Acting Commander Silverberg, third Black Box entry. Day 4, 0311 hours.
The tactical situation has settled to its customary grimness. A spate of poor luck on my end ensured that I would not have the man on hand to make my southern adversary pay dearly for his reckless advance. Both men are using a hyper-aggressive strategy, with little to no concern for their rear flanks. Had I the extra men, these fools would be burned straight through. For now, I am content to sit aboard my own flagship, yelling orders and encouragement at my men as they go about their business. Of course it is an ungodly hour of the night, but the enemy never sleeps.
Comrade Radio had a panic attack in the evening. He babbled nonsensically into his Pager for a straight quarter hour until one of his own men could console him and cut his communications. This is offputting. Radio is not the sort of man to panic.
My men speak of death, of life, of bitter vengeance. But so long as our cause is united, our house is not divided, and we cannot fall.