Unspoken Pacification

Three long and unsettling days have passed and there have been no more Sorynthian waves but just pockets of them. But it is a strange time indeed, not that we long the fight but there stands the enemies, within killing range but idle they are. The lumbering marauders walk with a deliberate, random pace, staring straight ahead, observing nothing. Some brave troops have wandered the battlefield, taunting and insulting the beasts, and the Sorynthians allowed the folly to take place.

We are pleased with the break in fighting but we remain tightly embraced by incertitude. It is no longer death that lingers on the border of our fear but the anticipation something far worse. The troops have been sitting around, fingers nervously twitching in their gloves, their eyes fixated on the beasts outside their little window. What is this game that the Sorynthian play with us?

Communications with Earth is still limited to snippets of propaganda, false hope, and insincere praise for a job well done. The men are so close to going home, yet it will be the wait that will erode their sanity. Home, just a jump gate away but no orders have come. We remain rooted in our boots on Io.

I managed to pen a few lines to Lexiss, but, it has been so long since I wrote about something other than words of death and darkness. I managed to write 3 lines. I did not send it. The lines are a skeleton of things past. There must be hope in resurrecting love.