The silence following his pronouncement was deafening. It was also short-lived.

Fox’s company commander wore an expression that could best be described as incredulous. “We’re to hold?” he sputtered, staggered by the Commandant’s orders. “For how long?” He swept his hand across the chamber, recognizing all those present. “Am I to tell my people we forbid them to retreat? Even against overwhelming odds? And if they break, what then? Are we to have them shot?” He stood his ground, unwilling to yield the floor.

All eyes turned to the Colonel. Considering the vehemence of the captain’s words, his response was surprisingly mild. “Of course not, Captain,” he said easily. “These are my people as well, and I have no intention of squandering their lives for a lost cause.” He clasped his hands behind his back, as if he were lecturing a class of students. “But the Commandant’s orders are quite clear. What she is suggesting may be anathema to a mercenary band, but there is far more at stake here than this one contract. The battle we are facing is not merely one for credits… but for our very existence.”

Captain Inaba rose to her feet and placed a hand on her counterpart’s shoulder. A look passed between them, and after a moment he reluctantly sat back down, though his face was a study of warring emotions. She turned to the colonel. “Sir, if you could expand on that last statement, perhaps it may clear up some of our confusion,” she suggested, before resuming her own seat.

Rúna and Kai stood near the back, sharing a look of their own. Something was going on here, and it was obvious Inaba was working off the same script as the colonel, feeding him lines, but as for the rest... ordering them to hold their ground no matter what was a bombshell.

“Thank you, Captain,” he acknowledged, inclining his head. “And before anyone entertains words like ‘insurrection’ and ‘mutiny’, understand that no matter how mad these orders appear at first glance, there’s a reason behind them. Simply put, humanity… what’s left of us… stands at a crossroads. Unless something changes drastically in the next half-century, unless we can somehow alter the equation we have clung to since the Diaspora, our race faces complete and utter extinction.”

The room erupted as everyone spoke out at once, each one demanding the colonel explain himself. He waited for the worst of it to transpire before raising his hand, demanding silence. It was a battle not easily conquered, but eventually curiosity won out. The grudging silence that followed had a raw, hungry feel to it, like a wolf pack eyeing its prey, but if the colonel felt even a trace of fear, none of it showed.

“For two hundred years we have struggled to survive, forced to make one compromise after another,” he informed them, as if it were a fact they were not already intimately familiar with. “The Engineers evolved into the Tinkers, the Terran Navy became the Corsairs… and the Terran Marines furled their banners and transformed into the Valkyries. It was necessary, even as we embraced the once unthinkable so we might persevere.”

He paused, gazing across his audience, meeting the scrutiny of every man and woman in attendance, as his expression became grim. “For a time, it worked. Not perfectly, and we still suffered incredible loss, much of which we inflicted upon ourselves during the bloody Clan Wars, But even then, those in positions of authority realized a simple truth that we have long tried to ignore… that this way of life is not sustainable. That we have lasted as long as we have is nothing short of miraculous, but I am afraid that the bill has finally come due.”

Rúna looked on curiously as their own platoon leader, Lieutenant Danielov, stood up. “Sir, if that’s true, then why are we just hearing about this now?”

Colonel Holme shook his head. “That’s not entirely true, lieutenant, though perhaps there has been a dearth of information from official sources, and for that, those of us in command must plead guilty.” His shoulders hunched in a brief shrug. “We had no solution, so we tried to bury the problem. But you can’t claim you’ve had no inkling that our situation is slowly growing worse. We’ve all seen ships and equipment cannibalized for spare parts, because we could no longer repair them. While we gained a brief stockpile, we also weren’t christening new vessels to offset the loss.” Suddenly he seemed years older, seeming to sag. “In the end, entropy always wins.”

The Fox CO was back on his feet. “Are you suggesting that we embrace Nihilism, Sir?” he demanded. “Just throw up our hands in defeat?”

