Notes of a Wingless Eagle (// Closed)

[Jam]

Mark Hughes, 20th April 822 A.S., Planet New London

Bretonia, my love. What is with you? First the Kusari, now the Gal-, excuse me, frogs are all over the place.
I've read the horrible news. Fifty Bretonian soldiers, pilots and marines, were executed by the Gallics. It struck me hard, you know. It's like... you're busy with taking care of your own survival that you forget what is going on around you. And then at one point the reality smashes right through your face, and you realize your homeland is actually seriously threatened. Your home, your freedom, independence, pride. How can I just watch?

I made my decision. I'll apply for the Armed Forces as soon as possible. I'm going to lose my job anyway, and I have no other plan to go around with. I am a broke loser. My dad had a point. I might be scared of sudden death, but what it that compared to the will to defend my homeland? Dad, I know you've never wanted me to become a soldier, but Bretonia needs me. I'm sorry to let you down, even though you probably don't care right now. I'll go to the shop to leave a note for my boss before I get too sappy.

I'll write one final entry when I return.

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Mark Hughes, 20th April 822 A.S., Planet New London

Done. I'm leaving this hole. My boss will understand, I'm sure.
This journal is short, but it did help me to decide what to do with my life. For that I'm grateful.

Now, don't stress, Mark. You're going to walk into the recruitment office, have a little chit-chat with an officer, and everything is going to be just fine. After all, you know everything about the Armed Forces, the Fleet Admiral, the flagship, the fleets, ships... You'll be fine. You will. Be brave. For the first time in your life.

Time to go.

Let's hope I'll get to live longer than a month.