"That's all we found. Some charred buildings and a lot of blood."

That was all they ever found. More tallies for the casualty reports.

It always went this way. The military was never fast enough to save lives, but it was never slow enough to cope with the grieving.

Shepherd wanted an answer, didn't he?

"Well commander, that's quite a shame. I know you and your crew tried their best to save those people, but the reapers are an enemy we can't under-estimate. You of all people know that, commander."

As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt sickened. They were a carbon copy of the same speech my commanding officer had given me almost forty years previously.

They didn't help then, and they sure as hell don't seem to have helped Shepherd.

Death never was easy to understand

I realize that Shepherd had a great deal of work to do, as did I.

Funny, even though I'm the superior, I still bow down to the time-tables of other people of lesser rank.

The Galaxy works in mysterious ways, doesn't it?

"Well commander, focus on your other missions. Save as many people as you can, but remember that the military strength for the armada must be your first priority. While you do that, we'll coordinate with other remnants of civilization to grasp some form of supplies and war material. Understood?"

He nodded. Even after going through two years of being dead, he still follows the Alliance regs. I guess being Alliance sticks with you in Heaven and Hell.

Damn shame to be Satan right now, I reckon.

"Yes, Admiral. What about the Crucible, sir?"

I smile.

"It's almost ready to go active, but we still need to do a number of checks on its secondary systems. Captain Terradoc is in charge of the engineering team and he reports nothing but good news." He nods again.

"Anything else, commander?"

"Not really, Admiral."

I nod my head. "Very well then. Good luck Commander. We all need some."

At that thought, my eyes lost focus as I remembered a memory that was much better locked away in some dark recess of my mind.

'If you're not gonna do anything but moan back there Horris, then you might as well start praying for some luck right about now!'

I realize that Shepherd was still saluting as I had not ended the transmission.

"Hackett, out."

The transmission cut out, and Shepherd was gone.

I tore my eyes from the pedestal, and began walking over to my desk. My room wasn't very large, as it should be, but it was sizable enough to where I could comfortably walk around.

I all but collapsed in the cushioned chair by my desk. The desk had originally belonged to the Captain Fallorn who had fallen in the previous attack on….

…

I can't keep up with all of this. The War, the Council, Shepherd, everything.

It was easier a long time ago. We were attacked. We held. We retaliated. None of this business of bartering for allies. All we did was fight and fight and fight.

The irritation of armor on your skin.

The Breath of fresh air on your exhausted face.

The blood of a comrade still wet on your hands.

The more things change, the more they stay the same I guess…

The politics are still the same, and in the end we're still dying.

The difference? The bullets are being made by a different vendor.

About a year ago, Fallorn told me he always kept a bottle of Earth's Finest Scotch in his desk. Wonder if that's true.

From my position on the chair, I reach over and pull the right drawer on the desk.

What do you know! Fallorn did have a bottle in the desk. And it's old. 2155. Before…

Well…

Fallorn had some glasses too. I pour a thumb of scotch into the faux-glass and raise it high.

"To the 483rd and you, Fallorn."

I knock it back. It goes down nicely considering its age.

Ha. We've come along way, haven't we Humanity?

Fifty years and already dictating legislature to older species. Typical Human hubris, but still incredibly proud of it.

Sad that if we fuck up in the coming weeks that all of this will be for naught, we'll all be xenological goo.

Guess the outcome of war changed a little bit.

Before, we died and they either burned us, sent us back boxes, or just threw our bodies at the enemy (if you wanted to be medieval about the subject).

I thought I had more in the glass. Ah well.

How do Vorcha take over a planet? When the first pack dies, send in fifty more!

"To the Alliance. May we somehow survive for another fucking fifty years…"

'No Horris! You've got to get out of here and tell Command they've obliterated the 131st!'

Ha. Shepard should do fine.

At least, if he doesn't encounter some other mythical species and get blown to bits, he should be.

I guess that's the dice roll we go with everyday. We hope we get doubles, yet are comfortable when it isn't snake eyes.

Having a weighted die always helps too, I guess.

Empty again? Reload, soldier!

…

…

Shanxi.

It always goes back to Shanxi.

Death's progress for us seems to have been jump-started at that damnable planet.

I raise my glass again. My hand's shaking. Alcohol is a hell of an anesthetic.

"This one's to you Jessie."

Ha. Caellan's still probably beating himself up for that one.

Wonder what he's doing. Bounty Hunter last I heard.

….

….

Time always turns forward.

Doesn't mean it shouldn't go back.

…

Maybe it's just the alcohol, but perspective comes at the oddest times. Here in this chair for instance.

'Bullet's are too good for them. I'm will show them how fifty tons of plasma feels when its been lathered in the skin.'

I sit here in this overstuffed chair, an admiral. Uncomfortable

I sit in this room, on one of the most advanced ships in the Systems Alliance fleet, a soldier. Vulnerable

I sit in this universe as just a man, one of many. One who has given much for a cause others believed in. Tired.

'Back in the states, we always protect our family and our home.'

I sit, yet once I stood.

'I'll be damned before they take any of you.'

Once I stood for the idea of further colonization in innovation in a big and unknown universe. Curious.

Once I stood at the prow of the idea for the greatness of the Systems Alliance. Indomitable.

Once I stood in a cramped gun-ship with nine other men and women ready to fight against a species still unknown to us. Proud.

'Good-bye Horris.'

I sit a man, yet I once stood an idol.

'Take 'em out for me, will you Horris?'

I sit as a house upon a plain. Vulnerable to all, yet always vigilant.

'You have your duty Corporal. Mine lies here.'

I stood as a castle upon a hill. Utterly confident in my power and grace.

'They didn't get a say with their mortality. Why should I give you one?'

I sit as Admiral Hackett.

'Horris to them. Fatal pain to you.'

I stood as Corporal Horris Bracket, Sharpshooter attached to the 483rd Special Tasks.

'You're just another spent shell.'