Work Text:
~Written by Aux.
“Alright, how many of the letters have you given out?” Grace asked.
“To many to count.” Montagrie rubbed her eyes. “I lost half a squad last week. The commander’s still reeling.”
“I gave out four yesterday, and two of the people I was supposed to give them too had died already.” Jerome said.
“Des?” All eyes fell on the half woman half wire person leaning against the wall, near the door at the edge of the room.
“None.”
“No casualties?” Sergeant X asked, sceptic.
“Shit ton of casualties.” Des grumbled. “Those letters are so damn shitty and impersonal. I’ll tell my people their friends, and relatives, and family members died myself.”
“Des, you’re supposed to use the letter to save time…”
“Sergeant Strategist McQueen,” Des snapped out Grace’s formal title, in agitation. “Have you read the letters recently?” She walked forward, limping badly, and slapped down a crumpled piece of dingy printer paper, and slid it to Grace, then stepped back into the crowd. “That’s your “Death Letter”.” Des spat. “Read it! Read it and weep! No… read it and cringe.”
Grace did. It read:
From the office of
[insert rank]
[initials, surname]
[Date]
[Name of Recipient(s)]
We regret to inform you that [name of casualty] has passed. This occurred at [time, day, date, month, year]. The cause of death (has)/(has not) been disclosed. The cause of death was [insert cause of death].
[If you are able, please proceed to [location] to identify their body]
[Name of casualty]’s passing saddens us all. We are working tirelessly to arrange for a memorial service. We will notify you as news develops.
We are sorry for you loss,
[Commanding Officer’s Signature.]
[Commanding Officer’s printed Rank, initials, name]
Grace looked at Des in some sort of shock, half veiled by anger. “What’s the point of this?” She demanded.
“So you get your head outta the clouds and look at the reality. You haven’t been in the field awhile.” Des sniffled. Grace was sure she was coming down with something. “More people are dying. We’re losing, we’re winning. But the cost of either is rising drastically. We have to take action.”
“You follow your orders, that’s the action you take!” Baalman reprimanded Des. Des started him down from across the table, blind rage in her frame.
“Sir yes sir.” She snapped. “I follow your orders, and more people freaking die. I make up my own damn plays, follow my own damn rules, and fewer people die, we win more. You’re using a failing strategy but keeping your credibility because you have a midi chlorian count above seventy five hundred! “It’s the will of the force!” Sherlock, you’ve gotta be shitin’ me?!! So is the force willing twenty thousand to die in a single day! If we keep this up we will fail, and we will fail so fucking entirely, and miserably! If you wanna give me and the rest of my guys a fighting chance!” Des heaved in, out, coughed. The room stayed dead silent. “You’ll let General Cordova, and the rest of the military council, do their karkin’ job!”
“Get out!” Baalman shouted, throwing his arm towards the door. “Get the fuck out! Now!”
“Sir yes fuckin’ sir.” Des gave him the enemy salute and spun on her heel, then marched out the door, enraged.