I'd always told myself that people in war acted with a good amount of honor. I always thought that the US army was just and didn't hurt innocents or take people. I always thought that people respected others, even in war. I was very, very wrong.
It was twelve years ago, in 2019, when WWIII started, that I was drafted. I knew it was going to happen, but I didn't know when. The war had already been going on for three years, and millions had died already. I expected a spot behind the front lines, since I was only ninteen years old. But I got placed on the front lines.
I was part of a group of eight other men and six women who were to try to weaken the defenses around Britain, which was occupied by Germany and Russia. I knew it would be a hard mission, but I had to do it. The war was already favoring the commies at that point, so we had to do as much as we could to stop them. The Britan raid was necessary.
We were dropped on the outskirts of the country, and we were to make our way inward. It was a miracle we made it across the ocean, even though our jet was stealth. The terrain was rough, but we fared well, for a while.
We had been traveling for almost a month when things changed suddenly. Two men in our group had been killed, as had one woman. All three were killed in the same raid we had attempted. Unfortunately, those three were the senior officers. We were left without a command since ten days before the one month mark.
I was the next highest ranked officer by some fluke, since during training I was a good fighter and tactition. So they looked to me for command. I wasn't quite sure what to do, but I did know one thing -- there was a job to be done.