The first transport arrived before dawn, disgorging its solemn passengers into the cold chill of early morning. The men ignored the wind that blew newly fallen snow around them; their attention fixed firmly on the small valley below. Falling into line, they made their way down the winding path to the valley floor. The snow was deep, the ground frozen solid with mid winter ice. Upon reaching the bottom, their leader silently chose a location at the base of a lone tree, and began clearing the snow. When he was satisfied, he gave a nod to another. The snick of shovels being snapped together echoed in the stillness. Soon, only the sounds of icy ground being chopped into submission could be heard. From overhead, the noise of another transport shattered the silence, sending birds winging from the scant trees. The first group was joined by a second and a third, and soon the work on the grave was completed. Their work done, all dismantled their shovels and tucked them back into their packs; all save one who walked to the head of the open grave and thrust his shovel deeply into the frozen earth. Together, the men slowly made their way to the top of the path and vanished into the awaiting transports.
In contrast to the silent men, a crowd of locals had begun to gather along the rim. They were dressed in heavy, brightly colored winter clothing and had an almost festive air about them. In boisterous expectation they waited, watching as the transports continued to arrive; disappointed as their doors stayed firmly closed. At 1400 exactly, dozens of doors slowly opened and scores of somber, regal looking soldiers stepped out.
"Marines," a voice murmured reverently. All around him, heads bobbed in agreement.
The honor guard was formed along the path to the open grave; now they waited, silent and still; over one hundred Marines in full dress, two solid lines of black against the white backdrop of snow. The leaden grey skies held the promise of more white that was enforced by the icy bite of a capricious wind that flirted dangerously with the waiting rank and file. It tugged at the caps firmly placed on heads and flapped the long overcoats sharply against braced legs. As if bored, the wind moved from the silent Marines to the not-so-silent curiosity seekers watching from a semi-respectful distance. It whirled and swirled around them, snatching their words as it could not snatch the caps, and brought them in snippets to the silent honor guard.
"Heard it from…"
"Aren't they grand?"
"I heard they aren't normal. "
The words seemed not to affect the waiting men, their eyes remained locked forward and their posture military perfection. They seemed also not to notice the wind's bite, another thing that set them apart from the ones on the rim. Finally their wait was over..
Overhead, out of the wind's reach, a flight of Interceptors escorted a smaller transport in formation. The transport dropped altitude and the Interceptors barrel-rolled away allowing the transport to land. As if signaled, the waiting Marines snapped to attention, the sharp sound capturing the attention of those gathered to watch this rare sight. With the transport's landing, the wind ceased as if cued that something serious was happening. The silence left in its wake was deafening; even the whispers subsided.
The whispers began again with the appearance of the unit flag, the dark blue star field and crossed swords hung proudly overhead. The wind also returned, snapping at the flag with a vengeance. The comrades of the fallen carried the ebony coffin toward the path with slow measured steps. Two men followed behind; uniforms crisply black against the white snow. The taller of the two, with dark hair, scowled fiercely at the sight of the spectators lining the rim. The shorter, stocky officer kept his eyes on the coffin, face set in grim, haunted lines. Softly, from a distance, the wind carried whispers to their ears.
"Dug it themselves…"
"They's strange; truth be told."
"That's the commander…"
"Awfully small if you ask me."
Those observing from above, watched in morbid fascination as the coffin reached the waiting lines of Marines. As the flag passed between the lines, each man removed his cap, dropped to one knee and bowed his head. Once the coffin had passed by, they stood and fell into formation. When the formation reached the gravesite, the two officers moved to the 'head' of the open grave. The six stood rigidly at attention as their comrades slowly filled the small valley. The only sound was that of the occasional whisper from the rim and the crisp snap of the flag as the wind toyed with it. Once the last man had taken his place, the coffin was slowly lowered into the waiting hole.
Only when it was safely entombed, did the commanding officer move. With his head held high, he ran his eyes over the assembly but didn't raise them to the spectators, ignoring their existence easily. He said nothing, no words were spoken; for in his heart, he knew none were needed. He slowly peeled off the gloves covering his hands, and pulled the shovel from the frozen earth; the men around him mirroring his movements, exposing their flesh to the elements for this final farewell. The sound of the first spadeful of earth striking the coffin, echoed dully through the silent valley. He handed the shovel to his companion, who repeated the gesture. Each of the Marines assembled placed their own offering of earth on the coffin, moving slowly, orderly until at last it was covered and mounded. The last man folded the shovel and laid it on the grave then took his place once more.
The commander lowered his head for a moment, his eyes on the dark soil. When he brought it back up, it was to gaze on the flag flying crisply overhead.
"MARINES!" he barked. "OORAH!" The echoes from the throats of the Marines rang sharply around the valley, startling the spectators. The sound reverberated for several minutes. Then as one the Marines saluted, spun sharply on their heels and filed in perfect step out of the valley. They looked neither left nor right, posture parade perfect. The commander and his companion stood at attention until the last marine had started up the path; then the commander took the standard from the flag bearer and thrust it sharply into the ground. The flag bearer saluted then followed his comrades.
"Jim," the soft southern drawl was a faint whisper. "It wasn't your fault."
The commander didn't move, just stared out over the grave at his feet, cold blue eyes fixed on something only he could see. His companion waited next to him falling once more into silence. Finally, Jim saluted the flag.
"Let's get the hell out of here, Bones." He muttered.