3 weeks until my 17th birthday
Location: Forward Hold 12-C, Lower Tunnel Line
current rank: Soldat
Deployment: 7th
They say the average lifespan of a Soldat is six deployments.I'm on my seventh.
Maybe that means I've made it. Maybe it means I'm overdue.
Command says I've "adjusted." That I "adapt well to the stress." What they mean is: I don't hesitate when I shoot. I don't ask too many questions. I follow orders. I drag the wounded back even when they're screaming for someone to finish the job. I survive.
I don't feel like a survivor. I just feel tired.
I still dream about Yakutsk.Sometimes I'm in the kitchen with my mother, peeling frostbitten potatoes. Sometimes I'm under the table when the sirens start. And sometimes… I'm just walking. No destination. No sound. Just the cold. I wake up before the bombs hit.
They promoted me after the last retreat. Gave me the shoulder mark, the rations bump, even a broken watch that doesn't tick anymore. I guess that makes it official.
Joseph Aslanov, Royal Nation. Current Rank: Soldat. Age: Sixteen.
Job: Survive the war.
But I still keep this diary.Because some days, I need to remind myself that I'm still human.Even if I'm not sure for how much longer.
Forward Hold 12-C, Lower Tunnel Line
The low hum of the arc-lamps buzzed above the dugout, flickering now and then like dying fireflies. Dust drifted through the cold air, thick enough to chew. Joseph sat against a corrugated iron wall, his rifle across his knees and a ration tin cooling in his lap. He hadn't touched it.
Across from him, Kora—covered in soot from head to boot—tightened the fittings on her mining launcher. "They don't pay us enough to go into dead tunnels," she muttered, half to herself, half to Joseph.
"We don't get paid at all," he said without looking up.
"Exactly."
Next to them, Mikael, the Mortician, was refilling his glass vials. One hissed faintly as he injected a dose of his 'clarifier' stim into his arm. He barely flinched. "I heard it was a Bandit raid," he said, voice smooth and emotionless. "Tunnel 41. No bodies left. Just gear, scattered like ashes."
"That's not a raid," Kora replied, slinging her launcher over her shoulder. "That's a ghost story."
Joseph stood up, fastening his chest rig. His helmet hung from a hook beside him, still wet from the last tunnel wash. He hadn't cleaned the mud from his boots.
The briefing had been short:Objective – Recon Tunnel Segment 41B, dubbed "No Man's Tunnel."Intel – Connection lost three days ago. No radio. No scouts returned.Command's Verdict – Likely collapse or trap.Orders – "Investigate. Report. Do not engage unless necessary."
Sergeant Drevik entered the hold, his uniform as stiff as his posture. "Form up," he barked. "You've got five to prepare. We move on the sixth."
Joseph clipped his helmet on. The world narrowed to a small circle of darkness and filtered light. He adjusted the chin strap.
"Same route?" Kora asked, checking her sidearm.
Drevik nodded. "Through Maintenance Runoff, past the broken bulkhead. Tunnel 41B's entrance is three klicks. You don't stop. You don't stray. You keep your eyes open, and your safeties off."
Joseph glanced toward the corridor ahead. It yawned like a throat.
No Man's Tunnel.No ownership. No reinforcements. No promises.
"Ready?" Drevik growled.
Joseph took one last breath and said, "Ready."
En Route to Tunnel 41B
The air grew colder as they walked, their boots crunching on gravel and broken glass. The tunnel stretched endlessly forward, lit only by intermittent arc-lamps that buzzed above like dying stars. Between lights, the darkness closed in like curtains drawn tight.
Kora was the first to break the silence.
"So, Soldat Aslanov," she said with a smirk, adjusting her belt. "Seventh deployment now? You must really like walking into holes where people don't come back out."
Joseph kept his eyes ahead. "I don't like it. I'm just good at it."
"Big difference," Mikael added, voice low. "One gets you respect. The other gets you killed."
"Which one are you aiming for?" Kora asked.
"Not dying," Joseph said simply. "And getting my squad out alive, if I can."
Kora raised an eyebrow. "You're an optimist. That's cute."
Ahead of them, Sergeant Drevik's footsteps were silent but heavy. He didn't join the conversation—he never did. But Joseph noticed the way his shoulders stiffened at the mention of squad survival.
Behind them, Lev, the squad's youngest conscript—a rookie barely fifteen—let out a shaky breath. "Do you think... do you think we'll see anything in there? I mean, like Empire scouts? Or—"
"Worse," Mikael said flatly. "You'll see yourself if you're not careful. People go into tunnels like these thinking they're prepared. They're not. Half the battle is shadows. The other half is losing your mind."