The colonel’s eyes narrowed as focused on the captain like a gunsight. “I suggest nothing of the sort, Captain,” his voice suddenly dark and dangerous. “That we can no longer continue as we have is indisputable, but at no point did I advocate surrender.”

“Then I’m afraid I’m at a loss here, Sir,” he shot back, “because those are the only two options that I see.”

“The universe is not black and white, no matter how much we may wish it is,” the colonel riposted. “We of all people should recognize that, for the life of a mercenary is nothing but shades of gray.” A languid smile crossed his lips. “I said the equation we have modeled our society on is no longer sustainable, therefore… we must change the equation.”

“Change the equation, how?” he insisted.

Pointing at his chest, he asked, “Why have we struggled to survive ever since the Diaspora?” he asked the captain. “What is the single key element that has kept us down?”

“Because we’re the galaxy’s red-headed stepchild,” he snorted. “No one wants anything to do with us, and there’s never any room at the Inn.”

Colonel Holme smiled, as if a star pupil had answered a tough question correctly. “Indeed. Without allies or a world to call our own, it has forced us to drift between the stars. We need both if we are going to survive, and this planet is where we start.”

“So we… what? Take out the Sonoitii and conquer the planet for ourselves? I don’t think the odds are in our favor.”

“They’re not,” the colonel agreed, “so it’s fortunate that wasn’t what I was suggesting either.” Once again, he looked around the space. “What I am about to tell you is not common knowledge...in fact, the Troika has been doing everything possible to suppress it. Luckily, we have independent sources to draw from.”

Rúna couldn’t help but notice he failed to inform them just who those ‘independent sources’ were.

“For the last few months, someone has waged a successful guerilla warfare campaign against the Troika, launching devastating attacks in multiple systems. One entire sector is now under quarantine; nothing in, nothing out, so we have no information as to the cause. This offensive has also embroiled the Proteans with its tactics, and as inconceivable as all that may sound, what followed was even more astonishing.”

Captain Inaba had been grappling with a way to wrest control of the floor back from the Fox commander, without resorting to cutting his throat, though it was obvious it tempted her. But as Colonel Holme knocked him back on his heels, albeit temporarily, it was the opening she’d been waiting for. “And what was that Sir?” she asked, earning a glare from the other captain while she fought to get the situation back on track.

Now his smile was positively shark-like. “The most surprising thing of all?” he repeated. “They got away with it.”

Their reaction was instantaneous. Rúna had never seen a hundred individuals simultaneously poleaxed… until now.

Now that she’d stolen back control of the floor, she wasn’t giving it up without a fight. “Do we know who's responsible for the campaign?” she asked, “because I’d like to buy them a beer.”

Kai and Rúna turned to one another, their eyes wide, each silently mouthing the name Samara.

The room erupted in laughter, helping to break the tension. Colonel Holme grinned, doing all he could to encourage it, short of putting on a clown nose and hurling cream pies, letting it die out on its own.

“We do, but we’re keeping that information confidential for now,” he explained. “The very last thing we want to do is burn such a valuable ally. They have humbled the mighty Troika for the first time in centuries, if not millennia, and the other races now recognize they’re not the unstoppable monolith they appear to be. They realize they have chinks in their armor, yet years of inertia prevent them from acting.” Once again, his eyes swept the room, making contact with as many as possible.

“All they need, is a catalyst.”

Inaba slowly nodded. “And the Commandant believes that this world could be that catalyst, Sir?” she asked him.

“Perhaps a more accurate statement would be that she hopes it will,” the colonel admitted. “If you’re looking for a guarantee, I’m afraid there is none, but I can say this… all the pieces are here.” He raised his hand and began ticking them off, one by one.

“One: The Proteans have been hurt by these attacks, and for those of you that heard our client Bidras’nassa’s statement regarding the value of their eggs, if they are going to rebuild what they have lost, then they must come here.”

“Two: They did not create those grafts and implants on their own, and it stands to reason their alien benefactors are none other than the Troika itself. Otherwise, why did our anonymous ally spend their energy attacking both, simultaneously?”

