Weary eyes stare back at him from the mirror, ringed by darkness. His head is all over the spot. Swimming in delirium from sleepless nights and excited by caffeine. His heart drums hard even though he is doing nothing but staring at himself.
Eight long nights he has been conducting the war from afar. Analysing the positions of soldiers and war machines and predicting where they will go next and what they can beat. Always wanting to strike the balance and send minimum resources to each conflict and it blooms.
On all fronts, they are losing. Supplies dwindle down to nothing. Soldiers are starving. Machines are out of fuel. All he can do now is stem the haemorrhage while making the enemy bleed for every step they take.
It sounds noble but it's not. He's lightyears away, on another world entirely. A warmaster for a planet he'll never see, in no personal danger himself. No, this losing battle is for the war.
Attrition will win them this, in the end. No matter how long it takes or how many lives it consumes.
Paddy Dobson
27th October 2022