My conscience is an acceptable casualty.
War changes you, and no war more so, than an unwinnable one.
No longer do you think of each man, each woman, or even each child;
Everything, and everyone, is reduced to a statistic.
The cold calculus of war holds no prisoners.
So what, if a thousand die, so that a million can live?
No sacrifice is too great to prevent total destruction.
Everyone, and everything, can be expendable.
My conscience is an acceptable casualty.
James was tired. The events of the day had weighed heavily on the general's mind. Team RWBY had betrayed him and Oscar likely lied dead at the bottom of the chasm that sat next to the staff of creation. He regretted what he had done, but he knew that he couldn't fight in his condition and the kid was close to convincing him. The kids were too idealistic to see what needed to be done. After a lifetime of military service no longer could he think of each man and as more than a soldier, but the irrationality of the human spirit was hard to break. The cold calculus of war held no prisoners.
Salem was coming with an army and Atlas had no chance of defeating, especially with its troops divided. If Atlas was unable to defeat the force, what chance does Remnant have? Atlas was the most advanced kingdom, if any hope lied in technology, they would be able to find it; but they needed time. They had to escape, to regroup, to invent some way to fight back, and no one else could see it; no one else wanted to. The only way to run away was to leave Mantle behind. If a thousand must die, so that a million can live, maybe that sacrifice is justifiable? The weight of the world sat upon his shoulders and he was all alone even when he was surrounded by his allies.
Someone had to do what was necessary; to sacrifice whatever it took to save the world. His conscience is an acceptable casualty. Everyone and everything is expendable. The children's worldview that they could save everyone without losing anyone was impossible; and they wouldn't just refuse to see it, they wouldn't even be able. He knew that if people found out what he had done, to team RWBY, to Oscar, to the entire city of Mantle, he may go down in history as a monster; but what if that's what it takes to win? He'd be a monster a thousand times over; he'd go down in history as a tyrant, so that there would be a history to go down in. What better way to fight a monster than with another?
The general rubbed his temple as he sat on the floor, thinking of the day's events. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept; the last time he didn't feel needed. Someone had to make the hard decisions and no one else seemed willing. He got up and walked around his office, hearing the Atlas radio traffic control play throughout; a sound so constant, it might as well have been a part of his own conscious stream. Reports played of Salem's incoming army; and he focused as hard as his sleep-deprived brain would allow, for any actionable intel.
General Ironwood was tired.
Thought about writing this after seeing this piece of Fanart on Reddit: r/RWBY/comments/fblvn6/encumbered_spacecapart/