Chapter 14

Arrival

Those few days did indeed pass by quickly. It seemed to Adrien like it was only hours after he had won his fight against Ferox before the ship's intercoms called out the fateful words:

"All ground forces, report to the hangar bay for imminent departure."

And so, here he was, waiting for him and his company to be directed to one of the blocky dropships in the bay. Off to his side, he noticed Siros staring at the ships with open distaste; the First Lieutenant was prone to airsickness and as such, he absolutely hated flying. Adrien offered him a cheeky grin.

"Ready for a nice flight, Lieutenant?"

Siros grimaced. "As much as I'll ever be, sir. I just hope those pills I took work; the last thing I want is to throw up in my helmet and drown in my breakfast."

"Not exactly the most dignified way to go," Adrien admitted.

"Got that right, boss," Viggo put in. "'Course, that'd be the least of my worries. My dad promised me that if I ever died in an embarrassing way like that, he'd find a way into the afterlife, drag me out and backhand my fringe clean off my head."

Further banter was halted as Adrien heard his unit being called. Soon, they were being loaded up into one of the shuttlecraft. Much like other Turian constructs, dropships were designed to be robust and utilitarian, with no needless additions or wasted space. That also meant they were cramped and uncomfortable, especially when fully loaded, and with a maximum capacity of eighty troops, personal space was hard to come by. If you tried to scratch an itch, you might accidentally elbow someone in the face.

"All right everyone, you know the drill," Adrien called out as his troops began settling themselves down into their seats. "Make sure your harnesses are locked down good and tight; if they pop open during reentry, you'll go flying headlong into a solid metal wall. I can guarantee that you won't be walking away from that. Same with your helmets; you don't want to be caught in a hull breach with it unsealed."

Shouts of affirmation rang out from his company alongside sharp metallic clicks as safety harnesses locked into place. While Adrien knew that his men were all aware of the proper safety procedures, a little reminder never hurt. In this kind of environment, it was incredibly easy to get killed; one little mistake was all it took.

"Now, here's what's going to happen: we're going to get deployed once we come in range of Digeris. While our fleet keeps the Federation's naval forces busy, we're going to sneak in and land within friendly lines. After that, we'll report to whoever's in charge wherever we are and go from there. Understood?"

"Yes sir!"

As his troops finished buckling themselves in, Adrien took his own seat and pulled the harness down. The metal bars clamped shut around his upper body like a vice, allowing just enough room for him to breathe properly. Not exactly a model of comfort, but if it kept him from becoming a blue stain on the walls, then Adrien was perfectly willing to suffer through it.

Idly, Adrien's hand dipped down to a mag-locked pocket on his right and fished out a tiny object. A medallion, wrought of bronze and specially treated to resist corrosion, gleamed dully in the dropship's lights. On its front, it depicted a crescent moon, wreathed in a flowing archaic script that spelled out a traditional blessing, asking the Spirits to inspire the medallion's bearer in times of hardship. It was an ancient relic, dating back over two thousand years. An artifact such as this was incredibly valuable, but for Adrien, there was no price he would ever accept for it.

As Adrien gazed down at the medallion, he suddenly felt the tides of memory bearing down on him. Bowing to the inevitable, he allowed himself to be swept away.

#

"You're being shipped out?"

Even though he had known this was coming, Adrien could not stop a sigh from escaping him. "I'm afraid so. The orders just came through; my Legion's been selected to take part in the Digeris counterattack. I'll be leaving tomorrow, first thing in the morning."

His wife looked at him as if he had just announced that he'd contracted a terminal disease. Her face crumpled in abject despair and she lowered her head. Her arms entwined across her chest in a hugging motion and Adrien noticed the shudders that coursed through her body. He gently grasped his wife by the shoulders.

"Sarissa, please don't be like this," he implored her. "You know I don't like to see you unhappy."

"What do you expect me to be like?" she asked, her voice thick with emotion. "You're going to the frontlines on Digeris; should I be jumping for joy instead?"

"Sarissa, it's not—"

"Don't, Adrien!" Sarissa's head snapped up sharply to fix him with a wet glare. "Don't try and make this seem like it isn't a big deal! I don't know what you've heard about what's happening over there, but I've got a better idea than you, or most anyone around here!"

