived for a few more hours, he may have been able to flee to Sanctuary when O'Brian issued the general retreat on Epsilon Prime. We've cross-referenced the dates listed by Blanchard with some of the drives that Spc. Merchant recovered from Fleet HQ down on Sanctuary, and they line up with Coalition operations in the late summer in the Samson theater. Planning to dispatch a crew to exhume corpses to corroborate old Sanctuary records on the island. Not many first names mentioned, makes a bitch to track down. Copies made. Useless now. Return physical to SSgt. Holtz. Might as well.   

             

         - Espinoza