2013 campaign journal, revised edition

[stg58fal]

As I mentioned in the not-too-distant past, I'm going to change how I post this a little bit. Instead of different topics every time it's updated, I think I'll just edit this one and add things in. That way the various entries aren't all over the place.

The original topic, with a little bit of the background: http://forum.juhlin.com/showthread.php?t=3616

One of the original characters is gone, his player having lost the sheet and made a new character. SSGT Rathmussen, USMC, took the place of the army MP PFC who was a small time crook prior to joining the army.

Tuesday, May 14, 2013
St . Petersburg, Russia

Hell can take this whole decaying city with my blessing. Every day comrades become hurt, missing, or dead, and I see Death looming closer with every breath this cesspool takes. I do not belong here. My squad (even the doctor, Dr. Erik McCreedy, who has been recruited as a medic) continues to speak in a language I cannot even begin to comprehend. They speak in terms of bullets and blood, while I long to return to my quiet world of engines and wrenches. I see no end to the war, and I have no idea when I will be free to finally find my family again. I have had no word in over a year, and my prayers seem to be bouncing off a glass wall between Heaven and Earth.

I find myself with an unwanted promotion to commanding officer to my small squad, the previous officer having entered into whatever afterlife he believed in. On top of the unwanted responsibility, we were briefed on a mission today. Apparently the locals have become restless despite the good relations (in general) between them and us. They are acquiring guns (AK’s to be exact) and turning them on us. My squad was given a sector of the city to search and question with permission to retaliate should anyone open fire on us.

Our small squad of seven plus one interpreter left shortly after the briefing. After denying the doctor driving privileges to the Humvee (I’m fairly certain the man has never even driven a Dodge in the course of his life), and with the grunts taking point, we soon arrived in our sector. We were able to score some information through the doctor as he treated several of the locals. I’ll never understand why he chose a profession in which he treats the illness of others. He doesn’t seem to like people at all.

We were directed to a farm a few blocks away owned by Dimitri Korokov. Mr. Korokov had apparently dealt personally with the rebels after some trouble on his land. We arrived at the Korokov farm to find an incredibly old and sarcastic Russian man. He seemed to find our questioning both amusing and annoying. The cynical farmer even went so far as to believe he could take on the rebels with what looked like an antiquated firearm.

While several of us questioned Mr. Korokov, the rest of the team ran a sweep of his farm. They spotted movement across the street in an abandoned house that looked as if a strong wind would tumble the whole thing down. After some deliberation, the doctor and I were set up as a distraction. The doctor promptly tried driving off with the humvee, and it took almost more self control than I possess to not club the man with the butt of my H&K. Several of our team in the meantime, swung around to the back of the house. What felt like an eternity passed as I tried not to imagine my men being found and shot, before shots could be heard from the house. Shouts soon told us that our people were ok and had the situation under control. Leaving Ramirez in charge of the humvee, McCreedy and I jogged over to find they had captured a Russian deserter. Sgt Gregor Kruschev did not seem to possess much information in regards to the enemy even after a few knocks with the butt of my machine gunner’s stock. I gritted my teeth at the treatment, but it seemed to make Kruschev talk so I let it go this once. Denying my squad the chance to beat the poor man (who seemed hungry, exhausted, and scared), I bound his hands and feet with duct tape.

I never bought into the Treat-Your-Enemies-Like-Mud sort of mentality. Kruschev was bundled into the back of the humvee and we headed to a security checkpoint to drop him off so the higher ups could question him more fully. My squad seemed appalled by this idea and called for his death or torture on the spot. Blood and bullets…

Before we could reach the checkpoint, we were opened fire upon by a sniper hidden away in an abandoned apartment building. Naturally my squad runs right in to confront the sniper. We had no idea how many of the enemy there were, and they certainly had the advantage with knowing where we were. I tried to drive out, but the humvee was shot, causing engine damage. We also lost our interpreter, one more man who won’t draw breath because of this curse of a war.

