Autumn begins, and the leaves of birches, oaks, and elms turn the colour of sunset glow, vibrating in the wind. In several weeks, they will fall and form a carpet of gold, orange, and red—soft but brittle—covering the dried soil, waiting for the first autumn rainfall.
Walking over the vast fields and gentle hills, our nostrils are touched by crisp air, and the scent of woods fills our senses. We bypass villages but inevitably trample their farmlands. We come here to cause damage, to disrupt peace, to take revenge.
Attack is the best defence. We blew up bridges to cut off the enemy’s supplies, bombed oil depots to ignite raging fires, and remotely struck the capital city to carry out threats.
With our counteroffensive, winter will come. People in this oblast will suffer from bitter cold without fuel to warm their homes, worry about food shortages every day, and live in fear of unexpected military raids.
Now you know what we had experienced during the last two winters.
There will be conflicts and resistance. There will be scars on the earth left by bombing and burning.
There will be funerals and masses. There will be orphans and widows.
There will be hatred and despair. There will be incurable pain in memories.
And it is how we will remember each other throughout the rest of our lives, in the textbooks of the future generations, and in the nonnegotiable history.
DoubleSpeak 