March 4^th, 3070

3070. I am fifty. I have been back in the system where I was born for almost three years now. I live as a pirate, preying off New Avalon for supplies, now that our "relief supplies" for those we call enemy have run out. Good thing there's a few billion farmers on a world capable of supporting five others with food in the neighborhood. We actually eat better now.

I asked McQuinn if I could be assigned to any duty but the prisonships. Just finished my second tour of duty on one of those tubs, and I hate what it's doing to me. You can't be a human when you imprison other humans. You have to become someone else. Not just to keep them in line, but for your safety. Those ships are dangerous. Our captives are too creative at finding ways to kill or hurt. Sanchez was shot in the gut by a mini-crossbow made from paper for crying out loud. Who thinks of these things? I heard they found a fully functional semi-automatic pistol in a cell made up entirely out of plumbing parts and deck materials. Only thing missing was the bullet supply, the prisoner told us he wanted five to try his attempt. He had three when we found it.

You can't give them an inch. Kindness is always a trap aboard those ships. Especially now that this damn habit has started of ferreting out "traitors" by posing as one yourself, see who bites, or fails to report you! What sociopath put a bounty out on traitors among the Militia? We now prey on each other, former brothers at arms, who have been through hell two or three times now. Those ships ARE hell. I had my fill when beat a prisoner in to the infirmary again. Permanent damage they tell me. Kid couldn't have been past 25 yet. Why did he throw his food at me? I couldn't have let it slide. Not there. Not then.

I must've killed countless of times since I first took a 'Mech in to battle, but this is so different. When you strike those that are your captive, there is only one word for the kind of being you are. I don't want to be that anymore.

So, not moving away from base anymore. It's better, but not much. No one has anything to look forward to. We're as much a prisoner as anyone else in this system. We can't leave. And we can't get the job done. Turns out our troops are needed elsewhere in one of the dozens of fights we got ourselves in to. But they could spare a WarShip. An Eagle still with League paint on it. The Mordred. Guess someone let his sense of irony affect the deployment of WarShips.

Everyone's bragging about the bites it's been taking out of Mount Davion. Near as I know, both the Red Angel and Divine Forgiveness have lobbed a few shots at it every time they got near it just to let Jackson know we haven't forgotten him. But apparently Mordred's going to bring the Den down. They've never walked at the foot of Mount Davion. We could have the entire fleet blasting away every day for twenty years and not break a light bulb in there.