My squad was quickly out of my sight. I could only hope and pray they kept each other alive. I cut the tape around Kruschev’s ankles. I got him behind the vehicle, wanting him to stay alive because of the information he may carry, and then radioed in our predicament. Reinforcements were on the way, but it would be several minutes before they could arrive. I watched the street, and surrounding buildings as the sound of gunfire ripped through the air. I saw several Russians drop as my men swept through the building. Movement in the corner of my eye alerted me to a Russian sneaking behind me. He hadn’t noticed me yet, and with a short burst of fire from my H&K his knee gave out and he dropped. I felt sick at the sound of lead hitting bone, but my men were more important than my immediate comfort. A few seconds later and all gunfire ended.

We had escaped unscathed. They brought a Russian down with them, one who had surrendered, and McCreedy was able to stabilize the one I dealt with. Hopefully with the three Russians, HQ would find the information they were looking for. For now, the mess is calling. I will finish later.

Wednesday, May 15, 2013
St. Petersburg, Russia

As I was staring at the indescribable food gloop sitting on my mess tray this morning and my fellow platoon mates were talking amongst themselves, the officer who seems to be personally responsible for all of our missions approached the table. I hadn't even finished what was supposed to be oatmeal, and already my day was getting worse.

A team from yesterday never made it back to HQ. Another team had been sent out to look for them, but only found a battle field. It looked like they'd been cornered by Russians and never made it out. Once again this stupid war has taken more people. People who would be missed, and with the mass destruction over the past year, or even decade, people who would be needed to rebuild our world from the sad rubble of devastation we'd placed it in. Some of the people we lost each day, week, or month would never have been prepared for the fight as they were nurses, or cooks, or God in heaven, chaplains. I had to put my spoon onto my tray before I bent the damn thing out of shape.

The officer was ordering us to move out as soon as breakfast was over and hunt down the Russians who had committed this atrocity. Dr. McCreedy became a little green around the gills and slowed down his consumption of the gelatinous oatmeal. My three grunts, Payne, Arnes, and Fontaine, immediately shoved their trays away and looked ready to be on the trail. I'll never understand their readiness for death.

I perked up a bit when I saw the armored humvee we'd been granted for the duration of the mission. I held back my desire to hug her. She was magnificent. I just hoped she'd come to less damage than the last one I'd been given. I always hate when a vehicle in my protection got hurt.

A while later found us at the site of the attack. Mortar shells had ripped huge chunks from the sidewalk and buildings along one side of the street. Our side of the street. We'd never had a chance. Payne and Fontaine did a sweep through the houses along the Russian side and found a trail of blood leading out through the back of one, along with a pile of bloodied bandages. Looked like we might have gotten one after all, and from the amount of blood on the lengths of cotton, they couldn't have gone far.

A young boy approached our humvee while Fontaine and Payne were doing their sweep. Cheeky little bastard was offering information for a trade of ammunition. Arnes and I scrounged up some Russian ammo and a jambalaya MRE no one in their right mind was going to eat, which seemed to satisfy the boy. He pointed us in the direction of North, as he scrambled up into the seat beside me, pushing Dr. McCreedy to the back of the humvee despite some disgruntled noises on the doctor's part.

The young scrap of boyhood led us to a mall complete with surrounding restaurants and movie theater. Scavengers scuttled about like cockroaches, grabbing anything that was leftover and might possibly be worth anything. The movie theater was suspiciously quiet and even the scavengers gave it a rather wide berth.

Fontaine and Payne went around the back to check it out, while Arnes, McCreedy, and I stayed with the humvee, Arnes perched up to man the gun there. It took me a moment to realize that the scavengers had all scattered to the foul Russian winds, even our boy had slunk from the vehicle, when a loud bang issued from the other side of the movie theater. A radioed message from Payne informed me that one of the outer doors had been booby trapped, but that they were both fine, and entering the premises. Movement in the front lobby alerted us to a Russian getting ready to fire at the humvee team. Arnes took him down with the 50 cal. The poor man didn't even have time for a prayer before he was liquified in the foyer.

