Image by Pete Linforth from Pixabay

“Kuen, I forbid you to go.” Michi’s expression was severe, and she seemed almost  impatient with him.

Kuen sighed and looked into the comm. “Mother, the CAF reactivated my commission. As of six weeks ago, what you wanted ceased to be a priority. I only called you because I was required to inform you of the fact I had been called up.”

“You mean you have already left Bouarus?” Michi stared at her son.

“I left Bouarus six months ago. I was dealing with some personal business. The CAF caught up with me six weeks ago,” Kuen said. “I have been relocated to one of the many bases in order to best decide how to utilize my unique talents. My allotted time on the comm unit is almost up so I will say this once – I am not in support of this war that you have started, but I will fight for the CWA since I am a loyal soldier of the CAF. Expect no further contact from me going forward and only anticipate notification of my whereabouts if I am killed in the line of duty.” With that he ended the call.

“That was hardly a civilized call to a woman who you could never see again,” a cadet said.

“Lieutenant Nakano, High Admiral Benoit asked me to bring you your uniform and to take you to the officers’ barracks,” a slim aide dressed impeccably said. Kuen recognized her to be one of Gaspare’s sisters.

“Wait, this one’s an officer?” the noisy cadet asked.

Kuen ignored the man’s question and followed whichever of the girls the High Admiral had roped into serving as his aide on this campaign to the junior officers’ barracks. His roommate had already been and gone, and Kuen wasted no time in pulling on his uniform. He made his way to the officers’ mess, where all the other junior officers were going once he caught sight of a few of them.

High Admiral Benoit was there, along with High Admiral Dartle, High Admiral Mercado, and High Admiral Aceves. The four waited until the officers took their places. As one, the younger officers saluted the four members of the High Command.

“At ease,” High Admiral Mercado said, her lightly accented voice echoing in the small mess hall. Kuen, like the others, fell into the prescribed stance for that order.

Kuen listened to much the same speeches as he’d heard while he was still at the Academy, calling for loyalty to the CAF and to never hesitate to pull the trigger on traitor or Colonial because “neither are worth saving if they are turning against the proper order of things.”

Kuen kept his personal opinions to himself, his face blank, and shoved down his emotions. He would not show any sign of weakness. But a part of him longed to beat these fools to a bloody pulp.

They didn’t understand. How could they? He barely had an idea of what this was really about, and he’d had several long conversations with Fiera over the two years they’d been friends.

“Lt. Nakano, what are your thoughts on this matter?” High Admiral Aceves asked.

“This was inevitable, and it is in our best interests to end it as quickly as possible to mitigate the cost,” Kuen said.

“Ah, a true soldier – always looking out for his paycheck,” High Admiral Mercado said with a laugh. There were several others who laughed as well. Kuen kept his face straight. He wasn’t thinking of the financial toll – it was the loss of life he was more concerned with.

“You’ll all be assigned a unit to command, either surface or navy. Be certain you do your mentors proud,” High Admiral Benoit said. “Dismissed.” The group saluted and left.

Kuen returned to his room to find his roommate was a woman even shorter than Fiera, though much broader across the chest. “Lieutenant Annmarie Hibou,” she said.

“Lieutenant Kuen Nakano.” Kuen sat on his bunk and started reading through the most recent reports. Things were worse than he’d thought, which would explain why the CAF had tracked him down.

“You’re the son of Michi Nakano, aren’t you?” Annmarie asked.

“I have that designation, yes,” Kuen said, focusing on what he was reading.

“How can you so openly show your face here knowing that your mother is the main perpetrator of this conflict?” Annmarie demanded. “If it were me, I would be mortified.”

“I am mortified to be related to Michi Nakano. However, I was CAF long before I knew what being her son even meant. When I’m called up to serve again, I don’t argue.” Kuen continued reading.

“You should have refused your commission,” Annmarie snapped.

“And allow myself to be executed as a traitor? I think not,” Kuen said.

“They wouldn’t have executed you. You’re Michi Nakano’s only child,” Annmarie sneered.

“My family name means little to the High Command. If you have any questions about that you can always check with your mentor or with the members of the High Command yourself.” Kuen pointedly held up the pad. “Now, I’ve been out of touch for a while and need to get caught up on what I’ve missed.”

