The following entries have been edited for clarity by the author later in life, and as much as possible, the grammar of a grade-school kid has been brought up to standards. The original historical documents are available upon request at...

Entries from Andy's Diary:

Today was our first real taste of what it means to be in the Legion. We finally crossed the line from simulation to reality. And let me tell you, reality bites.

Lena's warning sent a shiver down everyone's spine. "One death and ten casualties." It seemed a grim prediction, a reminder that this was no longer a game. The moment we set out, the tension was so thick you could cut it with a gladius.

The mission was intense. Every move had to be calculated, every decision weighed with the utmost care. My heart was pounding so loud, I was sure the others could hear it. But we pulled through. We took that fortress down and proved Lena's calculations wrong. A victory, but not without cost.

Dink lost his foot. Seeing him hurt was a harsh reminder of the stakes. Yet, there was something admirable in the way he handled it all. The Purple Heart, the prosthetic—it's as if these physical tokens can somehow encapsulate the sacrifice made, the courage displayed.

Today was not just a win; it was a lesson. A lesson in the brutal stakes of what we are training for. It's no longer about games or who gets the top score. It's about survival. It's about defending humanity from whatever awaits us. It's about being prepared for sacrifices we may have to make.

We've crossed a threshold, and there's no turning back.

( This note was added to the entry by the author several decades later )

I stumbled upon this old diary entry of mine today, and it hit me like a freight train. How did we, as kids, so easily accept the brutal reality of war? How did we witness our friends getting hurt and still treat it all like some kind of challenging game? I remember Dink's foot, the prosthetic, and our collective sense of achievement. It's alarming to think about how desensitized we had become.

Ruminating on this, I recalled our movie nights. The story of Peter Pan comes to mind. I never really thought much of it back then, but now, looking back, I can see the darker undertones. The Lost Boys, forever young, never growing up, fighting pirates, and facing danger without fully grasping the weight of their actions. Much like us. They were thrust into a world where they had to fend for themselves, much like we were. Maybe the L's were using these stories, among other techniques, to shape our psyches, making us resistant to the horrors of what was to come.

The more I think about it, the more it seems like that could've been the whole point. Maybe the L's wanted us to emulate the Lost Boys, to stay young and naive while dealing with grave responsibilities. They never wanted us to fully grasp the weight of what was happening, because once we did, once the gravity of it all sunk in, the fear and trauma would've been unbearable.

I was a child, robbed of my innocence, made to fight in a war that was bigger than anything I could've ever imagined. Reading these old diary entries, I am reminded of how little I understood back then and how much was taken from me. I hope that by sharing these memories, the world can understand the sacrifices we made and the heavy price we paid.


The recent simulations have been... intense, to say the least. Every time we log in, the battles become more grueling, the opponents more daunting. We've been battling angels in the virtual realm, and they're not the benign, gentle beings from storybooks or Renaissance art. These are fierce, powerful entities, shimmering with a radiant light, armed with ethereal weapons, and possessing abilities we can barely comprehend.

The death toll in these simulations is alarming. Every time one of my pilots or drones goes down, a heavy weight settles in my chest. I'm responsible for these kids, for their training, their morale, and ultimately, their lives. I can't help but feel the weight of every simulated loss, even though I know it's just a training exercise. The L's must have noticed our dipping spirits, so they've reintroduced the concept of a day off. It's a small concession, but one that's deeply appreciated.

Lena pulled me aside after today's session. "Centurion," she began, using my formal title, "the stress levels among the kids are rising. As a leader, it's your duty to keep them motivated and focused. I don't envy your position, but it's vital for the battles to come."

I nodded. "I understand, Lena. Do you have any suggestions?"

She gave me a wry smile. "Remember that even in the darkest times, humans need moments of levity and relaxation. Organize something for them. Maybe a game night, a movie screening, or just a simple get-together where they can let their hair down."

So that's what I did. With the help of Vassilissa and my two optiones, we planned an evening of fun and games. Movies, board games, even a mini talent show where the kids showcased their non-battle skills. Some sang, some danced, some told jokes. For a few hours, we were just kids again, laughing and playing without the weight of the world on our shoulders.

It worked wonders. Morale skyrocketed, and the next day's simulations went smoother. We still faced losses, but there was a renewed determination among the legionaries. They fought smarter, communicated better, and most importantly, they had each other's backs.