We had little time to think about though as more Russians appeared in the lobby armed with machine guns and an RPG 7. I threw the humvee into drive, screaming at Arnes to down the RPG. As a child, I would often steal my father's car and proceed to do donuts in several of the gravel parking lots sprinkled around my small town. That was nothing compared to what I did now in that mall parking lot. An RPG sailed over us as I skidded around the blacktop. Arnes was able to take out the two machine gunners near the ticket booths, but that damn RPG still loomed like Death's toothy grin. Then I took a wrong turn with the humvee, as an RPG headed straight for us. It made contact rocking me to my core. A sharp blast of pain lanced through my right shoulder as a piece of shrapnel hit. Luckily the damn thing only barely hit the passenger side corner of the windshield. We got some stray pieces of shrapnel, but everyone was still alive.

Furious at once again getting another one of my vehicles hurt, I gunned the humvee, pulled parallel to the front of the theater and let loose a burst of bullets from Arnes' M16. The RPG gunner didn't even have a chance as limbs disconnected from his body. A Russian bolted from the lobby out into the parking lot. I stomped on the gas, as Arnes took a final parting shot at the RPG finally taking out the man trying to stuff a rocket in the damn thing with one stub of an arm.

I...uh...gently bumped the fleeing Russian with the bumper of the humvee. He went down after meeting the already cracked windshield. This seemed more humane than letting Arnes pelt him with the 50 cal. So sue me. I was under pressure...

Radio contact with those inside let me know they were safe, although Payne had taken a pretty nice shot to the arm, and there were no more Russians. They'd found some Russian communication equipment though, which we confiscated and brought back to HQ with us. We stripped the place of weapons and ammo, and left. I wanted to get Payne back to HQ.

Once the adrenaline wore off from the fighting, I'm a little ashamed to admit that I sort of lost it. I should have concentrated more on disabling and less on destruction. It's hard, seeing someone taking a shot at your platoon members and keeping the humane part of yourself aware. I desperately pray that this damn war will end before I find myself lost in the blood of this place. I don't want to be like Payne, Arnes, and Fontaine, interested in only who their bullets will rip through next. I want to come out of this as...me. I want to curl up inside an engine and just sleep until this whole thing is done. I am not proud of today.

Tuesday, May 21, 2013
St. Petersburg, Russia

I am mentally exhausted. I have spent every waking moment of the past week tailing McCreedy and teaching him to tell the difference between stock and barrel. The man has no weapons knowledge. None. It scares the bejeesus out of me every time he's in the field. He may know how to remove my spleen, but the man can't even protect himself. He keeps asking for a crossbow. This week has been hell. I was finally able to retreat to the motorpool today.

Don't get me wrong, I love my team, and the idea of losing any of them scares me so I can't sleep at night sometimes, but damn. Motors don't talk back. Transmissions don't get lippy. You get a wrench in your hand and they behave or so help you God you take them apart. Who's talking back now?

I'll be spending all of my free time for a good while with the doctor. I wish Kyle were here. He was always so much better with people. That boy could charm even my parents into negotiations about raises in his allowance.

I miss them so much...

Thursday, May 23, 2013
St. Petersburg, Russia

I was thinking today of why I'm bothering to record any of these happenings. I don't really want to remember any of this. It's all sort of a bad dream for me. I originally entered the military so I could help put my brothers through college, and help my family, so it's not that...

I think...I think I want to show the following generations what happened. If things get better, and I hope every day they do, I want to show the ones who follow me, well , those who follow all of us, what we did so they could live in a world that wasn't shit. I think that's part of why we got here. Everyone got complacent, and we forgot who gave their lives in the hopes that a better world would emerge. Our history is so riddled with war and death. Why do we always have to repeat the same mistakes over and over? When will this world learn?

Ah, God. I'm such an idealist.