Adrien frowned at that, though he supposed that shouldn't come as a surprise. His wife was a psychologist, who specialized in mental trauma brought on by battle. Contrary to popular belief, Turians were not immune to the horrors of war, nor did they regard those that suffered from its effects on the psyche with contempt. Psychological wellness was immensely important to the Hierarchy's military and they invested considerable time, effort and money to ensuring that the soldiers that came back home remained fully functional members of society. And since Sarissa's job was to help with that, she would have a very good picture of some of the worst situations that came about.

"I'm guessing that some of your patients painted you some vivid pictures," he remarked softly.

Sarissa gave a short nod. "I had a woman who was referred to me for grief counseling. Her son had died in the fighting and they managed to ship his body back to her for a burial; what remained of it at least." She shuddered visibly. "She told me that her son's body had been…gnawed on and gave me a detailed list of what was missing from him."

She didn't elaborate, and Adrien had a feeling that was probably for the best.

"But that's not the only thing, is it?" he inquired softly.

For a long moment, Sarissa didn't answer. Whatever it was that made her react so strongly to Adrien's deployment had clearly shaken her and she was in no hurry to relive it. Finally, she let out a shaky breath.

"There was an… incident at the ward."

Adrien immediately didn't like where this was going. Sarissa sometimes went to the local psychiatric ward to see patients that were deemed too troublesome for unsupervised sessions. Adrien has always worried about her whenever she went there; the last thing he wanted was to get a message saying that some deranged inmate had hurt his wife, or worse.

"We had a patient that was shipped in from Digeris," Sarissa continued. "When they brought him in, he was totally unresponsive; he just sat in his room and stared blankly at the walls. Nothing we did got so much as a look or a sound from him. So, the head doctor decided to fly in some of his family and see if they could reach him.

"The patient's wife arrived a few weeks later and we brought her to his room to see him. He actually looked at her with a degree of interest and we thought we were finally making some progress. And then…" Sarissa took a deep breath, as if to steel herself for what she was about to say. "He killed her."

Adrien suddenly felt his stomach twist up into a knot. "He…killed her?"

Sarissa nodded somberly. "It all happened so fast. One moment he was looking at her like she was something familiar, the next he had seized her by the neck. Before we could do anything, he twisted so hard that her head was facing backwards. Then he started running around the room, howling like a wild animal and throwing himself at the walls so violently that he dislocated his left shoulder before we could sedate him."

It seemed that this was finally too much for her. She began to cry miserably, great heaving sobs wracking her body. Adrien quickly embraced his wife in an effort to comfort her.

"Why?" Sarissa asked between sobs. "Why did this have to happen? This whole war is just a fucking ego trip for our Primarchs and that barefaced Councilor. Now you're going to fight in it."

"I'm not dead yet, Sarissa," Adrien told her softly. "Don't make it sound like my fate has already been decided."

"But you will be, or worse. You'll either come back as a half-eaten corpse or a raving madman. Those are the only ways anyone comes back."

Adrien gently gripped his wife's chin and moved it until he was staring into her eyes. They were a deep sapphire, as bright and clear as they had been when he had first met her. Even her grief could not dim their beauty.

"Sarissa, with the Spirits as my witnesses, I promise you that I will come back, alive and whole. I don't care what gets thrown at me; I will make it through this war."

She stared back at him for a long moment, and then squeezed her eyes shut. "Don't do this to me, Adrien. Don't try to soothe me with a promise you can't keep."

"I would never do that, and I'm not now. I swear to you, Sarissa, I will come home."

For a moment, his wife stood silently. Then, she caught him in an embrace of her own, so tight that Adrien thought he could hear his ribs creak.

"I'm going to hold you to it, then, so don't you dare even think about breaking your word."

Adrien let out a chuckle. "Wouldn't even dream of it."

#

The next morning found Adrien already suited up and ready for his deployment. He checked the time on his omnitool; his shuttle would come in an hour. But first, there was a little thing he had to take care of.