Annmarie stormed out of the room. Kuen resumed reading. She returned a short while later with High Admiral Mercado. “He shouldn’t be allowed to serve as an officer if he’s Michi Nakano’s son,” Annmarie said, pointing to Kuen.

“Lt. Nakano was an officer before you were a cadet, Lt. Hibou. He also made his hatred of his mother well known to High Admiral Benoit on more than one occasion prior to us recalling him,” High Admiral Mercado said.

“Is it true that he would’ve been executed for not obeying his recall order?” Annmarie asked.

“Yes. We take traitors very seriously. Lt. Nakano has personal experience with our attitude towards those worthless piles of drek,” High Admiral Mercado said.

“I wouldn’t count Nafisa as worthless, given all she did for the Academy before her eyes were opened. She just didn’t learn the lesson I did,” Kuen said.

“What lesson is that, Lt. Nakano?” High Admiral Mercado asked.

“Personal beliefs have no place in the CAF. Once you sign your name on that line your life belongs to the CAF. While you are enlisted, while you wear the uniform, your personal opinions don’t matter,” Kuen said.

“At least you learned something from the experience,” the High Admiral said. “Lt. Hibou, I suggest you take the same lesson Lt. Nakano learned to heart. Whatever your personal feelings on the matter are is irrelevant. You are here to do a job – lead soldiers into battle. If you cannot focus on that we will demote you and send you into the general pool.”

“Understood sir,” Annmarie said. The High Admiral strode out of the room. “You lead a charmed life, it seems.”

Kuen’s head snapped up. “I was ordered to execute my closest friend because she sided with the Colonies. If I hadn’t, I would have been put to death in her place. I pulled the trigger and watched her head explode even as she screamed that I was just a puppet of a corrupt regime. I learned that day never to reveal my true thoughts, though I never stopped asking questions.”

“How can you ask questions and not reveal your true thoughts?” Annmarie demanded.

“Practice.” Kuen went back to reading.

“I’m going to request a new roommate,” Annmarie said before storming out of the room. Kuen ignored her and continued reading.

It appeared she was unsuccessful in her request to transfer to another part of the barracks since she returned and sat glaring at him. Once Kuen was caught up he changed into workout gear and headed to the fitness area. He stretched and did the basic workout before powering up one of the automatons used for fighting practice. His focus narrowed to his opponent, and he lost himself in the flow of move and counter.

A familiar chuckle broke him out of his half trance. He turned off the automaton and took the towel Gaspare offered him. “You’ve already made an enemy and you haven’t been here a full day,” he said.

“If you mean my roommate, it’s not my fault. She dislikes my mother and my family name offends her. My presence here also bothers here due to the fact that I didn’t refuse my commission even though my mother is the reason for the war,” Kuen said, toweling off the sweat.

“Ah, makes sense. People can be foolish when they don’t understand the way the CAF works.” Gaspare put a hand on his shoulder. “How are you holding up?”

“I was enjoying my travels. I’m astonished it took them so long to find me though. I wasn’t even trying to cover my trail, since I knew Lakshmi would probably be tracking me as well,” Kuen said.

Gaspare lowered his voice. “Did you make certain our mutual friend was able to get home safely?”

Kuen nodded. “I did. She wasn’t pleased with the travel arrangements I made but, in the end, it was well worth the effort.”

Gaspare stepped back. “Do you think you’ll run into her again?”

“I hope to find her again after the war ends and I have the luxury of looking up old friends.” Kuen tossed the towel down the laundry chute.

Gaspare nodded. Kuen left to shower and change into his uniform. He joined the rest of the younger officers for their evening meal before heading back to his quarters. He plugged an earbud into one ear and turned on “The Art of War.” He fell asleep listening to the ancient text he’d long felt held the key to victory in all things.

The next morning, he was up with the klaxon. He smirked at the sight of his roommate still sound asleep. He briefly considered waking her. He bathed and dressed carefully, making sure his hair was slicked back. He made a mental note to have the barber cut it all off that morning.

