psyche

I have to admit, I didn’t feel very heroic. The last sleep-deprived, nervous smiles we all gave each other were so strange. The commander’s voice, of course, was never heard, but the small but significant pauses in between each digital command told us that his heart was also heavy.

Number Four was grinning although he knew that if he failed this mission, it’d be the last mission he’d ever fail. He’d messed up too many too many times. He had always been good at coming to terms with those simple, soul-crushing truths. I felt like he’d never quite been what he’d meant to be, but he was one of the best pilots I’ve ever seen and I have to say I was glad he had missed whatever his true calling was for this. I didn’t believe that things worked out for a reason but I did feel an overpowering feeling of linearity, exacerbated by the commander’s driving countdown. Actually, we all knew that if we failed, this would be the last mission we ever failed. The group would be disbanded. After a few minutes of Number 6’s characteristic tactical genius, punctuated by silly laughs and statements of unfunny black humour, we knew that if the Core wasn’t taken out, the AA would not go down and as we swept round to escape, we would be taken out. As we smiled sadly and shifted in our seats, waiting for the bleep that would signal the start of preliminary launch preparation, we realised one by one that even if we succeeded, it would be the last mission we would ever succeed.

[snip]

It has been sixteen minutes, and the time is now 0312UTC - now I am going; goodbye. There is no-one left to say “I love you” to - how terribly sad indeed.

Ed: The CABAL Core was indeed taken out and, of course, the strike was the last order they ever carried out. The only EVA unit recovered was that of Number 9 which has, of course, yielded the above log. I, of course, am now leaving. Number 9, of course, should, of course, have, of course, felt a hero because, of course, he was. Of course.

Pax