The Bears attacked again this morning. Me and Sanders have spent the last 3 days without any real form of sleep. We take turns taking naps in between feverish fits of jerking each other off. It’s the only way to stave off The Bear Plague, and the adrenaline and endorphins keep us alert. We’ve managed to hold them off with ample suppressive fire, but we’re running low on munitions quickly, and at this rate we’ll be defenseless in 2 days. Sanders has been working on making a prototype grenade to load into the mortars. Hopefully it’ll thin out their numbers, but they’ve been hitting us relentlessly with wave after wave of pandas. It’s almost like their inability to procreate or eat food properly fuels them to become the most efficient suicidal soldiers possible. I saw one take 2 full clips from a MP5 before finally going down.
I’ve been thinking about how the grenades are really less of a tactical weapon, and just a way to keep hope. Perhaps Sanders isn’t working on anything at all. Perhaps it’s all a ruse, meant to keep the rest of us believing in the fight. Watching Vapperelli slowly turn was a brutal blow to moral as well. Seeing a man, slowly turn over the course of one night. It did things to our platoon. Vapperelli wailed in pain for hours as the Bear Plague took him. The sound of his bones, slowly cracking into place to fit his shifting ursine frame, will stay with me for the rest of my life. Even his wailing slowly turned, from a long droning howl, to a deep, heavy growl, and towards the end, a full on roar. I don’t know who put the bullet in his head. Nobody would admit to it, but whoever did, did him a kindness.
It’s 3:33 am and I can see the Grizzly Brigade, across the field, slowly building their garrison. They’re mustering their troops for a final charge. I have no doubt that this is where I’ll die. They’ll come, we’ll fight, and we’ll lose. Is it enough to die fighting? To sit and wait for the black paw of death to claw your face in? As I sit here, receiving yet another life preserving handjob from Sanders, I ponder if it’s even worth it. They say that Man makes plans, while Bear God laughs. In the end, we’re all sons of bitches anyway.
The Bear’s War Drums are beating. Time to die.