He locked everything away, making no effort to be quiet and still Annmarie didn’t wake up. He took a moment to be sure she was still breathing before leaving the room. She could fend for herself. That’s what was expected of the military.

He made a quick detour to the barber and had his hair cut off into the close crop he’d worn for so many years. He ran his fingers across the short strands. This felt more natural to him than the ponytail ever had.

He made his way to the mess hall and joined the rest of the officers. “Lt. Nakano, where’s your roommate?” someone asked.

“I left her still asleep in her bunk,” Kuen said, filling his plate with high protein options.

“Shouldn’t you have woken her up?” another officer asked.

“She’s not my responsibility. She will thrive or fail on her own merit.” Kuen sat down with Gaspare and a handful of other officers he recognized from the Academy.

“As it should be,” one of the women with Gaspare said. Kuen’s memory slotted the appropriate name in – Lt. Rosa Hernandez.

At that moment Annmarie rushed in, her uniform still in disarray. She focused on Kuen. “Why didn’t you wake me?” she demanded.

“Not my job.” Kuen started methodically working his way through his breakfast.

“What do you mean it’s not your job?” Annmarie asked.

“You’re an officer in the CAF. By now you should know how to rouse yourself with the klaxons,” Gaspare said. “If you are unable to wake up like the rest of us you should requisition one of the full bed alarms.”

“I’ve always slept through the klaxons, and my roommates have always woken me up,” Annmarie said. “It was just understood that I was a heavier sleeper than most.”

“That is unacceptable, Lt. Hibou.” High Admiral Mercado stood to one side. “The High Command accepted your transfer with the understanding you were fully capable of meeting our expectations. Waking with the klaxons is such a basic thing we didn’t even think to ask your previous commanding officer if it was ever an issue.”

“It never was because my roommates made sure it wasn’t,” Annmarie said. “Sir.”

High Admiral Mercado pulled out a tablet. “Lt. Hibou, you’re being reassigned as of right now. You may eat first. After breakfast gather your belongings and take yourself to your new quarters. I’ve sent the information to your tablet.”

“Yes sir,” Annmarie said. “If I may ask, sir, where am I being transferred?”

“Administration, where your lack of basic training won’t get people killed.” The High Admiral walked out of the room while Annmarie spluttered. She ate a light meal for a heavyworlder and stomped off.

“She’s going to be sick,” someone commented. “She’s a heavyworlder and that was barely enough for one of us featherweights to get by on.”

“She isn’t our concern. She can deal with the consequences of her actions when High Admiral Claasen finds out. He’s in charge of the officers assigned to the Administration pool,” someone else said.

“High Admiral Claasen is a hard ass when he finds out someone’s abusing themselves,” a third person said. “At least that’s what I’ve heard.”

Kuen ignored everything and finished his breakfast. As expected, another klaxon sounded. This one called all the officers to a large room. There were several muttered swear words as some realized they’d wasted their chance for a meal with conversation. Kuen – and those from the Academy – were finishing their meals just as the klaxon sounded, having grown accustomed to living on military time to the extent they had.

They bused their dishes and made their way to the general officer’s lounge. There, High Admirals Benoit, Aceves, Seaton, and Dartle were waiting. Kuen and the other former Academy students saluted and waited at attention for further instruction. The others wandered in and barely managed to fall into an approximation of attention.

“It seems only a handful of you remember the proper procedures. We’ll have to change that,” High Admiral Dartle said. “If you aren’t aware of what’s required of you, how are you going to be able to command troops?”

“We will address that in a moment,” High Admiral Benoit said. “After you’ve been given your long-term assignments.”

High Admiral Seaton pulled out a tablet. She read off each name and gave them a unit designation. Kuen was unsurprised to find himself leading ground troops. This had been his specialty in the Academy, after all. Gaspare was put in charge of a small team under the direct supervision of his father, much to his obvious dismay, and the others from the Academy were put in positions playing to their strengths.

The other young officers were given command of smaller units, some naval and some ground. Kuen realized that his team was probably one of the largest that had been assigned.

“Now, some of you might be surprised at the size of your units. Those with more experience have the larger commands. Those with less have smaller units due to the fact that it means you’ll have fewer people to get killed,” High Admiral Seaton said.

