Jay Allan - Tombstone

I hated leaving for another reason. A unit is like a living organism; it can wither and die without the support it needs. When I left, the platoon was still reeling from the loss of the lieutenant. The wound was still raw, the grief palpable. They'd get a new CO - they probably had one already - but it would be a long time before anyone filled the void left behind.

The platoon is a dynamic entity. It's pride, its battle history, its traditions - they remain. But the men and women come and go. Soldiers die, they get wounded, they get promoted or transferred. Slowly but steadily, the living memory of the lieutenant would fade. He would become less the source of raw pain and loss and more the honored entry in the unit's history.

For me, though, the memory would always be there, and it would never fade. Up to that point, no one had impacted my life as strongly as the lieutenant had, and I can't begin to list the things he taught me. I only knew him for the six months I'd served under him, but he was the first person who truly won my unreserved respect. I can't think of anything more meaningful to say than this - Lieutenant Brett Reynolds was a truly good man in a universe that had very few of those. I resolved that my career would be a tribute to him. I would live up to his expectations; I would become the type of Marine he had been, the kind he wanted me to be.

I wish I could say that the years long struggle on Tombstone ended in glorious victory, but I can't. When the war became official, the Caliphate hit the planet with thousands of new troops, backed up with a naval task force. Cut off from resupply or reinforcement, our units on the ground held out the best they could. One by one the enemy captured our firebases and mining settlements, pushing our people into an ever-shrinking perimeter. As far as I know, none of the troops posted on Tombstone when war was declared ever made it out. My old unit had rotated off-planet long before then, so I didn't know any of the men and women who were sacrificed there. But they all hurt. They were all my brothers and sisters…all Marines.

The soldiers that had been lost there over a decade were expended wastefully, sent by a government that was too greedy to share the wealth of the planet and too cowardly to fight hard enough to win. The politicians had viewed the monthly loss rates on Tombstone as a cost of doing business. That sort of calculus repulsed me, and for the first time I thought – really thought – about how the Alliance was governed. The ultimate futility of if all only made the suffering and waste that much more bitter.

The wardroom of the Guadalcanal was sparse, just a few bare metal tables and about a dozen chairs. She was an older ship, a fast assault vessel of the Peleliu class, and she showed her age. My last posting had been on the Gallipoli, one of the first ships of the new Ypres class, slated to replace the old Pelelius. The newer ships were no more spacious - real estate on a spaceship was always at a premium - but the common areas were definitely nicer.

I'd bounced around to several units over the last few years, the result of my unfortunate streak of getting wounded in each of my first three assignments. After my third wound I got another transfer and my promotion to corporal. I made two drops as the junior two-striper in the squad and then I was transferred here to take over my own fire team. Just about half my military career had been spent in the hospital, and each time I got the best care possible, just as Captain Jackson said I would.

The war that everyone had been anticipating while I was on Tombstone finally became official. The Third Frontier War had begun, and we were fighting both the Caliphate and the Central Asian Combine. We had our hands full, outnumbered and facing more threats that we could effectively counter.

I was waiting in the wardroom to meet the platoon's senior corporal, who was going to help me get acclimated and introduce me to the four other members of my fire team. I needed to get them comfortable with me quickly, because we were on the way to an assault, and it was a big one. Tau Ceti III was the Caliphate's largest and most important colony world, and a major strategic hub. We’d been pushed back in the first two years of widespread fighting, but now we were taking the offensive; we were taking the war to the enemy. Operation Achilles would be the biggest assault in the history of warfare in space, and every reserve, every logistical asset that could be scraped up had been committed. I was anxious and hopeful, determined that my fire team would be among the best in the entire operation.

My thoughts were interrupted when the hatch slid open and a man in a slightly rumpled set of duty fatigues walked in. He was around my age, maybe a year or two younger. His brown hair was closely cut but still somehow just slightly messy. I'd become very "by the book" military, and I was always meticulous with my uniform and my appearance, a trait I obviously didn't share with my new acquaintance.

"Corporal Jax?" I got up as he walked over. "I'm Erik Cain." He extended his hand. "I'd like to welcome you to the platoon."

I clasped his hand and we shook. He was fairly tall, but when I stood up I towered over him. "The pleasure is mine Corporal Cain."

"Please, sit." He motioned toward the chair where I'd been seated, and he dropped into the one next to it. "You are taking over a good team, one of the best. I know, because they were mine." He was friendly, but I could also tell he was taking his measure of me. As I was doing with him.

"I can promise you I will do my best to look after them, Corporal Cain."

He smiled and leaned back in his chair. "I appreciate that. And it's Erik, please."

"I'm Darius." I relaxed a bit in my chair, though my posture was still better than his. "I want to thank you for taking the time to welcome me into the unit. I know how closeknit a group a good platoon can be. The troops can be a little apprehensive when they get a commander from outside rather than one promoted from within."

He nodded approvingly; it was clear he had similar thoughts. "I completely agree." He was looking right at me, his eyes boring into mine. "I've read your file, Darius. I'm sure you'll be a great addition. But if I can help get you off on the right foot with the troops, it's the least I can do." There was a soft buzzing sound - he was getting a message on his earpiece. "Excuse me, Darius, I just have to attend to something quickly." He was getting up as he spoke. "I shouldn't be more than ten minutes, and then we'll go meet your team."

"No rush. I'll be here when you get back."

He looked back over his shoulder. "Help yourself." He pointed toward the dispensers on the far wall. "Believe it or not, the coffee's actually pretty good." The hatch slid open. "I'll be right back." He walked out into the corridor, and the door slid shut behind him.

I didn't know it then, of course, but I had just met someone who would be very important to me, a colleague and my closest friend. I had respected the lieutenant and some of the other troops I'd fought with, but Erik was the first real friend I ever had. We would fight side by side for years, and climb the ranks together. He would save my life more than once, and I would save his, and the two of us would make face challenges neither of us could have imagined sitting in that wardroom.

But looming ahead of us before any of that was Operation Achilles. Morale was good; we were anxious to get at the enemy, to end the war in one bold stroke. Of course, that wasn't to be. Achilles turned out to be a bloody mess, a disaster that almost lost us the war then and there. We had some dark and difficult days ahead of us.