Chapter Ten: Last Full Measure
February 17, 2525 (Military Calendar) \
Harvest, Epsilon Indi System
An old man wearing a kilt played an ornate set of bagpipes, filling the Utgard Military Cemetery with the tune of Amazing Grace.
I stood at attention with the rest of Bravo, watching Byrne and Johnson solemnly retrieve the UNSC flag draped over Scotty Lowell's coffin. Johnson held one end of the flag while Byrne folded it into a perfect triangle. When finished, Byrne gave the flag to Lowell's grandfather, who wore a dusty old UNSC Marine Corps dress uniform.
Johnson and Byrne marched to Osmo's coffin, next in line, retrieving the flag and folding it.
Osmo was in First Platoon, so it was Johnson who took the flag to his family, presenting it to Osmo's mother, who accepted it without a word, ashen-faced underneath her black veil. Johnson said something quietly to Osmo's mother, but I couldn't hear what.
Werner's flag was next. Byrne gave it to a younger sister.
The families of the remaining deceased had mixed reactions to receiving their flags. Some wept, some hardened with rage, others gave no outward expression. Everyone handled death differently. I fought the urge to scratch a pesky itch on my face. I stared at Scotty Lowell's coffin, remembering how I'd told him that he was going to be okay.
After handing off the ninth and final flag, Johnson and Byrne marched off to the side and stood at attention behind a very pale Captain Ponder.
The Captain had seen better days. He'd been discharged from the hospital only yesterday, after surgeons stabilized him and patched up his wounds. His entire torso was wrapped in a specialized cast, but his uniform hid it well. When the bagpiper finished Amazing Grace, Ponder gave a nod to Staff Sergeant Byrne.
"Present arms!" the Staff Sergeant ordered the honor guard, which consisted of all six squad leaders, and Critchley. Meanwhile, the rest of us planted our own MA5Bs butt-first on the ground while our right hands snapped to our foreheads in a salute. Captain Ponder, Byrne, and Johnson saluted as well, and so did Lowell's veteran grandfather in the crowd.
Everyone in the crowd who wore a hat promptly removed it.
"Fire!" Byrne commanded.
Each member of the honor guard aimed their rifle to the sky and fired a single round in unison. Twice more Byrne ordered them to fire, and then the twenty-one rifle salute was complete.
"Honor guard, stand at rest," Byrne ordered, stepping back to his place behind Captain Ponder.
We lowered our salutes, and the coffins began to descend into their graves. Scotty Lowell slowly sank away. No one else at this funeral knew that right before the end, he had been crying, petrified with fear because I let go of his hand. He may have been experiencing a complete mental breakdown, but now we would never know for sure.
I certainly didn't tell anyone. It was easier for most folks to call Scotty Lowell a hero and leave it at that. Who would ever want to hear the rest of the truth?