“If it’s based on experience, why is a forced-draft civilian like Lt. Nakano being given so large a command?” someone asked.

“Lt. Nakano is actually a recalled veteran of multiple campaigns,” High Admiral Benoit said.

“Indeed, the CAF lost a valuable asset the day he retired from the military,” High Admiral Dartle said.

“A retirement he tried to refuse, I might point out,” High Admiral Benoit said.

“Let’s not rehash that old argument in front of the children,” High Admiral Aceves snapped. “It’s not necessary and just makes you look foolish.” The other members of the High Command raised their eyebrows at this comment but refrained from saying anything more. “Now, we’ve transmitted your new assignments to your tablets. Gather your personal gear and go move into barracks with your unit. You’ll be given further commands later, but I trust you all know what you need to be doing now.”

“Getting to know our troops,” one of the less experienced officers said.

“If that’s what you consider important,” High Admiral Dartle said. “Dismissed.”

Kuen checked his tablet, returned to his room, and then made his way to the barracks where he was supposed to be rooming with his troops. He walked into an undisciplined mess.

Several of his soldiers saw him but none got up to salute him, or even truly acknowledged his presence. They all focused their attention back on the rather risqué holo playing in front of them.

Kuen walked into his quarters, dropped off his gear, and then returned to the common room. When no one spoke again he decided the direct approach was better than the subtle one. He slammed his fist into the console, shattering the holo projector and putting an end to their fun.

“Hey, we were watching that,” someone protested.

“Yeah, you slagging piece of drek,” a second person said.

Kuen focused in on the second speaker and soon had them pinned in a choke hold against the bulkhead. “You do not talk to a senior officer in that manner,” Kuen said coldly. “Do I make myself clear?”

“You’re not a senior officer. You’re just a kid,” someone else said.

Kuen dropped the person he’d slammed into the bulkhead and proceeded to drop the person who challenged him about being an officer. “I am no child. I have probably seen far more combat than any of you and I’ve been out of the CAF for seven years. Now, these barracks are a disgrace. You have one hour to clean them to my standards. If I come back and the job isn’t done, you will find out why those in my former command feared me.” He turned and walked out of the room.

He made his way to the officers’ lounge and called up the personnel files on each member of his unit. Kuen snorted. It seemed the High Command was testing him. Or they had a vicious sense of humor and wanted to see him fail.

“What’s so amusing, Kuen?” one of the others from the Academy asked.

“What was the Commandant’s favorite trick with my units?” Kuen asked, looking over at her.

“Give you the rejects and renegades, see if you could whip them into shape,” she said. Understanding dawned on her face. “Starfire, they’re doing that to you here? In this situation?”

“So it seems.” A cold smile crossed his face. “This should be very entertaining for me, though not for my unit I’m afraid.”

She laughed, a cruel and vicious sound coming from her smirk. “You always were the best at getting the worst offenders to work together properly. I wish you luck on this one, Lt. Nakano.”

“Many thanks, Lt. Ferrar,” Kuen said. He entertained himself by working on memorizing passages of the “Art of War” until the hour was up. Then he returned to the barracks.

As expected, no one had done anything. One burly man was shouting at a thin woman in the comm. “What do you mean we can’t get another console? This one’s busted,” he yelled.

“Yes, I’m aware it’s broken. But until Lt. Nakano puts in the request himself, we cannot authorize replacement of non-essential equipment,” the woman said.

“Since none of you can be trusted to follow a simple order, I won’t be replacing it any time soon either,” Kuen said. “My apologies, Major Hinata. I didn’t expect them to be harassing you so early.”

“It isn’t that much of a problem right now, Lt. Nakano. However, I don’t have a requisition list for your unit for essential gear that I’ve been attempting to get one from them for the past month,” the woman said.

“I’ll have one on your desk by the end of the day, Major,” Kuen said.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” the woman said. She ended the comm call.

Kuen sighed. “I had hoped not to have to resort to more extreme measures,” he said. “It seems that you are all used to a certain level of freedom in the management of this unit. That freedom ends now. You have no choice in what happens. I am the only authority here.”

“Yeah? Who says, lieutenant?” the burly man who’d been harassing Major Hinata asked.

