Cursed barbarians! Damn them and their idiotic bleatings!
They as good as took Pvt. Klonhauser, the bastards!
Sgt. Yomama just found him...he'd strung himself up by his phone cord, a note pinned to his uniform. He stated he was "going to the great 'team meeting' in the sky" where he hoped he would "finally meet the Payroll department" that wouldn't answer his calls.
He was up for a promotion. Perhaps it will be awarded post-humously. I will make such a recommendation to headquarters.
The barbarian attacks seem to be tapering off...a few desultory lobs of Whining and Stupid Question attacks. Thus far I have been fortunate...all attacks have been deflected or rebuffed.
I am suspicious, however. I suspect the bastards are rallying their numbers, preparing for a last-minute massive assault just when our fatigue is at its highest and our attention is to the parking lot and the sweet escape it offers.
I clutch at memories of my wife and child...happier times in our home, long ago...like, this morning. It seems as though an epoch has passed since that golden age.
I long for a distant shining future wherein I will get to lay down my arms, at least for a time, and watch TV. Or read a book! Or stare into space, but not be expected to "look productive".
It is the constant upkeep of this "productive" illusion that, I think, drives the men...and me, I must confess...to the very limits of our sanity. There is nothing to do but wait...wait for the banshee cry of death and tension headaches, wait for the shrill scream of a phone like a knife in our heads, wait for Payroll to goddamn it just take this call I don't know what the hell this moron is talking about!!
...I'm sorry. My composure seems to have slipped a trifle. It is behavior unbecoming of an officer.
...the phone! Is it now? Is Doomsday upon us?
There is naught but to answer and see what Fate proclaims...