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Siberian Cemetery
Posted By: UNSC Trooper<unsctrooper@hotmail.com>
Date: 3 February 2010, 8:17 am

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Siberian Cemetery

We hold the hill, I feel the warmth, the bastards' necks swinging
They root like a pack of half-dormant daemons, they sniff our path
Climbing we approach their lair, the smell invades us stinging
Before first purchase, we fathom the heavenly deliverance of death

For they surely know we're here, they read our hellish nightmares
We sense the jerking revelation of our thoughts and desires
In the midst of a fire they dance the spirit of Siberian bears
Waiting for their goddess to arrive, feed on their meal of red fires

I embrace my rifle, connect with its protective legacy
This weapon saved thousands of lives, will these savages make a difference?
Merely a delusion in the heat of battle, an irrational fantasy
But here I create my own world—my rifle is the savages' severance!

And I will bring about their last sorrow of magic rites
Observing them over the hill, I make one simple gesture
A finger in the thick smoke, directing my knights
With it rise a dozen fists, together as one preacher

Of a sudden uproar
The goddess betrays its wild things
For nothing hinders our corps
And the minions can't shed their strings

Sights set on the fire, we see the place of pagan reverence near
Against a senseless void of dark nothing, our force draws unbelievable strength
And with an unrelenting faith my troop outstands its fear
We have God on our side, the true Creator of life blessing our path's length

Yet the divine mirage lasts for moments, until we hit the distance
The unimaginable distance of our venture breaks the sweet illusion of power
As my grip on my soldiers slowly fades, finding myself at the entrance
Of an endless running path to a fireplace distant for an infinite hour

Running to catch those crazy dancers around the circle of fire
But they flail in one place, never budging even an inch
They seem to carry the fiery throne with them, away from my tire
Must I give up my struggle?—no, I won't even flinch!

I can't see my troopers, where have they gone?
Am I wandering like a madman off my mission course?
They must be lost, otherwise they'd hear my yawn
Something must have led them away from me, a third force

But they need not worry, I approach the party of savages
And drawing my rifle to chest I send a hail of metal at their ritual
The bullets hit home, I can hear their ravages!
My adrenaline pumps up, was my attack critical?

I find it was indeed, to some extent
For I see the savages form a somber emissary
The shapes of crosses, their wooden planks bent
With my troopers' names, in a Siberian cemetery

Excerpt taken from the journal found in a backpack beside the frozen body of Orbital Drop Platoon 101's lieutenant on March 25th 2163, five days after the unit's intended deployment to assassinate revolutionary militia Vladimir Koslov and eliminate his rumored para-psychological activity group. The poem was later adopted by the 105th ODST Division in a training textbook on winter survival demonstrating the deadly results of extended dehydration, despite this not being the case in the excerpted text.