Saturday, May 25, 2013
St. Petersburg, Russia

Patrols. Patrols and checkpoints. We were supposed to be out on patrols for three days checking for enemy activity and intelligence. We didn't even make it twelve hours. Even with the addition of five to our team.

Our team hit the first checkpoint and we find the most depressing refugee camp. No food, a single helmet being used to cook some unknown meat over a dismal fire. Everyone sick with cholera. Our doctor only carried enough antibiotics for two people, not twenty-five. Only two guns for the whole lot, and they were held by men as green with firearms as our beloved doctor. We did what we could for them, but we had little supplies to give them. McCreedy was able to educate them on water purification, and proper waste disposal, so hopefully we could stem the outbreak of cholera. God protect these people. This war has been absolute shit for so many people. Many have lost everything. I'm supposed to be a soldier. I'm supposed to be tough, but seeing those people today... It took everything I had to swallow down the lump in my throat. I can't cry in front of my men. I can't. For many a woman in command is bad enough. I can't be soft. There is no room for sentimentality in this world right now.

I digress.

In return for what help we could give them, the refugees told us about rumors of bandits in the south. We took our leave, and went to our next checkpoint. We found a wrecked village. Local vegetation was gone. Nothing was growing despite the spring weather. We hustled away from the irradiated wasteland, not wanting to remain for any length of time.

Third checkpoint. By this time, night was falling and I was looking for a good place to camp for the night. Our third checkpoint turned out to be a farm. For the most part it was dark and empty. We spotted a flashlight moving through the house though. Two of my men broke off to scout the situation. The barn's light was on, and inside a number of Russian soldiers were unloading two trucks. It looked like a supply cache of some sort. My men swept around the barn, surrounding it. Stewart, my new radio guy, and I were able to sneak around to the open barn doors. I swear I will never live this down... A Russian started toward the doors, right for Stewart and I. We tripped over each other, and fell down. A second later the Russians head exploded. Over the radio I heard Payne congratulate himself on his shot. All hell broke loose. I let my instincts take over. Shots and screams filled the air as my team and I lit into the bastards. They fell like dominoes. Three of my men took hits, but a final grenade throw took out the last of the Russians as well as damaging the two trucks in the barn.

The doctor was able to patch up Ramirez and Payne for the moment. Klein bled out before we could get to him. DAMMIT! I can't keep losing men. I hadn't even been able to get to know him. He'd just joined our team that day. And I let him die.

My team was all for continuing on, but I nixed that idea before it was even fully formed. I had injured men as well as bandit rumors farther along our trail. We were in a place that was obviously used by the Russians, and we had no idea of when they'd be back. I had Stewart radio back to HQ and explain our situation. We were heading back that night.

I managed to fix one of the Russian trucks, and we loaded all we could into the back of their truck and ours. Fuel, ammo, weapons, MRE's, field medical supplies. We took everything we could carry. I eyed the MRE's and med supplies. Those were going somewhere special. I couldn't risk going forward into unknown territory, so we headed back the way we came. Norvell, another new guy, drove one truck while I drove the other. I took a pit stop at the refugee camp and unloaded the MRE's and med supplies. It wasn't much, and there was some grumbling among my men. I snapped. These people needed those supplies far more than we did. We had an army to outfit and feed us. They were boiling water in helmets for Christ's sake! I would have left a few weapons and ammo if I hadn't thought my men would outright mutiny.

We didn't stay long. I wanted to get Ramirez and Payne to proper medical facilities. So we trundled back to base.

Now I sit here writing. In a while I'll go check on my men. I wonder if I can sleep in the motorpool tonight. Somehow I don't want to be in my bunk. If I had any interest in getting a man, I might consider that, but for now vehicles are all the solace I want. I don't want to be reminded I'm human. I keep trying to convince myself this is all worth it if my family stays safe. Where are you?

Graves Registration:

LCpl Jacob Morgan Klein, USMC (0311)
New York City, New York
18 July 1993 - 25 May 2013
Killed in action during a patrol operation east of Saint Petersburg, Russia. The patrol encountered a group of Russian soldiers, and a firefight ensued. LCpl Klein neutralized at least one of the enemy, but was hit by a burst of fire. He was beyond medical assistance and died within seconds.


