The Journal of Michael Bekker

by Ulquiorra9000

Entry 397: May 8th, 3052

I will not even attempt to pronounce, or spell, the name of the bacterial infection that has taken hold in my right arm and leg.

Whatever it is, the doctors were quick to identify it this morning, and the looks on their faces filled me with dread. Apparently, it is common in the Free Rasalhague Republic, often carried aboard civilian DropShips and spread around. Often in history have invading soldiers fallen ill to a foreign land's diseases, especially on pre-spaceflight Terra. I have read the histories. And now, a fast-acting strain of bacterium has settled into my injured limbs.

Stravag.

I would write harsher words, but the doctors gave me morphine for the pain as the bacteria try to rot and eat the flesh of my right arm and leg. They assure me that I will not die, and that if the FRR locals can cope with this disease, then I certainly can, with superior Clan medical knowledge. Good; not even dying in a dezgra unit in the heat of battle is as ridiculous as dying in bed to an illness! I am not the only one ill in this medical DropShip; those Inner Sphere barbarians think us Clanners invincible, and I am glad that they are not here to see this and thus have that illusion shattered. There are some things you do not want the enemy to see.

I feel only a deep, throbbing pain in my afflicted arm and leg as I write this. It is lucky that I am left-handed, or else I would have to dictate this, and I have grown fond of feeling my pen making strokes on paper. It gives me a pleasant and familiar sensation to latch onto during this ordeal. My fellows of the 32nd are fighting the Com Guards for the future of Terra, and I am here, bedridden. My anger at this situation was much worse this morning, but I have eased myself into a sense of calm. I do not think my commanders would approve of a warrior throwing a tantrum at something that he cannot change.

That is all for today. Little happens here, aside from the occasional patient crashing or news trickling in from the front, from my Clan and the others. I will write, journal, if something particular occurs.

Entry 398: May 10th, 3052

As promised, journal, I have come back with updates. No, the battle for Tukayyid is not yet over, and judging by the reports coming in, no one can yet say how everything will turn out. We of the Clans are fighting, and may the Founders' wisdom lead us onwards. To what, I will have to wait and see. I hope for the best, for it sounds like the Smoke Jaguars and Diamond Sharks need it, and badly.

I had visitors today. The officers of the 32nd Assault Cluster are busy with planning new ways to assault the city of Luk, but the Points have more free time between engagements. While their 'Mechs are being refitted and repaired, my Starmates visited me, both out of curiosity and obligation.

Thonn was less than sympathetic when he accompanied Quentin, Ursina, and Candace into the med bay where I am now. I was hardly surprised or angry when he berated me for being forced to eject against the 12th and 91st Com Guards Divisions when the rest of our Trinary escaped with their 'Mechs still functional. He even said that he will "reap the glory for both of us, and your codex will envy mine". Let me say, journal, that Thonn was never very eloquent with... well, anything. He fights like a maniac, and always with the intent for the commanding officers to take notice and nominate him for promotions. I am confident that in the long run, my codex will not only not fall short of his, but surpass his. Thonn never took the long view, unlike me.

Enough about Thonn. Ursina and Candace had kinder words for me, and Ursina was apologetic that she could not have prevented that Marauder from defeating me. "I should have slain it," she had said during her visit. "Michael, the Com Guards are not worth zellbrigen! I would have fought two-on-one to get you out of there." Needless to say, Thonn was disgusted by her words and made that feeling clear on his face, but Ursina ignored him completely. I myself am torn about this; if Ursina had broken zellbrigen to aid me, I would have my Stormcrow-C intact and no broken limbs. But the shame of needing such reinforcements! Not that I am ungrateful for Ursina's desire to assist me, but... well, it is complicated no matter how I think about it. It is a moot point, anyway, and that fact excuses me from having to worry about it.

Candace, meanwhile, made it clear that she would fight and destroy every Com Guards 'Mech, armored tank, and aerospace fighter unlucky enough to get in her crosshairs so our fellows need not suffer like me. This is her idea of sympathy; if one person hurts you, she will slay a thousand of the instigator's friends. She would try and conquer Tukayyid herself, I wager.

I have never felt more grateful.

Candace assured me that she would return and visit me every chance she got during the Luk campaign, even if she did so alone, so she could tell me, in her own words, how well she and the 32nd are fighting the Com Guards. She wants me to hear in her voice, and see in her eyes, her fury and lust for victory, as a way to lift my spirits. A part of me is afraid that her zeal and reckless rage will get her killed like this, but who am I to talk her out of it? No one can. She does not have the patience of a ghost bear, only the fury when it strikes. Or, more like a Smoke Jaguar with a chip on her shoulder, and I actually told her that as a sort of joke. Candace laughed, but I think she took it as advice, in a way.

Quentin had no real opinion to share either way, only telling me, in that flat voice of his, that he will keep his ears open for updates on my condition, and that of other injured warriors of Beta Galaxy. Quentin is thinking in terms of logistics and numbers and probabilities, and such things are part of what makes him the ristar that he is. Though up close, I can see the strain more than ever. When was the last time he slept for more than a nap's worth? He is taut, like a myomer muscle in action, and I have heard myomers snap before. It is a nasty sound. I did not tell Quentin any of this, however. He would dismiss any concern from me, not out of arrogance or disdain for me, but simply because he does not want the distraction. His mind is always on those campaign maps and mental calculations.

A few hours after my Starmates left for patrol, I overheard a doctor mentioning something about experimental bodily enhancement options, and I am almost certain that he had glanced at me while saying it to the medical staff. Are they preparing to make me an offer? A test subject for advanced medicine or cyborg technology? After all, warriors with conditions worse than mine had been restored to fighting form. Not always with total success (there are many horror stories of treatments gone wrong), but I am intrigued by the idea. I burn to return to the battlefield! I cannot let these flesh-eating Rasalhague bacteria hobble me like this. Perhaps tomorrow, or sometime after that, I will have my answer, journal. And you will know about it right away.

Perhaps it is best that I close your pages for now, journal. I need to rest, and I feel that my next update should encompass more than daily updates. Perhaps by then, I will tell you whether the battle for Tukayyid ended up as glorious victory for the Clans... or a humiliating defeat bundled with a 15-year truce line.

I shall let you know.