Flashback - Five Years ago.
"...being as the state of war no longer exists between the Cerean Hegemony and the United Colonies, tt is therefore ordered that the Seventh Mobile Infantry Battalion be disbanded, and the officers and soldiers therein be offered the option of honorable discharge and retirement. This resolution being herefore adopted by a unanimous vote of the War Council this eleventh day of Minea, Galactic Year 7812367."
A panel of uniformed officers sat in silence as the resolution was read. When the last words died away, there was a low buzz from the rank and file assembled on the parade ground, which faded quickly as one of the officers stood.
"You will be scheduled to meet with an official from Administration according to your time in service. Until such time, you are ordered to return to your barracks and continue with your posted service schedules." The colonel paused, looking over the faces of the men he'd so recently led into battle on distant worlds. So many of those faces were gone now, though he felt as if he could still see them. One of the lesser privileges of command, he thought. All the blood never leaves your hands
"It has been an honor and a privilege serving with each and every one of you. Dismissed!"
The soldiers, still at attention, snapped their salutes as one. And then, slowly, the crowd broke up and filtered back to the barracks scattered around the parade ground.
Two of them stood, looking over the dispersing crowd. "So that's it. Three years of blood and death, and they muster us out to say 'so long, off you go.'"
The other man glanced at his compatriot. "What did you expect' War's over, they're not going to keep the entire division active with no one to fight."
"I got nothing waiting at home, Bob. I enlisted at 16, you know that." A shrug. "The Corps is all I've ever had since then. Now.....I don't know what the hell to do. What about you?"
"I dunno, Tag. There's talk about a merchanter-at-arms shipsteading program they're offering. I don't feel like going home, maybe I can go into business for myself."
"What, a mercenary?"
"Sure, why not' I'm used to shooting at people, this way I'll still be doing what I'm used to, the pay'll be better, and I get to be my own boss."
"Yeah, and you'll be short on air support if things go sour."
".....I didn't say it was an ideal plan."
"...being as the state of war no longer exists between the Cerean Hegemony and the United Colonies, tt is therefore ordered that the Seventh Mobile Infantry Battalion be disbanded, and the officers and soldiers therein be offered the option of honorable discharge and retirement. This resolution being herefore adopted by a unanimous vote of the War Council this eleventh day of Minea, Galactic Year 7812367."
A panel of uniformed officers sat in silence as the resolution was read. When the last words died away, there was a low buzz from the rank and file assembled on the parade ground, which faded quickly as one of the officers stood.
"You will be scheduled to meet with an official from Administration according to your time in service. Until such time, you are ordered to return to your barracks and continue with your posted service schedules." The colonel paused, looking over the faces of the men he'd so recently led into battle on distant worlds. So many of those faces were gone now, though he felt as if he could still see them. One of the lesser privileges of command, he thought. All the blood never leaves your hands
"It has been an honor and a privilege serving with each and every one of you. Dismissed!"
The soldiers, still at attention, snapped their salutes as one. And then, slowly, the crowd broke up and filtered back to the barracks scattered around the parade ground.
Two of them stood, looking over the dispersing crowd. "So that's it. Three years of blood and death, and they muster us out to say 'so long, off you go.'"
The other man glanced at his compatriot. "What did you expect' War's over, they're not going to keep the entire division active with no one to fight."
"I got nothing waiting at home, Bob. I enlisted at 16, you know that." A shrug. "The Corps is all I've ever had since then. Now.....I don't know what the hell to do. What about you?"
"I dunno, Tag. There's talk about a merchanter-at-arms shipsteading program they're offering. I don't feel like going home, maybe I can go into business for myself."
"What, a mercenary?"
"Sure, why not' I'm used to shooting at people, this way I'll still be doing what I'm used to, the pay'll be better, and I get to be my own boss."
"Yeah, and you'll be short on air support if things go sour."
".....I didn't say it was an ideal plan."