January 10th 2030. Journal of Julia van Leeuwen.
I'm scribbling on this damn journal because, let's face it, my entertainment options are about as exciting as watching paint dry. All I've got to look forward to is keeping an eye out for those damn Belgian bastards, which, if I'm being honest, isn't much better.
Might as well introduce myself, I'm Julia, 24 and proudly single. A proud soldier, of this soon-to-be wrecked nation called the Netherlands. Honestly, I'd rather be anywhere but here.
A few years back, in a moment of sheer idiocy, I signed up to join the military. Can't blame myself, though; I completely flunked high school, had no chance to get a job either, and who would've predicted a war kicking off right at our doorstep? I figured the worst of it would be the harsh training and the tough lifestyle. Boy, was I wrong.
The Belgians invaded, and it's been a never-ending crapshow even since. I can barely remember a day since this madness started where I've had more than a few hours of shut-eye. Most of my time has been spent hauling ass, and then hauling it even faster. Lucky for me, I was stationed a bit away from the border, but trust me, it hasn't made this hell any more bearable.
As soon as the war kicked off, our southern defenses crumbled like a cookie. We, the sorry remnants, were ordered to head north, run for our lives, and shoot down anything that looked Belgian. That plan? Utter disaster. Bombs rained down on us, drones had a field day, and while we did manage to take out a few enemy trucks, it felt like spitting in a hurricane. Oh, did I mention the pseudo-supersoldiers the Belgians have? Yeah, those nightmares slaughtered half my company before the advantage of numbers rained down on them.
Finally, after hauling our tired butts across half the country, we reached our so-called stronghold, aka the pit I'm stuck in now: Utrecht. The brass decided this was the place to make our last stand, hoping maybe the French or Germans would swoop in to save the day. No one's saying it, but I doubt those big shots will lift a finger until we're all six feet under.
The remnants of my squad were assigned to fortify the center of the city - the Dom Tower. Once a symbol of pride, now just another military outpost. We had a day to prepare before the Belgians crashed our little party, so we spent every second barricading the entrances, strapping guns to windows, and hoarding supplies. Honestly, I'm skeptical we'll survive a week, but hey, hope springs eternal.
January 11th 2030.
Well, the dang bastards have finally arrived, and luckily, our pathetic defenses haven't been tested yet. Got word that the defenses on the outskirts of the city were already taken out, so judging by their current pace, they'd likely be knocking on our door by tomorrow morning. Quite surprising, I thought they'd get here by tonight, so I might finally get a good night's rest, which is probably just 6 hours of sleep anyway.
The mood at the tower has been quite sour, nobody really in the mood to shoot the breeze after all that's happened, and I get it, but it's just been so gosh darn boring sitting around polishing our rifles all day as if it'd even make a difference.
Well, not much else to write about, I'll catch up on sleep instead.
January 13th 2030.
You might be wondering why there was no damn entry yesterday, or the day before for that matter. Well, let me tell ya, it's because we've been caught in a relentless assault from those Belgian bastards for the past two freaking days. The enemy rolled in like an early-morning apocalypse on the 11th, around seven o'clock'ish, and let me tell ya, their attack was tighter than a damn vice grip. They didn't give us a breather, and I'm still shocked I'm still alive and kicking after all that crap. It's only this evening we've had a pause longer than thirty minutes, and from what I've heard it's just to get us to surrender.
The stuff I've seen, the people we've lost, the screams... it's all on replay in my mind, like some twisted horror movie. I'd rather not dredge it all up.
Anyway, our supplies are almost bone dry already. No one expected constant shooting for a straight forty-eight hours. These were supposed to last us a good two weeks, but a bit of trigger-happy shooting and the last ammo delivery not making it to us has left us nearly high and dry. Food will last another day, but if we can't use our guns, then it might as well not be there.
As if that wasn't enough, turns out the Belgians have been taking it easy on us because of the so-called historical and cultural importance (like any of that crap matters) of this tower. They're keeping the nightmares at bay to save the damn building from getting too badly damaged. I guess that's why we haven't been blown to smithereens already.
January 15th 2030.
Seems like our time's finally run out. The commanding officer announced that we'll be negotiating our surrender with the Belgians, as we can't resist for much longer anyway. Can't really fight 'em off when we're down to pebbles for ammo.
You could call him a coward, but god knows he's had it the worst of us all. Managing the defenses of this forsaken tower, keeping morale up (at least as high as it can be), and dealing with the constant arguing going on lately. At least I'm not in his spot...
There's some out here grumbling about the commander's decision, talking about missing out on their glorious last stand or even that help would right on its way, but that's all just a bunch of nonsense. Nobody would care about a bunch of idiots who died and there's nobody coming to help us. Keeping our lives is a million times better, some of us have family to go back to after all (not me), and you could always "live to fight another day".
Guess that's it for this bundle of papers, here's hoping they'll let me keep it.