As the days go on, and the news shows more and more about these celestial beings intervening in our world, there's a mix of fear and determination in the air. We're training for what seems like an inevitable conflict. The L's have made their stance clear, even if the global government hasn't. Whatever's coming, we're going to face it head-on.

Here's to hoping that our training, our camaraderie, and our shared experiences will be enough.


The past week has been a rollercoaster of emotions. When they first introduced us to Ben-Judah's sermons, I admit, it rattled me. The idea of some divine, omnipotent entity wreaking havoc and expecting loyalty and love in return was hard to digest. The wrathful God he depicted contrasted starkly with the stories of love and mercy I heard as a younger kid.

As the weeks went on, anger started to bubble up inside many of us. This deity, who apparently had no qualms about causing so much pain and destruction, was being heralded as the epitome of justice and righteousness by Ben-Judah. It felt wrong. It felt unfair.

But today's sermon... today was different. A guy named Micah, who used to be a scientist, delivered it. Here it is:

"Now many have asked what is to happen when Antichrist comes against God's chosen people and the Son intervenes. The Bible says He will slay our enemy with a weapon that comes from His mouth. Revelation 1: 16 calls it 'a sharp two-edged sword. ' Revelation 2: 16 quotes Him saying that He 'will come to you quickly and will fight against them with the sword of My mouth. ' Revelation 19: 15 says that 'out of His mouth goes a sharp sword, that with it He should strike the nations. ' And Revelation 19: 21 says the enemies 'were killed with the sword which proceeded from the mouth of Him who sat on the horse. ' "Now let me clarify. I do not believe the Son of God is going to sit on His horse in the clouds with a gigantic sword hanging from His mouth. He is not going to shake His head and slay the millions of Armageddon troops with it. This is clearly a symbolic reference, and if you are a student of the Bible, you know what is meant by a sharp, double-edged sword. "Hebrews 4: 12 says the Word of God 'is living and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the division of soul and spirit, and of joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart. ' "The weapon our Lord and Messiah will use to win the battle and slay the enemy? The Word of God itself! And while the reference to it as a sword may be symbolic, I hold that the description of the result of it is literal. The Word of God is sharp and powerful enough to slay the enemy, literally tearing them asunder. "

The imagery of the Messiah wielding a 'sword of words' from his mouth was both hilarious and bizarre. I glanced around the room, checking the reactions of my fellow legionaries. When Joel threw on that blanket, mimicked Jesus with the pommel of his gladius in his mouth, and pranced about, I couldn't contain my laughter. The room burst into fits of giggles and laughter. Even some of the L's, who usually maintain a stern demeanor, cracked a smile. It was a moment of levity we all desperately needed.

The laughter provided a much-needed release. After the sermon, conversations sparked around how this 'sword' might work. A sonic weapon? A voice that could literally slice through the enemy? We've seen a lot in our training simulations, but nothing like that. Theories and speculations were thrown around, but of course, no one had a concrete answer.

I approached Lita later, trying to extract any piece of information. "A countermeasure, huh?" I questioned, hoping for more details.

Lita just gave a wry smile. "Always have to be prepared, right? Just focus on your training, Centurion. We'll handle the tech side of things."

The world may be on the brink of a celestial showdown, but amidst all the chaos, it's moments of laughter and camaraderie that keep us going. Tomorrow, we dive back into the simulations, back into preparation mode. But for now, I'll savor the memories of today, of our unity, our resilience, and our shared laughter in the face of the unknown.


We've all been pricked and prodded before, but today was different. They took a lot more blood than usual. My arm aches, and my head feels light. Nurse Lindsey, bless her, was gentle and reassuring. She said it's all in preparation, for our safety. The word 'self-transfusion' got thrown around a lot today. It makes sense, I guess. In case we get hurt, having our own blood on standby is a sure way to stay alive. But it still feels strange knowing that somewhere in this facility, there's a bag of my own blood waiting for an emergency.

The break was a welcome surprise. I never thought I'd say this, but I was exhausted from the simulations. The days were blurring together, and it was getting harder to tell where the simulation ended and reality began. The brief respite was a godsend.