“The High Command placed me in charge of this unit,” Kuen said. He moved faster than the blink of an eye, mentally thanking Fiera for the two years of constant sparring which had increased his speed to something akin to her own when dealing with those not born to a high grav world. The burly man went down without a sound. “As to what gives me that right, I am a veteran several times over with the skills and training to back that claim. You will follow orders, or I will put you in your place, which is underneath my boot heel if I so choose.”

“You can’t take all of us on,” someone said.

“Would you care to place a wager on that?” Kuen asked.

“There’s nineteen of us and one of you,” the man said.

Kuen’s hand went to the gun holstered at his hip. He thumbed the control so it wasn’t set to its most lethal setting and yanked it out. He shot fifteen times before the core overheated.

He holstered the gun. Fifteen of his unit were on the ground screaming, blood spurting from behind their fingers. The remaining four, too stupid to do more than stare, were easy pickings. “Now that I’ve established I can indeed take out all nineteen of you, patch up your friends and clean these barracks. I also expect to see a list of necessary essential equipment in my hands within the next two hours,” Kuen said.

“You shot them. They need to go to the med lab,” one of those he’d just punched really hard said, struggling to get to his feet.

“Don’t you have field medic kits available to you in your packs?” Kuen asked.

“No sir. Our field medic kits have long since been used up to patch each other up after other incidents,” the soldier said.

“In a single month you’ve burned through twenty field medic kits?” Kuen asked.

“Twenty? We were all supposed to have one?” the person asked.

Kuen sighed and went over to each locker. Using officer override he pulled each one open. It took him less than a minute to find the stash of unused medic kits. He tossed them at the less seriously injured members of the group. “Bandage them up and get them on their feet. You have work to do.”

Kuen was ruthless. He reminded them again that they had two hours and went into his own quarters. He started the list with the medic kits and then added fresh uniforms for each of them. He cleaned his own quarters and added those things he felt were essential for him to have to the list.

At the end of two hours he walked out. A half-hearted attempt had been made at cleaning but most of his unit was nowhere to be seen. Only the uninjured remained, and they were sitting on their bunks.

Kuen called the med lab. “This is Lt. Nakano. If any of my unit is down there getting treated for gunshot wounds, cease treating them immediately and send them back to their barracks,” he said.

“Which unit is yours?” the medico asked.

“4027,” Kuen said.

“Yes sir,” the medico said.

“You can’t deny them medical treatment,” one of the remaining ones said.

“I can deny whatever I want to those I deem traitors, and right now I don’t see a single loyal member of the CAF in this unit aside from myself. All I see are a bunch of traitors who I will happily space at the first opportunity,” Kuen said.

“You’ve got a lot of guts saying that to us, Lt. Nakano,” a man said, rising to his feet. He emphasized Kuen’s last name. “It’s your fault we’re in this war.”

“Wrong. It is the fault of the woman who bore me and whose name I unfortunately am required by law to use since she never named my father on my birth records,” Kuen said. “It is the fault of idiots like you who listen to the lies in the media and the propaganda spewed by the Assembly. It’s the fault of people who cannot be bothered to sit down and talk with each other and would instead rather see people die for their twisted delusions. But my fault? No. Not at all.”

The man stared at him, eyes wide. “You don’t believe this is a just war?” he asked.

“No. I don’t. I haven’t believed it to be just for the past few years, when the fallacy of my previous world view was pointed out to me,” Kuen said. “However, there is little I can do to end it on my terms. So I will have to follow orders like a good officer of the CAF, and watch innocent people on both sides die because those with a modicum of power got it into their heads that this was the best solution.”

Kuen’s temper was roused and when the rest of his unit came stumbling in, he knocked several of them back onto the floor. “What was that for?” someone asked.

“You defied orders. Once you’ve cleaned the barracks and given me your list of essential equipment that needs to be replaced, I’ll be considering if I should send all of you to the whipping post on top of your injuries. Because apparently pain is the only thing that gets through your thick skulls,” Kuen snapped. “I am done being nice. You have one hour to have this place spotless and the report ready for me. I don’t care how you divide the work. Just get it done.” He stormed back into his room and shut the door.

