(This post, like the Eulogy to the Fallen Soldier, is to try and bring home the reality of what it’s got to be like on the cold battlefields of Eastern Europe and is published in the hope of getting enough people to understand that this slaughter needs to stop.)

I’m cold, hungry and so tired. Naught to see but ravaged land and the frozen earth of this ditch in which I have suffered for too long. Naught to see but the remains of my friends, some mostly whole, many more no longer anything but shredded body parts and bloodied limbs, bones and more blood than I ever dreamed could be shed. Those of us who are still alive might as well be dead, too. There is no hope here.

I imagine the guys who are firing on our positions are cold too. They don’t know us, whether or not we hate them; most of us don’t, and they probably don’t hate us either, although there are some units in the rear that hate everyone on the field. Those psychopaths even kill their own people, ostensibly to get them to fight, but some especially evil men simply kill for the pleasure of killing, doesn’t matter whom. Everyone knows of them – and they relish the notion that they are feared. There is a special place in hell for them. There’s also a special place in hell for the people who profit, in any way, from this murderous undertaking. Even the “bible believing” stockholders of the many “defense” contractors of the countries responsible for this.

If someone were to ask why we are here, there wouldn’t be many of us who could say. I have my own notions, but not for sure. We don’t get paid to know the politics; we simply get coordinates and fire our weapons. We don’t know if we hit our target, or who we kill. Did our bullets find young men who were alive – just beginning their lives, with the hopes and aspirations of all young men? Were they killed instantly, or do they lie suffering in pain and horror, as they succumb to that eternal sleep?

Even in these damnable trenches, we hear of the destruction wreaked all around this country. Many civilian people who have nothing to do with this war suffer immensely. Mothers continually pray to God that their sons might survive; heartbroken, realizing that in all likelihood they will never see them again on this side. I’ve been praying ever since I arrived at this corner of hell that God will see fit to spare my life, but I don’t hold much hope for that – there’s just too much death here for me to actually believe I’ll survive. Maybe I won’t – I’d just like to get it over with, one way or another. This abominable waiting for the end is another hell of its own, and no one but us guys in the trenches know what it’s like. Maybe if more regular people knew; someone, somewhere, would help get this madness stopped before all of us die.

The ice-cold dark water in these holes is unbearable. It’s filthy, with blood and waste, and we wade in it, freezing our feet. Our clothes are wet, most of us are bleeding from untreated wounds, which will no doubt become infected. What a dismal situation we are in, when we consider ourselves fortunate, even though we lose our feet to frostbite, just to remain alive. We keep our eyes and ears open for incoming rounds and it’s exhausting, the drugs help to keep us awake, but after a while, we become zombified, mindlessly pursuing and performing our mission of death. Of course, that’s what the leaders want. As much death as evil men can bring about.

It’s the ultimate conundrum when a man gets so tired of trying to survive, he starts to pray for death.