All is gray, green and brown. Any primary colours here are sucked at by the eye: a hazmat sign, burning yellow; the silvery blue of a vacuumed sealed meal; the red of Red in a mug, steaming from heating over a fire and smelling of spices. Down here the eye is starved.
We begin our treck across no-mans land today. 50,000 kilometers down ever narrowing trenches. In the early stages by small trains, later on foot. To get to the oppositions trenches will take around three years, assuming no changes in space across no-mans-land..
My squad, here more to prevent me deserting than for any military purpose, will accompany me to the real front. And there I will have to exercise my power as the Tactician and take control of the whole offensive.
My squad of puppets is a mix of men and women. I won't touch the woman I've decided. After Yelena I've become aware that what I do with puppet women is rape, no matter how willing they may seem.
I still think that fully autonomous puppets will lead to the destruction of the true human race. That's why I consented finally to perform this mission. I won't, however, allow the level of puppet mistreatment that was common here before I arrived.
Call it altruism. Call it an attempt to accrue goodwill before some nameless disaster strikes us all. I don't care.