An hour later he emerged to find the barracks almost completely clean. One of his soldiers handed him a tablet. “This is what we were able to figure out on our own, sir,” she said. “We’re not entirely certain that’s everything we need but we hope it’s a good start.”

Kuen took the tablet and read through the list. “A new console is not a necessity,” he said.

“But sir, we use it to contact our families back home,” the woman said.

“You can use the public comm stations or do without,” Kuen said.

“You may not want to contact your family but that doesn’t mean we don’t,” a young man with a projectile wound in his shoulder said angrily.

“We are at war,” Kuen said. “As such we abide by CAF regulations. No private communications from the barracks. All comm calls are to be done in the public areas under the watchful eyes of the comm officers.”

“We’re not allowed to have any privacy talking to our loved ones?” the burly man from earlier asked.

“During war there is no privacy. You are no longer individuals. You are soldiers of the CAF. You are meant to work as a single unit, without any real thought to what you left behind except during your down time. You will come to value your down time as a precious commodity, learn not to squander it on fruitless endeavors and instead find ways to use it to your advantage – whatever you decide that advantage is. If your strength comes from your families, you’ll arrange times with the comm officers to contact them. If your best moments come from deep meditation, we can arrange for isolation chambers to allow you to focus. If you feel the need to improve your fighting skills, or just want to spar with someone, there will always be opportunities for that as well.”

“Lt. Nakano, how many missions did you run before you left the CAF?” the burly man asked.

“Do you want my total? Or how many I led before I was forcibly retired back to civilian life?” Kuen asked, leaning against the bulkhead.

“Total.”

Kuen opened his mouth and then smiled. He checked his personnel file. “Hm, they’ve declassified several of the missions I ran.” He passed his tablet over so the man could see the file. “As you can see, I was a participant in one hundred eighty seven actual missions. I led eighty four of those. Out of the eighty four I led only nine were unsuccessful. Out of the remaining one hundred and three, the team I was on had a 98% success rate.”

“It says here you trained on Ungara,” the burly man said, handing the tablet back. “Isn’t that supposed to be one of the top secret training academies?”

“It was,” Kuen said. “Until the data breach two years ago that revealed the locations of fifty seven training academies. Ungara was among those listed.”

“Ungara is one of the top five academies. Those students who graduated from their advanced training program usually go on to serve in the High Command,” one of the female members of his unit said. “That’s what the teachers at my academy used to tell us at least.”

“Not all the members of the High Command come from Ungara, but there are a few,” Kuen said.

“Do you think you’ll get on the High Command? Is that why you’re such a hard ass?” the burly man asked.

Kuen snorted. “You’re assuming I want to play politics at that level. I’ve had my fill of that just having to deal with my mother and her petty games. I would rather serve the CAF until such time as they release me without taking on any higher rank than captain, and then retire with a wife and children. Perhaps I’ll give farming a go.”

They all laughed at that. “You’d take up residence in the Colonies? That would be a laugh and a half. What would you do without all your shiny technology?” someone asked.

“I’d learn to get by. Or I’d die. One of the two.” Kuen shrugged. “It’s a matter of perspective. And after you’ve played politics in the worst part of the cesspool, the idea of slinging good, clean manure sounds more appealing with every new day.”

“Do you think this is going to be a fair fight?” a short, heavyset man asked.

“No. If the High Command is smart, they’ll hit them hard and fast, remain relentless, and drive the Colonists into the ground. It’s a brutal way to win, but those from the Duyelia sector can’t match our numbers or the supremacy of our weapons,” Kuen said.

“You don’t call them Colonials,” another person said.

“No, I don’t. I do have some respect for those Colonists who just want to live their lives, stay out of trouble, and raise their families in peace. Unfortunately, those people are being overshadowed right now by a pair of cruel puppetmasters who don’t care how many innocents die.” There was a real growl in Kuen’s voice, and he didn’t bother hiding it.

“Your mother and who else?” someone asked.

“Eire Rezouac, the Silver Fox of Sorus.”

There were several growls at the utterance of that name. “We’d like to get him alone for just five minutes, sir,” the heavyworlder who’d spoken said. “We would teach him a thing or two about how ordinary people feel about his tactics.”

