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Command and Conquer: Beneath the Eagle's Wing

Chapter 3: Clipped Wings

Personal journal of Cassandra Blair (excerpts)

Profession: In-field reporter, W3N

Status: On assignment, southern Egypt, yellow zone Y-2

January 1, 2048

New year's day. No celebrations, whether they be today or tomorrow. Not so soon after the Forgotten raid. Not when innocent people are still in the camp. People who'll likely still be here in 2049, provided the red zone hasn't swallowed this place up by then.

It's becoming a likely prospect. The weather's getting worse. It's as if the planet itself has decided to turn against us as well.

The refugees are getting restless as well. More troops are being assigned to the wire, keeping them at bay. Reeb stated in an interview that his men are equipped with blank rounds and will avoid using excessive force, but…well, I don't know if it'll be enough. Or even whether the men will want to hold back. Not when some of the guys got drunk yesterday and among other things, declared that we should "send the shiners back to Nod." And other things that led to a fist fight between a sergeant and lieutenant.

I don't know how long I can stay here. The powers that be want positive stories, but I can't put a positive spin on this for much longer. Not when the refugees are still succumbing to everything from starvation to disease. Not when GDI soldiers are dying. Not when it looks like the lull we had in ion storms seems to be abating. Even if it was up to me, what could I do here? What could any of us do? Already I'm hearing reports from colleagues that tiberium is on the march everywhere, our sonic resonators now failing to beat it back. Did the scrin arrival trigger another mutation or something? And if so, what can we do about it?

I don't know. The scientists aren't here. Only the young and the dying are.

January 2, 2048

Not my story. But I just heard that there was a bombing in Christchurch, New Zealand today. Conclusion? Nod terrorist attack.

South Island. Blue zone B-12. Last bastion of the Pacific, some are calling it, especially since all of Australia is now a yellow or red zone, what with Sydney being nothing more than a radioactive wasteland now. And, of course, Nod has to go and kill innocent people.

I didn't watch the broadcast in the recreation area with the other troopers. We'd all seen it before. Personally, I think it may be in their job description to yell abuse at "Noddies." To me, though, it was just another bombing. So far away. I may be a journalist, but in this part of the world, I'm just an observer.

New year. New Nod activity, even with their leader supposedly dead (again). Probably wanted to do it on the January 1st, but were too drunk from December 31st parties.

Boyle's called a press conference that W3N will be covering. I'm still to remain here though. Got a call from Penny Sookdeo-they'll use my footage if needed, but for now, I'm to continue running stories and see if it makes the news desk.

January 7, 2048

One month anniversary of being here. And no-one gives a damn.

I don't feel hurt. I'm still an outsider. Heck, I don't really give a damn myself. Combelle mentioned it in passing (started calling me "Cass" as well…firstname basis FTW I guess), but I think he was just being polite. And since there's nothing new to report on, I asked if he might like to be interviewed, especially since the firebase is back to normality after the Forgotten attacks. He laughed, and said I should interview myself.

So that's what I'm doing. Lying on my bunk, looking at the fan. I'd like to ask myself the following questions.

1: As a reporter, I'm meant to stay neutral when observing conflict. Have I done so?

2: Would I risk my life for a story?

3: Have I compromised my ethics in my work here?

4: Have my reports made a difference?

So, in answer:

1: No. I'm not neutral. I can't be. Not now. Not against Nod, not against the scrin, not against the Forgotten. I hate them. Hate them all. I can talk calmly about them on the camera, but just thinking about what they've done…I hate them.

2: I don't know. Does the RPG attack count? If I knew I would be distinctly risking my life, would I do so? I'm not sure.

3: I would like to think not. And after I got an email from the parents of Private Albis (the boy who lost his legs), thanking me for allowing him to say his final farewells, and for not showing the footage anywhere else…I would like to think that I helped at least two people.

4: But I haven't helped anyone else. No-one cares about this place in the world. I don't think many people care about the world itself anymore.

Sometimes, it's enough to make you cry.

January 8, 2048

The refugees don't care. I asked them. GDI, Nod…all the same. They're probably going to die here. They know it.

I can't help them. Not the children. Not the men. Not the women. GDI can't either. The ion storms are getting worse and it looks like all of Egypt will become a red zone. Sooner or later, this camp will pack up and the people stationed here will go to some other hellhole.

And I'll be back in B-1. Yay.

January 9, 2048

I've been exchanging emails lately with the home desk. Am I staying? Is the camp staying? Do I want to leave? I give answers, but they never seem to listen to them. And when I ask the troopers about the camp, they either don't have them or refuse to answer…usually with some profanity involved. Is it the tiberium, I wonder? Or is it guilt? Guilt that they can't help these people, can't afford to bring them into blue zones without risking bringing in Nod operatives as well?

Sitting here, in the rec area…I don't know what side I'm on. But at least when I'm not discussing the concept, the soldiers have become friendlier. Combelle's started a card game, even inviting me to take part. An offer he's probably regretting since he doesn't know when to fold, and I usually end up taking a fair share of earnings, second only to PFC Carlton. But hey, what else can we do with our bank accounts?

A/N

Update (21/06/2012): Made grammar correction.