He walked into a room and looked down at its occupant. Little Tarquin stared up at him from his crib, cooing softly. Adrien smiled fondly at his infant son and bent down until the two were almost at eye level.

"Hey there, little guy," Adrien murmured. "Up already, huh? You're going to be a handful when you start walking, I can tell."

Tarquin squirmed and stretched out a little hand towards Adrien's face with a look of tremendous concentration. His father's smile broadened.

"Yep, a real handful. Now, daddy's going to have to leave soon. You're not going to be seeing me for a while, but I promise you that I'll come home, no matter what. You understand, don't you?"

Tarquin gave a happy chirp and response.

"That's my boy." Adrien bent down and touched his forehead to Tarquin's. "Don't worry, son. I'll be back before you know it."

As he made to head out, Adrien found his wife waiting for him near the front door. She looked no happier then she had the night before, but was clearly more collected now. He noticed that she was holding something tightly in her hands.

"I thought you'd still be sleeping," Adrien remarked.

Sarissa let out a loud snort. "You're about to be shipped off to a battlefield and this is last time I'll see you in Spirits know how long. Sleep can wait." She moved towards him and held out her hands. "I want you to take this. It's something to remind you of home." She opened up her hands, revealing a bronze medallion. Adrien let out a shocked gasp.

"Sarissa, this is an heirloom of your family! I mean—it's a freaking two millennia old artifact! It's damn near priceless!"

"It's a lump of sculpted metal that's sitting around collecting dust," Sarissa countered. Before Adrien could react, she pressed it into his hands. "Take it. Maybe it will bring you some luck. You'll need all that you can get."

Adrien could only stand there in dumbfounded silence, staring at the medallion in his hands. He brushed a thumb over it, reflecting that this little thing was probably worth more than what he would make in a lifetime of soldiering. An Asari lifetime, that is. And his wife had just given it to him for good luck.

At a loss for words, Adrien simply placed it in one of his mag-locked pockets. Then, he slowly nestled his forehead against hers.

"I love you," he said quietly.

"And I you. Remember your promise, Adrien. Whatever happens, just come home to me."

"I will. Nothing will keep me away from you or Tarquin. I don't care if the humans set a whole army of demons on me, I will make it back. Count on it."

#

A sudden rumbling jolted Adrien from his reminiscing and he realized that the dropship was about to be launched. He gripped the bars of his harness just as the shuttlecraft lurched upwards, vibrating so hard that he could almost feel his teeth rattling around inside his mouth. Off to his side, Siros let out a low moan and clutched his own harness as though his life depended on how hard he could squeeze it. Adrien was dimly aware of the pilot informing them about what was about to happen, and then the dropship zoomed forward, out into the void of space and towards Digeris.

#

It felt as if hours had passed, though according to the digital clock inside Adrien's helmet, it had only been a few minutes. The tension was palpable, and the claustrophobic confines of the dropship only made it worse. His troops twitched and squirmed in their seats for as much purchase as their harnesses would allow. They were all too disciplined to let their emotions show, but even a casual observer could tell that they all wanted to get off this flying hunk of metal, the sooner the better.

Adrien couldn't blame them; he wasn't exactly brimming with excitement himself at the moment. He all too aware that the dropship that was ferrying them to Digeris could easily become a deathtrap; never mind all the technical malfunctions that could arise, the ship was not designed for combat. It had a few high-caliber guns on its front, but they weren't anything big, and the ship itself was not built for hasty maneuvers. If they had the misfortune of getting into a dogfight, then they were as good as salvage.

He quickly pushed those thoughts out of his mind. No sense adding to his anxiety by worrying about things out of his control.

The minutes continued to tick by; one minute became three, three became six, and it still went on, with no word on how far they were from their destination. Finally, Viggo voiced the question that was on everyone's mind.

"Just how fucking far away is this planet? It feels like we've been flying forever."

Murmurs of agreement followed his statement, along with a couple mentions of the pilots "taking their sweet-ass time." Adrien himself was wondering that too; they couldn't be that far away now.

Then, at long last, the pilot's voice crackled from the dropships speakers. "We are making our final approach to Digeris's outer atmosphere. ETA to planetfall: one minute."