“If we’re the unit to actually capture him, I might just give you those five minutes,” Kuen said.

“You would?” the burly man asked.

“Prisoners get roughed up all the time. So long as he was still alive to face the firing squad, who’s really going to care?” Kuen asked.

“Is that the same for all Colony prisoners?” someone asked.

“No. Just Eire Rezouac. We’ll have to determine the duplicity of the rest.” Kuen walked over to the comm and called the med lab. “Could we have a few regenerators sent to unit 4027’s barracks? I’ve got some holes to patch in my people.”

“I’ll see to it that half a dozen of varying sizes are sent your way, sir,” the medico said with a smile. “I’m glad to see 4027 is starting to behave themselves.”

“Oh, I expect I’ll be having some further issues with them going forward, but we’ll come to some kind of equilibrium eventually,” Kuen said.

The burly man looked at the other members of the unit. He waited until the comm call ended. “Sir, you won’t get any more trouble from us,” he said.

“Oh?” Kuen asked.

“We’ve been dealing with officers who look down on us because – because most of us come from the border. Maraline, Aporia, Baskin, and Tapia is where we’re all from. The commanding officers they’ve assigned to us, they give us serious trouble over the fact we don’t like this war,” he said.

Kuen focused in on the man’s uniform. “You are Ensign Ethan Forbes, yes?” he said after a moment of cycling through the personnel records of his unit.

“Yes sir.”

“Ensign Forbes, I take you’re usually he one who does most of the talking for the unit?” Kuen hid his smile. The big man seemed to be the de facto leader of the group.

“Only because he’s got the biggest mouth,” a woman said.

“I’m the one who isn’t afraid to stand up to the senior officers,” Ensign Forbes said, glaring over his shoulder at the woman. “You don’t have the balls to do it, Kapira.”

“Starfire, I hope I don’t have the balls. I’m a woman,” Ensign Isis Kapira said with a nasty laugh.

“Ensign Kapira, right now I think more highly of Ensign Forbes than of a woman who lied and cheated her way into an officer’s position, only to lose it when her skills couldn’t match her test results,” Kuen said.

“I would have been fine if not for the fact that they threw me in the cockpit of a fighter we don’t have access to out there,” Ensign Kapira muttered.

“Be that as it may,” Kuen said. “You were still caught in a lie and busted back down to Ensign. You can earn your rank back, but you’d better be willing to work to prove you deserve it.”

“Let me guess. It’ll be up to the High Command to notice my merit,” Ensign Kapira said.

“No. It’s part of my job to draw their attention to those who might make exceptional officers, or who might be better suited to working in the Administration department,” Kuen said. “Or resupply. Or those who are brilliant at conceptual tactics who might not be as good at physically fighting. I have the power to make or break your career. Keep that in mind.”

“Yes sir,” Ensign Kapira said.

“Sir, you’ve looked over our dossiers I’m sure,” a sleek, dark-skinned man said. His eyes darted around the room and he leaned heavily against the table, his bandaged leg needing the extra support. “If you like what you see in a soldier, you’ll put us up for a transfer?”

“If I don’t think you’ll be more valuable to me here, then yes I will. I won’t keep you here if you don’t belong,” Kuen said. “Why? Do you have somewhere you’d like me to consider transferring you already?”

“I want a transfer to Intelligence, sir,” the young man said. “I think I could be really useful there.”

Ensign Forbes nodded. “Darkling there’s one of the best at sneaking into places and finding information your grandmother forgot,” he said. “That’s how he got himself caught, actually. It was five years military service or a bullet in the head. Guess which one he picked.”

“Darkling?” Kuen asked.

“My nickname, sir,” the man said. “Official records have me listed as Ensign Daniel Drake.”

“Ah yes, I remember now,” Kuen said as the name dredged up the personnel file he’d glanced at. “Your five years will be up in a year, won’t they?”

“Yes sir. But I’ve been begging for a transfer to Intelligence since I got pulled in. They say what I’m in for keeps me out of it, but I heard from High Admiral Benoit himself that it’s only because my commanding officers won’t approve the transfer that I haven’t been considered.”

