I have spent five years camping in this forest of half-measures, awaiting orders. I have no intelligence on the enemy's disposition, capability, or intent; indeed, I cannot even be sure that there is an enemy. With each day the adversary remains hidden behind a veil of uncertainty, time takes some of my strength in passing. People come with messages, from headquarters they say. Imposters. Deceivers. Their severed heads adorn an endless succession of abandoned bivouacs. To obey them is treachery; to obey my commander is duty. I am your loyal soldier. Do not let me perish in this forest, having never fired my weapon in anger. I await your orders.