Cheers and shouts of "finally!" rang out from the soldiers. Adrien just grinned behind his helmet and settled back into his seat as a sense of relief washed over him. Just one more minute, and he'd be back on solid ground. While he knew that this was only a prelude to what was practically guaranteed to be hard times, he allowed himself a moment to savor this small victory.

BANG!

Adrien felt his head snap forward as the dropship was suddenly rocked violently by what felt like a high-velocity impact. He heard his troops let out alarmed cries and more than a few expletives. Klaxons began to blare and the sound of the pilot's panicked voice rang out from the speakers.

"Fuck! Huey drones! Where did they come from?"

Adrien felt a cold dread steal over him. This was bad; Federation drones were nasty customers, able to move at insane speeds and armed with high-powered energy weapons. The dropship's kinetic barriers would do fuck-all against them, and the armor would only be able to withstand so much punishment. Adrien silently swore that if he got through this alive, he would give Siros permission to smack him over the head for tempting fate.

Adrien grit his teeth as the shuttle was rocked again by another impact. Sparks burst forth from panels and the interior lights flickered briefly before going out. A red glare illuminated the inside as the emergency lights clicked on. He didn't need to be an engineer to know that the dropship wasn't going to last much longer if this kept up.

The dropship lurched again, but this time it wasn't from a weapons fire. Adrien had been on enough landing craft to know that they had managed to enter Digeris's atmosphere. There came no more impacts, so he felt it safe to assume that the drones had broken off their attack. It was a welcome comfort, but it was fleeting. For all Adrien knew, the dropship's hull might have already been badly damaged from the attack, in which case it would likely rupture during reentry. And if the mass generators had been taken out, then the shuttle would be little more than a block of metal hurtling through the atmosphere.

Adrien was suddenly feeling very religious.

A dull roar began to well up as the dropship continued its descent, rising until it drowned out all other sounds. Even with his helmet blunting the cacophony of shrieking metal and howling air, Adrien's ears felt as if they would burst. The hull rattled so violently that he felt as if he'd been placed in a drink mixer and the bartender was trying to show off how hard he could shake it. Bizarrely, all Adrien could think of was that Siros must be in his own personal hell right now.

Moments later, the pilot spoke through the intercom, voice strained with desperation. "We're coming in hot! Brace yourselves!"

Adrien almost laughed; as if bracing themselves was actually an option. The harnesses kept them locked in place and allowed only the barest of movement. And even if they had been designed to allow freer movement, it wouldn't do much good in this case. Either the dropship was sufficiently functional to lessen the impact to a non-lethal degree, or it wasn't.

What Adrien did do was drop his hand back down to the pocket containing his wife's medallion and grabbed hold of it. Rubbing his thumb across its surface, he silently implored the minute bronze lump to do its work.

Come on, little buddy. Now would be a good time to work some of that magic you're supposed to have.

Then, without warning, the dropship hit the ground with a tremendous crash and everything was plunged into darkness.

#

To his great surprise—and even greater relief—Adrien found that he was not dead. Of course, that wasn't to say that he was unhurt; his head felt as though a Krogan had been dancing on it. When he tried to open his eyes, pain coursed through the inside of his skull like a bonfire made of red-hot nails. After what felt like an eternity, the pain subsided and Adrien managed to pry his eyes open.

The first thing he noticed was that his helmet had been removed, allowing currents of chilled air to waft across his exposed plates. Though his armor still snugly encased him, an involuntary shiver raced down his spine in spite of its insulation. Looking around, he next saw that he was no longer inside the dropship. Instead, it appeared as if he had been placed in what looked to be some sort of infirmary. Fortunately, it was clearly of Turian make, though the place lacked the sterile and efficient décor of a true hospital; while it was still a respectable facility, to Adrien's eye, it looked as if the place was understocked and underequipped with the ramshackle look of something scrounged together with whatever was at hand.

I haven't even been in battle yet, and this is my second trip to an infirmary, Adrien thought.