Joseph turned slightly. "You'll be fine, Lev. Just stick behind me and don't touch anything that hisses."
"Or pulses," Kora added. "Or moves."
Lev gulped audibly. "...Got it."
They passed a collapsed support beam, twisted metal and splintered wood, like a ribcage torn open. A rusty cart sat derailed nearby, old blood painted across one side like a dried handprint.
No one spoke for a few minutes.
Then, quietly, Joseph asked, "Did you guys ever hear the story of the first crew that went into 41B?"
Mikael gave a half-laugh. "Let me guess—mysterious sounds, flickering lights, missing bodies."
"Closer than you'd think. Supposedly the tunnel was fine one week, then radio went dead. They sent a Rook team down. Six men. Good ones."
"What happened?"
Joseph's voice lowered. "They found three of the six later… way off course. Like, in an entirely different section. No wounds. No signs of struggle. Just… dead. One of them was smiling."
Kora rolled her eyes. "Ghost stories."
Joseph shrugged. "Just saying what I heard."
"You hear a lot of things underground," Mikael said. "Your own blood moving. Rock creaking. Wind that shouldn't be there."
"Like now," Lev whispered.
Everyone stopped.
There was a soft gust, unnaturally cold, brushing past their boots like breath. The lamps above flickered once.
They all turned to Drevik. His hand was already on the grip of his 'Judgement' breech rifle. His voice came low and hard:"We're almost there. Form up. Mics on. Stay sharp. Tunnel 41B is ahead."
The chatter stopped.
All that remained was the sound of breathing, and the distant whine of steel shifting under the earth.
Tunnel 41B
The mouth of Tunnel 41B loomed ahead—tall, blackened stone arching like the ribs of some long-dead beast. Support beams groaned under their own weight. Sandbags were scattered near the entrance, many shredded or half-buried. No guards. No lights. Just rusted warning signage and a battered steel plaque scorched beyond recognition.
They crossed the threshold in silence.
Drevik raised a fist. The squad halted.
He scanned the tunnel ahead, rifle lowered but ready. "No sentries. No barricade. No motion wires."
Kora stepped closer to Joseph and muttered under her breath, "Too clean."
Joseph nodded subtly. She was right. Even in inactive zones, protocol demanded some form of deterrence. But here, the air was... still. Untouched. Not abandoned—cleared.
Mikael's eyes narrowed. "This isn't natural. Something moved through here recently."
Lev adjusted his helmet, his breath fogging up the inside of his mask. "So… maybe they're just dead?"
"No bodies," Joseph said. "No brass. No blood. Not even scuff marks."
They continued inward.
The deeper they went, the quieter it became. Even their own movements seemed muffled, like sound refused to echo. Joseph's boots felt heavier with each step, the weight of silence pressing on his chest.
About sixty meters in, Kora stopped beside a half-sunken support crate. She pried it open.
"Empty," she said. "Standard issue rations and ammo tins—torn open. Some still sealed. Whatever came through here didn't loot it."
Joseph knelt next to a discarded shovel. The metal was warped, not from use—but heat. Not fire. Something more intense, more concentrated. Like it had been left too close to an engine exhaust… or worse.
His voice was quiet. "Mikael, check the walls. Anything unusual."
The veteran ran his gloved fingers along the wall's edge, stopping at a patch of slick residue where the stone looked glassy.
"Melting?" he muttered.
Drevik knelt beside it, tapping the barrel of his rifle against the surface.
It sang.
The tone was deep and subtle—like the ring of a far-off bell—but it shouldn't have made any sound at all. It was stone.
The squad shared uneasy glances.
"I don't like this," Kora whispered.
Suddenly—
CLANG.
A sharp, hollow impact echoed from deep within the tunnel.
Drevik turned instantly. "Positions. Guns up."
Joseph moved behind a rusted pipeline, Kora taking cover at his right, Lev awkwardly mirroring her, trembling. Mikael crouched ahead, rifle aimed forward.
They waited.
The silence returned.
Then another noise—softer this time. A scraping. Like metal dragged across gravel. Followed by a brief, low hiss.
Drevik activated his mic. "Command, this is Unit Echo-Seven. We've entered Tunnel 41B. No sign of initial outpost. No resistance. Environmental anomalies present. Possible enemy contact. Requesting update on Empire movements in this sector."
Static.
Then a cold, grainy, automated tone:
"Signal relay failure. Nearest command node unreachable."
Kora exhaled sharply. "Of course it is."
Joseph glanced ahead, deeper into the tunnel. It curved slightly, and something about that turn—the way it vanished into dark—made his stomach tighten.
He looked to Drevik. "Do we continue?"
The sergeant stared forward for a long moment, silent. Then:
"…We move. Slow and quiet. Expect contact."
