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GlassAny excuse to be nearby.
To get a glimpse. To catch her eye.
She looks my way but does not see.
For I am glass. She looks through me.
She touches him, his hand, his hair.
I close my eyes. I cannot bear.
Why not me? Do I ask to much?
Am I glass? Am I cold to touch?
I held her once. We were as one.
Somehow our life became undone.
Why did I think true love mattered.
I am glass. Broken and shattered.
A Turning Point in the Clockwork WarA war of attrition
depends on supply and drawdown,
how much you have and how much you use up.
With personnel, the balance concerns
the influx of recruitment versus
the outflow of casualties, deserters, invalids.
There is only so much loss
that a fighting force can sustain
and still fight.
Pilot Claude Archer was the first
to challenge his invalid discharge.
"I don't need legs to fly," he said,
patting the healed stumps of his thighs.
"My Osprey runs on elbow grease."
The members of the discharge board
paused and looked at each other.
What he said was true.
The Osprey-class fighter jets
relied on hand controls,
and a sharp eye and iron nerve.
Fingers flicked through the stack
of discharge papers -- so many, many pages.
So many soldiers lost, never to fight again.
They could not afford to let slip even one
who might be retained, somehow,
to face the front line once more.
Far less could the war effort spare
one of its best pilots.
So they put Pilot Archer back on the roster,
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