2100hrs, 29 December 1971
It was a cold and snowy night when the reports started pouring in. At first, everyone though it was some kind of joke. The Erovans had been beaten back to their lands centuries ago, and in spite of the rare Erovan clash, we were at peace, and had been for some time. It was the seventies, for Maker's sake. I remember we were all in the common room, huddled around this one prehistoric radio, receiveing CNS broadcasts from the capital. The air was electric, everyone's nerves stretched to fraying. There had been a bombing at Blackwood Hall, and there had been...shortly there after, the OPORDER came down. It was official: war. The boys stared in rapt attention, as the commander rattled off the directive: we were to assault Umbragrad in eight hours. It was unfathomable: our capital, scarred by centuries of conflict, has fallen. The tension was palpable, I remember looking around, and only seeing a sort of stony resolve, some faces more blatant than others. Last thing I remember that night was walking out to the motor pool, looking up and seeing what a brilliantly clear night it was.
-Corporal Minor Sam Tratoro, 57th Mechanized Infantry Regiment.