With a groan, Adrien lifted himself up to a sitting position to get a better look at his surroundings. He quickly saw that he was not the only occupant here; on all sides, fellow Turians lay on medical cots in varying states of injury. One thing they all had in common was that none were minor; Adrien saw everything from missing limbs to severe burns was on display like grotesque museum pieces.

"Up and about, I see," a soft voice said.

Startled, Adrien looked to see a doctor making his way to his cot. He was tiny, probably topping out at three or four inches over five feet, well below the Turian average. His face was laced with interlocking bands of violet, marking him as a native of Digeris. Adrien couldn't place his age, but it was obvious he wasn't young; his features were worn and craggy and his scales had a dull hue, not unlike the doctor from the ship. The big difference between the two, however, there was no paternal indulgence or good humor present in this doctor's demeanor. He looked as if he hadn't had a good sleep in a long time, carrying himself in a haggard and despondent manner. His eyes were dull, glassy orbs that stared with what could only be described as abject apathy, as if he no longer cared about what went on around him.

The medic sidled up to Adrien and gave him a quick once-over. "You seem to be quite well, considering your rather turbulent arrival."

"Aside from an aching head, I feel as good as I've ever been," Adrien agreed. "It was a hell of a close call, though; I just thank the Spirits that the drones didn't shoot us out of the sky." A sudden feeling of dread grasped his heart in steely claws. "Doctor, what about my—"

"Your troops are fine, Captain," the medic interrupted reassuringly. "A few bumps and scrapes all around, but nothing serious. As for yourself, you suffered a nasty blow to the head; if I had to guess, I'd say you hit it against your restraining bar upon impact. Fortunately, your helmet took the worst of it." He activated his omni-tool and held it up to Adrien's face. "Now, please hold still; I need to see if you've suffered any internal damage."

Adrien sat still as a statue while the medic waved his omni-tool over him. A few minutes later and the medic brought up a holographic screen showing a front and back picture of his insides. Another minute passed as the medic scrutinized the readouts and then he delivered his verdict.

"Well, as it stands, you're no worse for wear, Captain. No signs of concussion or hemorrhaging in your brain and the rest of you is in full working order. No sense keeping you here any longer."

Relieved, Adrien nodded. "Glad to hear. Wouldn't want to start off my deployment by getting taken out of commission, would I?" He flashed a smile at the medic, which he didn't return. Instead, his demeanor became even downcast than before and he looked at Adrien with a pitying expression.

"If you knew just what is out there, you wouldn't be so relieved."

A sudden chill raced up Adrien's spine at those words. The atmosphere of the infirmary suddenly felt stifling and heavy and he quickly decided that he didn't want to spend any more time in it than necessary. With a short nod of thanks, Adrien heaved himself off the cot and onto his feet. He stumbled briefly before regaining his balance, snagged his helmet and then made for the exit.

He had only taken a few steps before he felt a hand seize his arm in an iron grip.

Adrien's breath caught in his throat as he looked down at the Turian who had grabbed hold of him. He looked as if he'd been tossed into a meat grinder and had somehow managed to survive. Both his legs were gone, ripped clean off at the knee. His torso was riddled with deep lacerations sealed with medical glue; a few had burst when he sat up and now wept blue streams down onto his cot.

"Do you hear them?" he rasped in a panicked tone.

"Hear who?" Adrien demanded, trying to break free of the patient's grip. His efforts only made the mad Turian tighten his grip until Adrien could almost hear his armor creak.

"The beasts!" the Turian exclaimed shrilly. "They're out there, baying with hunger! They'll be coming, cruel and ravenous, to slaughter us all! And such a slaughter it will be! The sun shall rise to see the earth stained blue and littered with our masticated corpses!" His words were delivered like those of a prophet, with complete conviction and sincerity.

"I don't hear anything, you crazy bastard," Adrien snapped as he tried once more to pull himself free. Off to the side he heard the medic shouting for the guards.

The Turian's face twisted up into an ugly scowl. "Crazy, am I? Who do you think you are?" With a sudden burst of strength, he pulled Adrien down until they were face to face. His wounds bled even more freely, but he did not seem to notice. The injured Turian's eyes flicked over Adrien with a feverish intensity. Then he gave Adrien a triumphant smile, as though he had just figured out some great secret.