The change in our meals was immediately noticeable. Real fish! Red meat! It was like a feast compared to the standard rations we're used to. The flavor, the texture, it was a refreshing change. I could see everyone savoring each bite, relishing the simple joy of a good meal.

( This note was added to the entry by the author several decades later )

Looking back, it's incredible how much our perspective on basic things changed. In the world before, people wouldn't give a second thought to what they ate. But when your world narrows down to the confines of a boot camp and all you have to look forward to is the variety in your meals, every change becomes significant. The memory of that fish and meat stands out in my mind, clear as day. It was more than just food. It was a reminder of a world we had lost, a fleeting taste of normalcy.

We were in a unique situation. On one hand, we had the resources and training facilities that others could only dream of. But on the other hand, we were also isolated from the world outside. We had snippets of information, glimpses of the devastation that Yahweh had caused. The tales of canned food, of a world struggling to find sustenance amidst a desolate environment, were a harsh reality that we were shielded from.

It's strange how memories work. Some fade away while others, like the taste of fresh fish after weeks of bland rations, stay with you forever.


It's so strange to see the numbers slowly ticking down. Just weeks left now. I remember when it was months, and even then, the end seemed so distant. Now, the looming battle feels closer, more tangible. The atmosphere around the camp has changed too. It's like everyone's holding their breath, waiting for the inevitable.


Today was... weird. We got fitted with these implantable venous ports. It's a strange feeling, knowing that there's a device inside my leg, ready to pump blood if needed. The L's had a whole mystical spiel about the warrior bond between us and our vehicles. Young me totally bought into it. I felt like a knight being bonded to their steed. But looking back, I can see the manipulation, the careful psychological setup to make us more attached, more dedicated.

But despite the underlying reasons, the bonding experience was... special. My tankette has my name on it. It's mine. And not just in name but in spirit too. The chance to personalize it was an unexpected treat. I saw some amazing artistry from my peers. Lorine turned it into an art class project, and it was amazing to see everyone's creativity come alive on their machines. I didn't do much other than stencil my name and stencil a skull and swords on it. Yarr!

It's an odd feeling knowing a piece of me is now out in the motor pool. But I'm also excited. I can't wait to get out there and test the new life support system with my tankette. It feels like another layer of protection, another way to ensure we come out of this alive.

The battle's coming. And with my new bond with my vehicle, I feel more ready than ever.


Today was wild! We took part in this insane biathlon-style live-fire exercise. Piloting my tankette across the rugged terrain while firing at targets felt like a dance, a dance of power and precision. Up in the air, the copters darted between pylons, their pilots taking sharp aim at the balloons. From the ground, it looked like a frenetic dance of dragons in the sky.

As a centurion, the coordination was a weighty responsibility. I worked closely with my optiones to ensure our squad acted like a well-oiled machine. Each movement, each shot, each decision was all about setting up the play for the next member. It was challenging, but the thrill of it all was incomparable. And the crazy part? At the end of it, none of us felt exhausted. The secondary hearts in our vehicles pumped life into us, pushing us beyond our normal limits. It's hard to put into words just how alive I felt.

Looking back, a part of me wonders if it was only the adrenaline and the bond with our vehicles that kept us going. Or had the L's added something extra to the mix? Stimulants perhaps? But then, it would have been risky, and the L's were always calculated in their moves. So, I'm leaning towards it being the genuine rush of the exercise and the sheer determination pushing us to our limits.

That evening, they showed us videos of Olympians competing in biathlons. The grace, the stamina, the accuracy... and then the realization dawned on us - our performance today was almost on par with these elite athletes. It's a heady feeling, knowing that we've been trained to such a standard, that we could match the best in the world in this discipline. Today, I felt pride in what we've achieved, in how far we've come.


Hectic week. Started with intense squad training. Our bond is so tight now, it's like we're all extensions of one another. On the field, we move in perfect sync, like pieces of a puzzle coming together. There's no hesitation, no doubt. Just action.


Centurions-only exercises. It's a whole different ball game. Coordinating with other squads, especially the lifers, is a challenge. They're efficient, like well-oiled machines, but predictable. My squad, on the other hand, is all about thinking out of the box. Merging these two styles has been... interesting.


We're getting better. There's a rhythm emerging between squads now. It's like combining the beats of different drummers into one harmonious tune. Still a way to go, but progress is evident.


