Marcus stood in Hangar 9 of the Sirtha Prime Union Military Headquarters, the scent of engine fuel lingering in the air around him. He was perfectly still, so much so that he might have seemed a statue, grim sorrow glinting within his eyes like slivers of polished silver.

He had stepped into the room just a moment before, walking slowly forwards and coming to a halt. His heart was still heavy as a result of everything that had happened.

He was the only one in the hangar, save for a ship that had taken off and soared away mere seconds ago. For now, the rush of jet engines and the rumble of machinery was replaced with a heavy, looming silence that swallowed the entire room. Through the still-open bay doors, he could see the city of Kenostros in the far distance, its mass of towers and skyscrapers stabbing upwards from the horizon like sharp grey barbs.

However, soon enough, another ship would come. To take them away.

A deep, ragged breath escaped Marcus' mouth as he looked down. Placed on the floor in front of him was a metal coffin - a solid cuboid of grey steel planted upon the hangar floor.

There were twenty-five of them, all laid out in straight and uniform rows. Each one with a name and a date etched into the surface, the Union flag neatly folded and laid across its frame.

It had been two weeks since the Hand of Reclamation had ambushed the delegation. The public were calling it the 'Sirtha Prime Embassy Attack', and it was all that could be talked about on every news network in existence. Since then, the Union-held parts of Sirtha Prime had been placed under martial law, with Union regiments brought to the city from across The Red Frontier in case of another attack. The Hand of Reclamation had shown themselves to be far more dangerous than anyone had expected. In one move, they had come within inches of plunging the galaxy right back into another war.

Now, military and police units were scouring every inch of Sirtha Prime that Union controlled, searching like rabid bloodhounds for any terrorist cells. The Nalyr and Kropen-held parts of the planet had also been doing the same thing.

Marcus had thought he was ready for the Hand... but he was wrong. He should have suspected Haraq - what he first thought would merely cause tensions with the Xan-Klar had crushed any chances of Sirtha Prime being at peace for the time being. The first step towards a brighter future, bungled. Over half of his men, dead. The Hand of Reclamation was still out there...

And all of this was because of him.

Looking at the coffin in front of him, Marcus felt the freezing-cold blade of heartbreak pierce his chest, burying itself deep inside him and twisting around until all he felt was regret and grief. Printed into the flat steel surface before his eyes, just above the folden Union flag, were three lines of stern, unarticulated text. Each of the letters straight and plain as their words stabbed up at the man who read them.

There was a name, a date... and an epitaph.

'Lieutenant Ichiro Miyazi'
'2478 - 2512'
'Peace to the Fallen'

Marcus' eyes staggered shut as the wound in his heart deepened. Ichi's death... all these deaths... were-

"It wasn't your fault."

A voice sprung Marcus from his grief. Turning his head as he felt something on his shoulder, he saw Jennifer standing by his side, her hand gripping his body firmly. As he met her gaze, Major Winter felt a sense of simultaneous ease and anger. Not at her, but at himself.

"Marcus, no-one could have seen that ambush coming. I-"

Marcus cut in before his second-in-command could say anything more.

"It was my fault, Jenn." he replied, looking back at the coffins. "Someone has to be at fault for what happened, and it can't be anyone other than me" As he spoke, he turned to look her in the eyes. "I didn't suspect Haraq, or at least look into him. And because of that, Ichiro and all the others are dead." He didn't speak with any anger in his voice as he gestured to the coffins. Instead, his tone was one of remorse - of a man who felt intense grief at the consequences of his actions. "It's a bad officer who blames his men for his own failings."

Jennifer's eyes gleamed as something crystalline lingered in the corner of her eye. "I just..." she began her sentence, then sighed heavily and hung her head. "I hate to see you do this to yourself. Every time something goes wrong in the field, you hold yourself as the only one responsible - even when you don't need to. And you beat yourself up over it."

Marcus' reply was instant. "I'm the commanding officer, Jenn. My unit is my responsibility." As he spoke his expression changed from a forlorn look of sadness to a strong, fervent glare of determination. "I won't pretend I'm not going to feel grief at their deaths. That would just be in denial and disrespect of our friend's memories..." he said. "I can't bring them back. But I'll do whatever I can to make sure that they didn't die in vain, and the Hand of Reclamation won't benefit from what they did here."