“Three: We have at least a month to prepare a proper welcome for our ‘guests’,” he grinned, earning chuckles from the others. “In a month we can turn this world into a trap for anyone they send after us, and as we suck them in to their doom, eventually they’ll be forced to take a more active role, if they’re to get those eggs.”

“Four: The very nature of their target is also their greatest weakness. Those eggs are fragile, and any attempt to bomb us into submission will destroy the very thing they desire most. Which means… they must come down here to dig us out. With thirty days to prepare, I’ll put us up against any other outfit in the galaxy if they’re fighting on our turf.”

“Five: The only species more disliked than our own are the Tu’udh’hizh’ak, the Eleexx, and the Aggaaddub, and with good reason,” he pointed out. “They’ve run roughshod over this region of space since time immemorial, and for their troubles they’ve garnered almost no goodwill in return. The only thing that keeps the other races from striking back is fear, for as I’ve said before, they believe them to be an implacable foe. They are absolutely convinced that to go up against the Troika is to risk certain death.” An almost mischievous grin appeared on his face. “And we are going to prove them wrong.”

“That all sounds good, Sir,” Inaba said after they’d had time to digest, “but if you’ll beg my pardon… it also sounds risky.”

“Because it is, Captain,” Holme said somberly. “The Valkyries are running out of time. Humanity is running out of time. At this moment, circumstances favor us better than they have in the last two centuries, but if we do not strike now, the next chance we have may come much too late.” He shrugged once more. “We’re betting everything on a single throw of the dice. We gain allies, sucker the Troika in, hit them with everything we’ve got… and pray it’s enough to build something on.”

“And if it isn’t?” Fox’s captain asked. “What’s our fallback plan… or do we even have on?”

“Not this time,” he answered evenly. “If we lose here, then that’s likely the end of us.”

“Asking mercenaries to die for a noble cause is a fool’s errand, Colonel,” the captain sneered. “We fight for pay, period.”

“You're right,” he agreed, “asking mercenaries to do this would be the height of folly, for the reason you mentioned.” He paused for a moment, letting them dangle… before dropping the other shoe.

“... but then I wasn’t planning on asking mercenaries to fight this battle,” he said casually, as the Battalion Sergeant-Major stepped forward, bearing a sheathed pole.

Rúna’s breath froze in her chest. No... it couldn’t be…

Colonel Holme came to attention. “Sergeant-Major… unfurl the colors.”

Silence filled the room as he tugged off the cloth shroud, revealing the red and gold banner within. He raised it high, for all to see, before placing it in its recessed base. Taking a single step back, he snapped up his arm in salute.

The battalion could only stare in reverent awe at the flag of the Terran Marines.

“For two hundred years, the universe forced us to forget who we are,” he proclaimed to all those in attendance. “Circumstance and desperation stole from us our pride and our honor. It has forced us to make one compromise after another, all in the name of survival, but I say this now… survival without honor stains and denigrates who we are supposed to be.” he shook his head, as implacable as the dawn. “I say, never again.”

With that he did an about-face that would have impressed even the most demanding DI, snapping his arm up in salute alongside the Sergeant-Major’s.

Her vision blurred as she gazed at the sight. That ancient flag was only rarely brought out on display; special occasions like the Marine Corps birthday, a tradition they still followed. She had seen it only a handful of times, a revered relic, from a time long past. To see it here, now, like this…

Her throat seemed to close up, as emotion threatened to overwhelm her, and she was far from alone. She wasn’t sure who was the first; perhaps it had even been her herself.

But she would never forget that electric moment when someone among the crowd could keep it in no longer.

“... From the domes of Tycho City...”

And that was all it took. The dam burst as they all joined in, their voices joining the thunderous chorus, their own arms snapping in salute.

“... To the sands of Olympus Mons,

We fight our system's battles,

In stalwart ranks of bronze

First to fight for rights and freedom

Our honor upheld pristine.

Ever marching ‘neath our banner

Of the proud Terran Marines.”