Shadows loom indistinct and distorted.
Usually, they are pinpricks of light in the dark; tonight, they are halos of white in the mist.
On the inside looking out.
It's so dark out here. Dark and wet, just thin halos of light to see by. We can't risk turning on flashlights, or the enemy may see us. We could be right on top of them, and we may never know it.
We'll never be ready for this. We shouldn't be here now. We're untrained, our equipment is sub-par, we're all too nervous and jumpy. We have two people (maybe three -- no one can remember for sure) on the inside who are supposed to give us a signal when we can attack, but we haven't heard from them in a while. No one knows if they're still on our side, if they're still alive, if they still remember us. Bad enough we're soaked to the bone, but the damp fog clings to us like glue. What I wouldn't give for an honest rain. We'd still be wet, but we wouldn't be sticky and uncomfortable. Just a regular rain. Anything but the fog.
Sometimes I forget why we're here. I know it's an important cause. I know we have to lead the revolt. We have to resist those who would oppress the people. We have to be prepared to kill and die for the sake of freedom. Or for the sake of something. For the sake of resistance. To resist is to conquer. That's what they taught us in training camp.
I've got my ammo stored in plastic wrap to keep it dry. I've taped plastic sandwich bags over the barrel of my rifle to keep the moisture out. Everyone else in my unit has done the same thing. I have no idea if this stuff will work. I can't remember if I've ever shot a gun in my life. I can't remember if any of us have.
Our sentry says they've changed the guards outside the gate. He says he thinks he recognized one of the guards as our former commander. But he's not sure. Was he one of our spies on the inside? If he's a guard, is it to help us in the attack? Is he opposed to us now? Will he remember us at all? (I thought one of my fellow squadmates was the commander. He says he's just the cook. I don't think I've ever seen him cook anything.)
I don't know what we're doing here. I'm tired of all the waiting, all the fear of impending battle, all the worry about when we attack. If we attack. I wish I knew what we'd find in the city -- other soldiers, civilians, emptiness. Military installations, train depots, deserted buildings. Something, anything, nothing.
As long as there's no water. No fountains, no ponds, no lakes.
I'm tired of the water. I'm tired of the water.
"I'm somewhat tired", he said.
Expecting to find a train station or a secluded pond.