And so they did.
Step by step, past collapsed alcoves, past broken track rails and melted lanterns. Something had come through this tunnel.
They just hadn't found it yet.
The tunnel curved, then opened into a hollowed-out chamber—an old maintenance station maybe, reinforced with thick stone and rusted latticework. Abandoned crates and scaffolding lined the walls. They entered cautiously, boots crunching over loose gravel.
Joseph was mid-step when the air shifted.
A soft, unnatural wind blew from the tunnel behind them.
He froze.
Kora was the first to whisper it: "We're not alone."
CRACK.
The report of a rifle echoed through the cavern—Lev dropped without a sound, a red mist erupting from his shoulder as he collapsed.
"Contact!" Drevik shouted.
Muzzle flashes erupted from the darkness ahead. Golden Empire shock troops poured in from side passages—low, quick silhouettes in bronze masks and gas-caped coats. Their shots were disciplined, precise.
Mikael dragged Lev behind a crate, returning fire with controlled bursts.
Joseph dove for cover, feeling rounds ping off the stone behind him. Kora was already laying down suppressing fire from behind a torn sandbag wall.
Drevik's voice barked through the dust and shouting.
"Hold the line! Don't let them take the room!"
The squad scrambled. Joseph rolled behind a support beam, peeking out only to fire. One Empire soldier went down, then another. But more kept coming—firing from higher ground, tossing in frags that burst into gas and noise.
A grenade landed nearby.
BOOM.
Dust and shrapnel filled the air. Joseph coughed, ears ringing. When his vision cleared, he saw Drevik lying still, a gash across his helmet.
"No—!" Joseph shouted, dragging the sergeant to cover.
Kora slammed a fresh mag into her rifle and crawled beside him. "They're trying to surround us!"
Mikael's voice came over the squad comms: "We've got a fallback route—north rail path! But we've got maybe thirty seconds before they breach our flank!"
Joseph looked to Drevik—unconscious but breathing. Then toward the others.
He bit his tongue.
Then: "We hold ten more seconds. Kora, cover left! Mikael, prep smoke!"
They poured fire downrange. Shell casings rattled like brass rain. Joseph heard an Empire soldier screaming—then silence. His rifle ran dry.
He slapped in a new mag. "GO!"
Smoke grenades burst across the room, clouds swallowing the chaos.
The squad fell back under cover of fog and shrapnel, dragging Drevik and Lev with them. Joseph was last out—firing one-handed behind him, legs pounding the floor. Another shot cracked past his cheek. Close.
But then they were through the corridor, down the slope of the north rail line—scrambling into cover, breathless, bloodied, but alive.
They held.
Just barely.
Joseph Aslanov's Diary — Entry #47Dated: One week after the 41B engagement
I'm writing this with bandages still on my ribs and mud still in my boots. It's been a week since Tunnel 41B, but I swear I can still smell the blood in the air. The rust. The gas. The way the shots echoed off the stone, louder than thunder.
Drevik's alive. Barely. He hasn't woken up yet, but they say he will. Lev lost his right arm below the elbow. Mikael hasn't spoken much. Kora's the only one who pretends we won something. I don't know if we did. We pushed them back, sure—but the cost keeps climbing.
I don't even know how many deployments this makes now. Seven, I think. It all blurs together. All I remember is how cold my hands were when I pulled Drevik out, how heavy he felt. He was supposed to be the one keeping us alive.
They gave me another stripe. The official notice came yesterday. I'm Soldat now—Royal Nation frontliner, full rank.
Funny, isn't it? When I was nine, running from Yakutsk, I didn't think I'd live this long. Back then, I thought if I could just make it to Renewal, the worst would be behind me.
Now I'm almost seventeen. I've survived cave-ins, ambushes, starvation, gas raids. I've killed. I've bled.
But part of me still hopes.
I hope the war ends before my bones finish growing.I hope Drevik wakes up and still remembers my name.I hope one day, we'll stop fighting over soil and smoke.
I hope there's something human left in us when this is over.
—Joseph A.
Joseph closed the battered notebook and slipped it back beneath his cot, letting the silence of the barracks settle around him. The dim oil lamp cast long shadows across the ceiling of the dugout, flickering gently with the drafts of stale air.
Outside, the tunnels hummed with the distant echoes of boots and drills—life in motion, or what passed for it down here.
He lay back on the thin mattress, eyes fixed on the ceiling where someone had etched tally marks. Too many to count.
Somewhere deeper in the caverns, the war moved on. Another skirmish. Another tunnel. Another death.
But tonight, just for a moment, Joseph let himself breathe.
Tomorrow, they'd march again.
But tonight… they were still alive.
End of Chapter 3