Free By Blood Alone by William C. Dietz Page B

and somewhat archaic, still possessed power. Not because of the words themselves, but because of the thousands who had both spoken and heard them. Some had gone on to live long, happy lives. Many had not. They lay buried beneath thick jungle foliage, under piles of hastily assembled rocks, and in tidily kept cemeteries.

    Finally, after all the words had been read, Booly added some of his own. He allowed his gaze to roam over the parade ground, finding as many eyes as he could, willing them to listen. The objective was to notify them that things were about to change-but to do so in a way that built morale rather than tore it down.
    There were all sorts of incompetents, slackers, and worse out there, he knew that, but they would have to be rooted out one by one and dealt with individually. That being the case, he chose a positive approach, knowing that some were beyond his reach, and hoping to hearten the rest. An honest assessment of their position was a good place to start.
    “The 13th is one of the oldest and most famous units in the Legion. The men, women, and cyborgs who fought in it won hundreds of battles, and lost some too, like Dien Bien Phu, where, on March 13, 1953, the Viet Minh used artillery to open fire on strong point Beatrice. We lost thirty-six men that day.
    “A few days later, when it became apparent that Colonel Charles Piroth, the Legion’s artillery officer, had severely miscalculated the enemy’s capabilities, he committed suicide.
    “During the successive weeks, the Legion’s position became little more than a killing zone. The airstrip was destroyed. The main road was cut off. No one could leave-not even the wounded. That didn’t stop the men of the 3rd and 5th REI, though.... None had parachute training-but they jumped anyway.
    “Meanwhile, under the ground, in a hospital which was little more than a hole filled with mud, amputated limbs, and well-fed maggots, Dr. Paul Grauwin did the best he could. And it was volunteers from the 13th DBLE who drove his ambulances, who risked their lives to drag the wounded out of the wire, and frequently died in the attempt.
    “In spite of their gallantry, in spite of their sacrifice, the Legion lost more than one thousand five hundred dead.”
    Some of the legionnaires seemed to stand just a little bit taller. Others, transported back in time, felt a chill run down their spines. Many, their minds already made up, felt nothing at all.
    Booly allowed the echoes to die away before starting again. “Yes, we have a proud history, or had, until the 13th became the Legion’s favorite shit can. I was sent here for telling the truth ... what were you sent here for? Did you screw up one time too many? Fall asleep on duty? Spill coffee on the colonel’s lap?”
    The last question drew laughter, just as it was supposed to, and seemed to acknowledge the fact that the Legion was a gigantic machine, and that some of the troops had simply been caught up in its gears.
    The colonel’s words were different from what many had expected them to be. Some eyes registered hope ... others were filled with cynicism.
    “So,” Booly continued. “Each and every one of us is faced with a choice. We can focus on the past, and be what we were, or on the future, and put the past behind us. Some of you joined the Legion as a way to get a new start. Others wanted a chance at something better, a bit of adventure, or the excellent food.”
    The laughter was general this time—which caused Captain Winters to look and marvel. She couldn’t remember the last time the battalion had laughed.
    “The opportunity is there,” Booly concluded. “The opportunity to start again, to restore the 13th to what it once was, and to wear the uniform with pride. Thank you. That will be all.”
     
    The operations center was located six stories beneath Fort Mosby, where it was theoretically impervious to the Hudathan bombs it had been built to withstand.
    The Situation Room was a large octagonal space