Tuesday, July 3rd, 2013
St. Petersburg, Russia
I’ve been spending my free time with Dr. McCreedy again. Finally the man can reliably use a gun. I think I’ll sleep in the motorpool tonight. I’m through with people for a bit.


Thursday, July 4th, 2013
St. Petersburg, Russia

My team and I were woken up early by Rathmussen.

“There’s a meeting in the rec center. Everyone’s going, so hustle up.” He spoke quickly and disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared.

The rec center was crowded, and the edges of the room were already squashed full of those who were not lucky enough to get a chair. A large sound system was being set up on a stage at the front of the room. General Thomas stood in front of the massive speakers, and spoke, quieting the mob of soldiers and personnel.

“Quiet! In two minutes we’ll be hearing a live Presidential address. So shut up, and listen.” He stepped down from the stage, and the murmurs resumed.

Several minutes later the speakers crackled, and then the long loud whine of the broadcasting warning system blasted through the rec center. More than a few hurried to cover their ears. A moment later the drone stopped, and the speakers crackled again. Then we all heard President Richardson’s voice.

“My fellow Americans,” began the President of the United States.

“This evening, on the two hundred and thirty-seventh anniversary of our country’s founding, I come before you with a message of apology and farewell. When you chose me five years ago to lead this great nation, you did so because of your belief in my promises of renewed peace and prosperity. I promised to restore to this office the integrity that it once held, to prove it worthy of your trust once more. I promised to restore to America the fortune and certainty that we all enjoyed in happier times. Your government – no, I personally have failed to uphold those promises. And I am sorry.

“This past year brought you face to face with the greatest crisis our nation has ever known. You endured unimaginable losses and hardships not experienced since the fi rst days of our republic. And through it all, you persevered, responding with magnificent spirit that has always defi ned America. I have never been prouder to be an American than I have been in this, the Last Year.” A sigh rustles across a country at the implicit capitalization, as the President speaks the two words that have grown to symbolize the death of everything that came before.

“Tragically, I must now speak of failure. The past half-century has seen a diminishing of that spirit, and I have no choice but to accept the blame for this most terrible of losses lies squarely at the feet of myself and my predecessors. My countrymen, for two generations your government betrayed you – not through treachery or oppression, but through sweet seduction, by shouldering your burdens in a misguided attempt to buy your loyalty and silent consent with luxury and security. The events of the Last Year challenged us and found us wanting, and we all paid the price for this assumption of responsibility as your government failed to honor its obligations to you, its citizens. The most basic guarantee of a government to its people, of peace and safety, was a lie.

“My compatriots, I now call upon you one last time to rally, to march to the sound of the guns, to light the watch fires in this twilight of an age and to hold back the darkness that threatens to engulf all mankind. I call upon you to rekindle the spirit of explorers and colonists, tradesmen and statesmen, pioneers and citizen-soldiers who forged the United States of America upon the anvil of adversity. I call upon you to dream again the dreams that made our nation great and raised it to dazzling heights: dreams of liberty, equality, and justice.”

There was a momentary pause as we all held our breath.

“There are times when it is necessary to tear down the ruins of the old before building anew. I spent the past weeks consulting with every one of your elected leaders who could be reached, and, with deepest regret, the consensus we reached is that this is such a time. The United States yet lives, and will so long as a single American heart beats, but it is deeply wounded, clothed in sackcloth and ashes. Any attempt to continue blindly in a single, centrally-determined direction would be doomed to failure. You could not and should not trust our guidance now when we have so gravely erred before.

“Therefore, my final executive order as President of the United States, duly authorized by the surviving members of Congress and the Supreme Court, is that the federal government and all agencies thereof are disbanded, effective as of this date, the fourth of July, two thousand thirteen. All former federal employees, both civil and military, who now stand on American soil, are requested to place themselves and the assets they control at the disposal of the local governor or equivalent interim authority. All such personnel outside American territory are requested to return here as best they may, and may whatever God you pray to keep and protect each of you as you walk that long road home.

