Excerpt from Marshall Brian O’Cartwell’s personal journal:

As I sit here, the pain lingers on like a hot iron driving into my back to brand me of the mistakes I made. I don’t find it at all cheerful despite what the nurse tried to tell me. Lucky to be alive just means it wasn’t my time to join the rest of the poor bastards. They say it was deep but I’m not able to see it. I suppose it was a tomahawk. Must’ve been a sharp one, impressive for them to do. I suppose there’s not much I can do except recover and try and get back out there. I’d hate to be the reason some new recruit gets killed cause they took my spot.

By  larru-larru