"You're new, I see."

He had suddenly become calm and relaxed, which unnerved Adrien more than his raving. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone as he continued speaking. "You haven't seen them yet, but you will. In great hordes they attack, clawing and biting and shrieking. They'll gorge themselves on our flesh and marrow and sate their thirst with our blood. That's what we are here: food." He let out a burst of crazed laughter. "This world is one big slaughterhouse, and we're the meat! And you're the freshest meat here!"

By this point, two soldiers had rushed in and pried the mad Turian's hand off Adrien's arm. His voice gained volume and he began to chant "Fresh meat! Fresh meat!" punctuated by insane laughter. The medic scurried over, a syringe in hand, and quickly jammed it into the delirious Turian's neck.

Rattled far more than he would care to admit, Adrien hurried out of the infirmary.

#

No sooner had he come out of the infirmary when Adrien found himself practically mobbed by his troops, bombarded by such a torrent of excited chattering that he couldn't tell who was saying what. Though still shaken from his encounter with that raving Turian, he quickly masked it behind a long-suffering paternal tolerance towards his men. Raising his hands, Adrien called for calm.

"All right you guys, settle down. As you can see, I'm alive and in one piece. Just got a nice bump on the head, but fortunately, my skull is hard as rock." He rapped the side of his head smartly with his knuckles, eliciting a chorus of hearty laughter from his troops. "Now where's Siros?"

"Right here, sir," came the First Lieutenant's answer as he ambled his way to the front of the company. Ever the formal soldier, he gave Adrien a smart salute, to which he nodded in approval.

"Bring me up to speed, Lieutenant; what did I miss while I was snoozing back there?"

"Our orders came through a little while ago," Siros answered without preamble. "We're to report to a Colonel Thanasis Tarkin; apparently, he's the commander of our section and we've been assigned to support his legion."

Adrien nodded. "Well, let's not keep him waiting. There's a war to fight here, after all."

#

As he headed to the Colonel's quarters, Adrien wondered what to expect. According to what he'd picked up, Thanasis Tarkin was apparently regarded as something of a legend amongst the soldiery on Digeris. The lifespan of a soldier on the frontlines here averaged barely a few months, sometimes even less. Not so for him; he'd been present when the first shot was fired at Relay 314, survived the initial counterattack by the Federation and, despite their best efforts, he was still standing.

When he finally appeared before the Colonel, the first thing Adrien noticed was that it looked as if Tarkin had been mauled by a wild animal. A trio of deep lacerations started at the top of his head and traced down across the left side of his face, down his neck and disappeared beneath his uniform. The middle one crossed over his eye, which now had a white film covering it.

Tarkin, having now noticed Adrien, smirked at him. "See something you like, Captain?" he asked.

Caught off guard, Adrien let out an undignified splutter. In an attempt to mask it, he cleared his throat and stood stiffly at attention.

"Sorry, sir, I was—"

Tarkin cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Never mind; I know exactly what I look like; every time I see my reflection, a part of me still thinks someone else is looking at me." He tapped the horrific scar and smiled grotesquely. "Got this memento from one of the Federation's pet monsters, along with a few others you can't see. Tore right through my helmet and slashed me good with its claws; my armor didn't fare much better. Spirits only know how I managed to survive all that." He paused, apparently deep in thought; then he shook his head and straightened up in his seat into a bearing of total professionalism.

"Anyway, enough dredging up bad memories," Tarkin said. He brought up his omni-tool and tapped a few keys. A second later, a holographic file display appeared which the Colonel perused with his remaining eye.

"Captain Adrien Victus, deployed with the 83rd Legion," Tarkin noted aloud. "Career military with sixteen years served; very commendable." He gave Adrien an approving nod before continuing. "You enrolled in officer training during your boot camp period and were given the rank of Lieutenant upon completion. However, you only reached your current rank roughly four years ago; apparently, you—" He consulted the screen and read aloud, "'exhibit a distinct lack of respect for established combat doctrine and utilize unapproved tactics.' Essentially, you're considered a maverick."