“Many years ago, in another time when this country was torn apart by strife, it was led by a better man than I. He called then, as I call now, upon his citizens to dedicate themselves to the unfinished work of their fallen brethren, to bring about a new birth of freedom, that government of the people, by the people, and for the people should not perish from the earth. In my last moments as your President, I call upon you to dedicate yourselves to the rebirth of this nation, to shelter and cherish our shared ideals until a time when America has the strength to raise itself up again on the hands of men and women who dare to dream.

“But this time must not be prematurely forced upon history by men who seek to maintain their own power because they know nothing else, nor by those who are guided not by reason but blind and misplaced faith in their own infallibility. It must be brought about by you and your children, by common consensus, through common wisdom, for common good, at a time when you as a people have healed the wounds of our betrayal and are ready to choose new leaders who will not repeat our crimes. Until that time, you must trust in yourselves fi rst, remembering that America has always been made great by individual, exceptional, men and women.

“Good night, my fellow Americans... and good luck. You’re on your own.”

The rec center was absolutely silent. General Thomas once again climbed onto the stage and gave a little cough.

“This is my promise to you; we all came here together and I will be damned if we don’t all leave here together. For now you all are dismissed to your barracks. We will be handing out orders from there. Dismissed!”

The room erupted into chaos as soldiers jumped to their feet yelling, cursing, and stamping. I eased my clenched hands and stared at the small crescents left by my nails in my palms. I silently gathered my team, and we headed back to our barracks. My team spent the day staring at their weapons, and packing their belongings, preparing for whatever is to come.

I sit here now, and I can’t stop my hands from shaking. I can’t get the sinking feeling out of my stomach. I feel as though I’ll never see Home again. This damn hell of a country. This damn hell of a war. What was I fighting for? What…


Tuesday, July 9th, 2013
St. Petersburg, Russia

We have been busy as all hell lately. The day after the Presidential address dissolving the US, we were told there was a tank farm nearby that could potentially give us the fuel we need to get us home. My team was sent out to scout the farm and report on the amounts and types of fuel. On the way we found some slavers, who we quickly dispatched, and released the slaves. Once we got to the farm, we found the Russians there already. A small team had apparently been dispatched to do exactly what we were supposed to be doing. We waited until they had gathered all the info we needed, and then we attacked.

A short time later, they lay dead, and we were radioing the information back to HQ. Within an hour, our fuel trucks were on their way to collect what we needed. Around dark however, the Russians attacked in earnest. They took one of the bridges leading to the farm. We held them back as well as we could to give our trucks the time they needed. My team and I crossed the river under the dark of night, and managed to take down one of their tanks. Fontaine also found a Russian sniper rifle which he happily took with him. And I killed a BMP! My first shot with a rocket since OCS, and scratch one IFV. I felt a supreme sense of triumph and exhilaration at watching it explode and burn...until I thought about the crewmen and infantry trapped inside this burning steel coffin as it slipped beneath the surface of the river. This miraculous shot was followed by another, this time hitting a Russian on the other side of the river with an AK-47 we'd 'liberated' from suspected marauders.

Our small force had no real chance of winning though, so we pulled back and met up with our fuel trucks as they were leaving with their last haul. The Russians were right behind us and entered the tank farm as we left. Our engineers had left them a little surprise though, and the tank farm exploded in a huge boom of smoke and fire. I sat at the driver’s seat of our humvee, and watched the night sky fill with smoke.

Back at HQ, everyone was flying around, preparing the ships, packing things up, and constant patrols looking for Russians. I’ve been on my feet constantly and spending a lot of time in the motorpool playing around with our vehicles. And now it’s time to work again. Shortly we should be well on our way back home. My heart skips a beat every time I think about it. Peace out for now.