The two stood eye-to-eye for a moment, their gazes locked in place like the axis of a planet. Jennifer saw the look on her commander's face, then replied with a gentle expression, her words tinged with kindness.

"Alright. But I'm here for you if you need me." she said. "We have a saying on Earth - a problem shared is a problem halved."

Marcus' mouth opened as a soft chuckle escaped him. He held the memories of his comrades dear to him, and he knew that they wouldn't want him to be miserable. They were all soldiers, and they lived their lives every day knowing that the next day might be their last.

But while Marcus did much the same, he wasn't going to use it as an excuse to not care. The members of his company were more than just his comrades. They were his brothers and sisters-in-arms...

His family.

The sudden shriek of an alarm then suddenly filled the air, ripping both the Orbital Commandos from their time of mourning. Instantly, they knew were it was coming from - the next hangar bay.

It was time. In just a few moments, Marshal Idriah would be arriving in person. Marcus and the remains of the 5th Company were set to welcome her, along with her staff, for she had been assigned to come to Sirtha Prime and oversee any further military operations in this area of space.

Following the Embassy Attack, the Hand of Reclamation were not the only concern the Union were now facing. The Xan-Klar Empire had completely ceased any further diplomatic talks with the Human Union of Worlds, with the imperial government stating that the humans' 'pathetic and lacklustre security had allowed a Sirthon to enter a place where their kind had no business.'

Marcus had read the intel files. His actions means that the Xan-Klar still respected him, for they continually referred to him as 'Kormac Telgaiur' in every conversation that had happened since then. But they refused speech with any other dignitaries from the Union, including Ambassador Vidal, who had recently been taken off-world for some R&R. The Union Embassy in Xan-Klar held territory - or rather, what remained of it, was closed off to Union personnel - a massive amount of work all gone to waste.

But that even was not the gravest concern. Given the Empire's warlike nature and the fact that Marcus' company had almost failed to defend the delegation, there was a serious fear that the Xan-Klar might launch a military strike against the Union, either out of retribution or as a bid for territorial expansion amidst the relative pacifism of the Union.

As such, Marshal Idriah had brought several regiments of troops and armour, alongside several Navy battlegroups, to Sirtha Prime. Both as for the purposes of deterrence via a show of strength, and for defence should the worst come to pass.

And Idriah's arrival was no small matter, especially for Marcus. According to what he knew, the Marshal wanted to speak to him personally...

Marcus and Jennifer were all dressed up in their parade uniforms. Jet-black jackets trimmed with gold covered their bodies, fastened across their chests and close up to their necks, and straight black trousers were worn on both their legs. The epaulets on their shoulders showed their ranks, and their chests were decorated by a coloured grid of medals. As Marcus and Jennifer walked, their polished, flat-heeled dress shoes squeaked slightly with ever step, the scent of fresh polish lingering around them. Both of them carried their hats tightly under their arms, and had been doing so all day.

In truth, Marcus had never personally cared for all this formal razzle dazzle, but he didn't decide the rules. And protocol had to be followed even at a time like this.

But it wasn't just formalities that had to attended to.

As Marcus and Jenn walked between the hangars, the Horusan's eye was caught by a small square of pale light streaming in from a nearby window. And as he passed it, he managed to get a quick peek at the exterior of the headquarters.

What he saw was the front courtyard - a flat expanse of dark paved tarmac that lay between the multiple buildings of the base. Beside and around these structures lay a fierce combination of colours that all burned out like solar fires under the red sun of Sirtha Prime. The energy generators for each building, each one formed of polished grey panels dotted with shimmering cobalt lights. The grey-green of camouflage painting upon earthwork pillboxes, with near-black coilgun barrels jutting outwards from within. All over, armed soldiers in khaki body armour stood fully-alert, either on guard or marching in perfect lockstep as the tramping of their boots on tarmac pounded Sirtha Prime's atmosphere.