Kuen grabbed his tablet and shot off a message to Gaspare. A moment later the reply came back. Kuen put in the transfer request. “I see how you could be valuable to me, but right now you would be a greater asset to High Admiral Benoit. The transfer request has been sent. It’s now in the hands of the Intelligence officers whether or not they accept it.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ensign Drake said.

“We got one other you should transfer, sir,” Ensign Forbes said. “She’s not likely to speak up about it either because she’s too quiet. Hey Mouse, get over here.”

A woman equal to Forbes in height but not breadth of muscle joined him. She kept her eyes on the deck plating. She was dressed immaculately and the bruise on one cheek told Kuen this was one he’d hit. “Your name?” Kuen asked.

“En-ensign Felicia Coltrin, sir,” the woman said in a soft voice. “I was hoping I could get a transfer to Administration. I don’t like combat, I’m a horrible shot, and I can’t bring myself to hit anyone back even after I’ve been hit or shot at.”

“She’s from one of those ascetic orders. The CAF walked in and dragged everyone old enough to be recruited out and Mouse here got stuck in our unit because they couldn’t find another one willing to take her,” Ensign Forbes said. “We’ve done our best to keep her safe but she’s a liability on the battlefield.”

“So she is,” Kuen said. He initiated the transfer, citing her complete ineptitude. It was approved instantly. Her tablet beeped and she glanced up at him for permission. He nodded and she looked at it.

“Thank you, sir,” she said with a smile. She threw her stuff into her duffel and all but sprinted out of the room.

“Admin must really need people,” someone said.

“It’s one of the most chronically understaffed departments in our military in spite of being one of the more important ones,” Kuen said. “Considering Payroll and Resupply are both housed under Administration.” The soldiers all looked at each other. “Keep that in mind the next time you feel it necessary to give someone hell for wanting to work in the offices rather than fight on the front lines.”

“I like getting paid,” Ensign Forbes said. “You won’t hear me badmouth any of them. I learned a long time ago if you want something from the paper pushers you treat them with respect. They appreciate it and you get helped just that much faster for it.”

“Ensign Forbes, what did you do before you got recruited to the CAF?” Kuen asked.

“Built ships, probably even did some work on the new battleships in the fleet,” Ensign Forbes said.

Kuen looked at him. “So why didn’t you go into Engineering?”

“They said my size would make people think twice about crossing me when I got put in power armor,” Ensign Forbes said. “I’d rather be in Engineering, tell you the truth, sir.”

“Would you like me to put in a transfer request for you?” Kuen asked.

“Yes sir, if you wouldn’t mind,” Ensign Forbes said.

Kuen questioned every one of his soldiers. Most preferred to stay where they were, but there were two others – a former short order cook named Estrella Poirtier and another mechanic named Greg Pellar – that he also put in the transfer requests for. By that time the regenerators had shown up. He saw to it that everyone who needed one got it. When the klaxon sounded for the evening meal, Kuen chose to stay with his unit rather than go to the officers’ mess, something that raised his estimation in the eyes of his people.

When lights out was called, he’d already privately put in for a new console and got all of them first call on the comm units for the next day. His tablet pipped once, letting him know he had a message. “You’re making the old man nervous,” Gaspare sent.

“Good,” Kuen said. “Keeps him on his toes. What’s his issue now?”

“He’s thinking you’re trying to put your people in place for a coup.”

Kuen snorted and his fingers danced across the screen as he typed out his reply. “Not likely. I’m clearing the deadweight that doesn’t belong in a fighting unit. If he wants me to get this group of rejects up and functional before we actually have to fight someone, he needs to get those transfers approved.”

“I’ll see what I can do about getting a rush put on them,” Gaspare sent back. “I’ve also pushed the request for the comms through. You need to have them out there at 0600.”

“Understood. Thanks, Gaspare.”

“I don’t have a lot of authority, but I will help you whenever I can, Kuen.”

“You know I’ll do the same,” Kuen sent back. “I appreciate it.” Gaspare went offline and Kuen put his tablet to charge. He pulled the tiny stone phoenix out of his pocket and set it alongside the tablet. He changed clothes and closed his eyes. His dreams were haunted by the sight of a familiar red-haired woman lying broken and bloody at his feet.