Countdown is now at 10. The pressure's on. More simulations today, but the real thing is looming closer. Hard to shake off the nerves.


Another intense day. But there's a silver lining. After today's drill, a couple of lifers from another squad approached me with tactical suggestions. Collaboration in the air? I'm all for it!


Countdown at 8. Not much to say. Exhausted. But we're pushing through, together.


Spent the day ironing out communication wrinkles between squads. Found a neat trick using drones as relays. Might prove useful.


Countdown at 6. Noticed some of the younger kids looking overwhelmed. Pulled them aside for a pep talk. We've got this!


Centurions-only meet. Reviewed feedback from the past week. Lots to implement, but we're on track.


4 days left. Is this what anticipation feels like? It's like waiting for a storm to hit, knowing it's inevitable.


Countdown at 2. Tomorrow's the final drill before D-Day. Taking a moment to breathe, to center myself. We're ready.

(Additional)

This evening was... unexpected. Naima reached out again. First with a plea, then an appeal to our sense of self-preservation, and finally, with prayer.

There's a part of me that can't help but feel a twinge of respect for her. She's relentless. But while her words don't sway me, it's evident they've affected some. Another 5% left us. That brings the total to 15%. Most of them were the ones who struggled the most in simulations and drills. Maybe they think they're choosing the safer path. But the talk amongst us remaining is that they're running from the challenge of a lifetime.

Vassilissa and I had a long chat tonight. She's resolute, but I can see the weight of what's coming bearing down on her. "We're in this together," she said, her eyes filled with determination.

Every departure feels like a loss, not just in numbers but in shared experiences and memories. We've trained together, laughed together, cried together. And now, some are choosing a different path.

I wonder, when all is said and done, how history will judge us? The brave warriors who stood up to the divine or misled children fighting against fate?

Either way, we're writing our own destiny now. Only time will tell how this chapter ends.


Morning:

Up early. Too much to do. Way too much. Lorine's got the art group painting legion insignias on some of the tankettes. They look amazing. Briefing in an hour. We're moving out.

Midday:

Airlifting's started. The base feels so empty now. Drones buzzing all around like bees. The sound is maddening.

Afternoon:

Onboard now. These repurposed airliners are something. Never imagined I'd get to fly in one. Books, games, consoles everywhere. Kids are excited, some scared. Vassilissa's reading. I should too, but can't settle.

Evening:

Highlight of my day: the cockpit! Pulling rank has its perks. Controls felt alien yet familiar. Flying. It's different from the simulations. Real. Unpredictable. Thrilling. Lena smiled at me. First time ever? It felt like an unspoken "Well done." Looking out, I see endless skies. We're heading into the unknown.

Night:

Sleep is elusive. The hum of the engines is strangely comforting.

Tomorrow we land. And then... The ultimate showdown awaits.


Morning:

The real battlefield. It's surreal. The sand feels... real, different from simulations. The mountains in the distance seem so tangible, casting their long shadows.

Midday:

Carpatescu is here! His presence is imposing. Something's off though, he seems... agitated? When he spoke, his voice was steady, but his eyes, they betrayed something deeper. Fear? Regret? It's hard to tell. "I promised I would be here to fight alongside you, and here I am." He's keeping his word, I'll give him that.

Afternoon:

Drove around the battlefield. The real thing's so much different, even if we've seen it a hundred times in simulations. The tankettes feel more alive here, every little bump, every pebble. Saw a group of lifers practicing, they're truly something else.

Evening:

No secondary heart today. The calm before the storm. The base is quiet, everyone's resting. It's eerie. The kind of silence you get before a big storm.

Night:

Lying on my bunk, staring at the ceiling, waiting.

I wonder if the others are feeling the same anticipation, like we're on the verge of something... monumental.

I'm reminded of the big games back at the base. The thrill, the excitement, the nervousness.

But this, this is different. This is the big one. This is what we've trained for.

( This note was added to the entry by the author several decades later )

Reading this entry again, the feelings come flooding back. As a kid, I didn't know fear, not in the way adults do. For us, this was just another challenge, another game. But now, looking back, the gravity of the situation hits me. We were on the cusp of something world-changing. And we were just kids, playing a part in a war we didn't fully understand.