July 12th, 2013
St. Petersburg, Russia

I am never going home.

A few days after the tank farm incident, my team and I were on patrol when the Russians attacked in force. We worked our way slowly, leaving dead Russians in our wake, back to HQ on the island, and fought several delaying actions to slow the Russians down. During one of these brief fights, we ambushed a group of several BMP's, with perhaps a dozen infantry on foot. Between our AT-4 and captured RPG, we made short work of the BMP's, and incapacitated some of the nearby infantry as an added bonus.

I think maybe one of the worst things about combat is the utter randomness. After we destroyed the Russian vehicles, they wildly returned fire, shooting the buildings our people were hiding in but failing to do more than make us duck for cover. Then disaster struck. Payne and Carr were on the roof of a mechanic's shop (already pretty well picked over...I looked), firing their machineguns into the enemy. Carr was hit in the head by a random burst. He didn't feel anything. He couldn't have.

Carr had a wife and baby daughter back in Utah. I wonder if they'll ever learn of his fate. Or if they're even alive themselves.

We made it to the shore of the mainland in time to see fires all over the island and our people trying desperately to cross the bridge to our side. Engines screamed overhead, as a bomber flew by releasing two missiles. I had time to see our ships get hit and go up in a mushroom cloud of smoke and fire, before the light burst blinded me. My people threw me into the back of the truck, and I could feel us drive off.

A nuke! Those crazy Russian bastards hit us with a nuke! I'd thought that most of the nuclear weapons in existence had already been used, or destroyed. I wasn't the only one. I wonder how many more are left? And worse yet, who controls them now?

We drove for a little while until stopping in a calmer part of the city. My vision still hadn't returned. Several of my team scattered to see if they couldn't find anything useful. The rest stayed to protect the truck, me, and Fontaine, who seemed to have been blinded by the light as well. After several hours, our vision began to return, and my team came back carrying a rather impressive amount of supplies. Mostly food stuffs and ammo, but they did manage to find a Russian 50 cal we could weld to the truck.

After some discussion, we decided to head out of town away from the Russians, and away from the conflict. We had no army or headquarters anymore. Instead, we'd head West and see if we couldn't find a way home from there.

We managed to cross the Russian border into Estonia with no drama or inhibitions. We stopped in the early morning to grab some sleep. I'd been driving all night, and was exhausted. A small team went to scout and scavenge if they could, while I settled down to nap. I had just started to nod off, when I was called outside the truck. Payne had found am armed citizen near our camp. Neither of us spoke Russian with any sort of expertise, so I handed my radio to the local and had him speak to Rathmussen. He was looking for food and a doctor. Our doctor was out of action at the moment, but we would have been glad to trade some of our food for fuel, so we started negotiations until we heard gun fire not too far away. The man panicked, and ran off towards the gunfire.

We came to a church where the local was staying with others. A few Russians were spread out in the graveyard shooting towards the church, the occupants of which were returning fire through the windows. We made short work of the Russians. Inside we found an English nurse taking care of a pack of civilians. She was none too happy to see a group of Americans. She was rude and verbally abusive, even going so far as to blame America for the war almost exclusively, but finally said she could scrounge up some diesel for food, guns, and ammo if we had any to spare. Apparently there is some kind of resistance in Estonia, fighting the Russian invaders. We handed over what we could, and then, at the nurse's insistence, left town shortly afterward. I am still exhausted, but I traded off driving with someone else, so I'll curl up in the back now, and sleep. Good night. Or morning. Whichever you prefer.

Graves Registration:

Cpl Kevin Andrew Carr, USMC (0331)
Salt Lake City, Utah
06 Sept 1988 - 12 July 2013
Killed in action during the defense of St. Petersburg against a massive Russian attack. Cpl Carr's team ambushed a small Russian force, destroying a tank and several infantry fighting vehicles with rocket fire, then proceeded to engage the infantry with small arms. Cpl Carr was struck several times in the face by enemy small arms fire and died instantly.