The headquarters was far more heavily-guarded than usual. Already in a highly-defensible position atop a hill, ringed by electric fences, ditches and concrete barriers, it was also surrounded on all sides by a thick expanse of saltwater swamps, making it hard for enemy forces to make an assault without getting bogged down. Pillboxes containing fully-automatic coilguns were built into the fortifications, the red dots of their rangefinders twinkling like evil eyes from inside the reinforced earthworks that houses them. Those rangefinders scanned the swamps, ready to home in on anything that showed itself.

The only other way to reach the base was via a single highway elevated above the marshy ground, but that place was sealed tighter than a drum. Multiple checkpoints, each lined by elite guardsmen, barred entry to the base. And on the rooves, arrays of turrets both manned and automated stood ready to home in on any attacker in sight, be they on the ground in an armoured vehicle or swooping in from the sky.

Normally, only a crack team of experts would have a chance of breaking into a Union military base, and it was a slim chance at that. But today, you'd need a small army to get within several miles of this location.

However, while the outside of the base was teeming with protectors, the inside was quite barren - something that Marcus noticed when he moved into Hangar 10, where Idriah was set to arrive. Following the Embassy Attack, any and all Sirthon had been temporarily expelled from the premises - the risk was simply too great to keep them around.

So when Marcus walked into Hangar 10, the first thing he noticed was how sparse the place seemed. Aside from a few dock workers, who stood tapping at neon-bright holographic screens, all he could see what remained of the SOSC 5th Company.

His company, now barely more than a platoon. Aside from him and Jennifer, only 12 of them remained. They were all dressed up just the same - even Ferro, and were lined up in a straight row.

No-one said anything, and their faces bore a mixture of expressions. Unease, impatience and mourning were but a few of many. Even Ferro seemed unsure, his sunken eyes looking at the floor while he gnawed at his gums inside his tightly-shut mouth.

Marcus tried not to show his own feelings on their situation. As a leader, he had to be the example, no matter what. And show, placing his officer's cap on his head, he turned and stood up perfectly straight as he looked at the great metal doors of Hangar 10.

"Transport 0225, you are cleared for landing." He overheard one of the dockworkers say aloud... and no sooner had he finished speaking that a tooth-grinding metallic shriek filled the entire hangar. Everyone immediately grimaced, and a few covered their ears from a moment as the great metal blast door began to creak open.

When the metal slabs split apart, the sky outside was revealed, sending a broad beam of blood-red light straight into Marcus' eyes. A sharp jolt sped right through his skull as his eyes immediately squinted, a grimace flaring up on his face. Through his pinched gaze, Marcus saw a large, dark shape soar into view, growing larger and larger by the second. The rays of the red Sirtha sun danced off its silhouetted wings, casting a bright, hazy glow around its bird-like form.

It looked like a phoenix, or a hovering bird of prey. A majesty worthy of the person it transported.

The fiery rumble of engines drowned out all other sounds in the area, their tumultuous . A powerful, hot wind blasted straight into Marcus' face, a gentle scraping against his scalp suddenly arising as he felt his hat peeling off his head.

Gripping the brim with one hand, Marcus waited for the sound and the forceful torrent of air to die down. As he looked on, his eyes re-adjusted to the light and the rumble of the engines dying down, he watched with rising anticipation as the cargo ramp at the back of the transport ship folding down, a gentle hiss escaping from the moving metal parts as it did so. And inside, a very familiar person could be seen inside.

Marcus then watched as Haren Idriah stepped down from her transport craft. She was dressed in her parade navy attire, just as she had been when she had given the 5th Company their mission to defend Ambassador Vidal. The Marshal was a short woman, maybe around 5'4'', and was skin-and-bone to behold. The skin of her hands and face were worn, wrinkled around the eyes and lips of her long, taught face. Her hair, done up in a bun behind her head, was mostly of a pale bleached blonde. Only if you looked closely could you see that patches of it were turning wiry and white-grey.

She had a grim frown upon her face as she stepped down from the ship, and that frown only grew when she saw the SOSC 5th Company standing before her. Marcus met the Marshal's gaze, and felt a deep-seated fear writhe in his stomach as he saw her expression.

He couldn't tell - was she feeling sorrow to see their numbers so reduced, or was she looking at them in disappointment?