With effort, Adrien managed to fight down the sudden surge of resentment that had suddenly begun to well up inside him. He remembered all the times he had applied for promotion to captaincy, only to be almost instantly rejected by the officer's board because he was, as they put it, "effective, but unorthodox;" it was as if thinking creatively was some fatal flaw that prevented him from being a proper soldier in the eyes of the top brass. He vividly recalled one instance where one of the supervising officers had sneered down at him from his panel seat and declared that he'd sooner promote a Vorcha than a Spirits-damned dissident, because then he'd at least know the Vorcha would follow his orders completely. If it hadn't been for a more open-minded general who vouched for him after seeing his service record, Adrien might still have remained a Lieutenant.

Silently, Adrien braced himself for another dose of scorn, waiting for Tarkin to stare at him with cold contempt like he was a noxious bug that had scuttled into his presence and reprimand him for daring to do things not in line with the sacrosanct military dogma. Well, so be it, but Adrien would be damned if he wasn't going to defend himself.

"Sir, with all due respect, I—" he began, only to be cut off by another idle wave from the Colonel.

"You don't need to explain anything, Captain. Honestly, it doesn't make a lick of difference to me. So long as you get things done, you can print out hardcopies of the protocols and wipe your ass with them for all I care."

At the moment, Adrien was almost certain that the knock to his head had screwed up his hearing. There was no way a ranking military officer would be so irreverent of the Hierarchy's doctrines.

With a slight shake of his head, Adrien asked, "Um…come again, sir?"

"Surprised, eh?" Tarkin remarked rhetorically. "The feeling's mutual, if you can believe that. Before the war, I was the classic 'by the book and no other way' officer. Now, well…let's just say that the book is in serious need of an update."

He sat back in his seat and rubbed his remaining eye in a weary manner. "I'm going to be straight with you, Captain: if you were expecting things to be going our way, then you're going to be severely disappointed. The fact of the matter is we're not winning here on Digeris. Hell, from what I've heard, we're not winning anywhere, but those fronts aren't my concern. On this planet, we're in a real bad way.

"We've lost over a third the planet to Federation forces, including some major industrial centers. We're strapped for everything from APCs to medical supplies, food production in the agricultural districts that we still have under our control is barely sufficient to keep us all fed, and every time we fight against them, we lose ten soldiers for every one of theirs, sometimes even more." Tarkin looked pointedly at Adrien. "To put it crudely, Captain, we're getting reamed by the humans here."

Adrien swallowed a lump in his throat. "Sounds like some fun times," he noted.

Tarkin let out a harsh bark of laughter. "I've had fun before, and it sure wasn't like this. Anyway, that's enough grousing about our lot; complaining isn't going to win the war." He tapped a few keys on his omni-tool. "I'm pairing you and your company up with Captain Julek Kees. He's one of the most experienced soldiers we got and he'll help get you all acclimated. I recommend that you pay close attention to any advice he gives you; he's survived a lot of bad situations and it could save your life when things get messy.

"Before you go, Captain, I have some advice for you," Tarkin said. He stood up and walked around his desk until he was face to face with Adrien. "This war is going to take a toll and both you and your soldiers will have to find a way to deal with it. Trust me, if you survive long enough, there may be days when you wish you hadn't. But don't give in; find something that'll keep you going and hold onto it for dear life."

In his mind, Adrien remembered the promise he made to Sarissa, that no matter what, he would come home, alive and in one piece. Straitening himself up tall and proud, Adrien said, "I have a very good motivation to stay alive, sir. And I don't intend to give it up."

The Colonel seemed to peer into his very soul, as if trying to see for himself if what Adrien said wasn't empty words. Then, he nodded respectfully. "I believe that you do, Captain. I wish you good luck." He clapped a hand onto Adrien's shoulder and gave him a grim smile.

"Welcome to hell."

#

Author's note: Well, here's the next chapter at long last (almost a year, ye gods). Not very action oriented, and I feel it's a tad bland, but hopefully the next one will be a bit more exciting. Anywho, I will be continuing to post snippets on Spacebattles, and now there are some other bits by other battlers, so feel free to check them out if you so desire.

Thanks for reading!