Sometimes life ain't half fair. I mean, you do your time, fight your battles, and retire to some out of the way rock with your buddies to enjoy your twilight years in peace. Guess it's my fault, really. I mean, that planetary reserve duty check was just too juicy to pass up for one weekend a month's work...
    - First Sergeant Alfred Charles, Commonwealth Army

"Look at 'em. Pah-fragging-thetic" First Sergeant Alfred Charles muttered to himself . He stood under the eaves of the Lukenbach Reserve Armory and watched Delta Company, Fifth Planetary Reserves Armored Battalion assemble into some semblance of a formation. Seventy percent of the unit was under age twenty, and some of that was officer corps, due to the ability of the more well-to-do patrons of the reserves being able to donate money and equipment in exchange for commissions for their sons and daughters. His right hand dug once again into his jumpsuit pocket, searching for the pay stub that reminded him why he wasn't fishing, and started for his post.

"COMPANY!" Charles begain the routine that was scorched into his very soul from years of serivce against TOG. "ah-tenn-SHUN!" There was a ragged shuffling of boots not nearly in unison as the young men and women of the Delta company came to a position resembling the aforementioned state. Charles contained a groan. "Report!" He ordered brusquely.

From the small, uneven formations of tank crews, each platoon sergeant in the company saluted, and reported that all ten persons under his charge were present, officers being comfortable somewhere else whilst the NCOs went through the drudgery. Charles wondered where Lieut- er, Captain Nelson was now. The young officer was one of the sole survivors of the ill-fated 3992nd Commonwealth ACR, and when the unit was declared too small even to make a decent cadre and disbanded, he had quit while he was ahead and taken this 'weekend warrior' job in a quiet, far from the frontline planet along with his former top sergeant.

Charles put his mind back on the task at hand, and spoke again. "First and second platoon sergeants, take charge of your platoons and fall out for maintainance duty of the Lancers." He heard a chorus of groans at that command. "Third platoon sergeant, bring your platoon to rest and await further instructions." Damn. He hated having a unit stand idle just as much as he hated relegating his other two platoons to service the hundred year old Lancer tanks, whose armament was considered anything but useful and whose reputation as a parts, time, and fuel hog was legendary. The only reason Delta had two platoons of them was that they were cheap to purchase and run, compared to grav tanks. Where is the Captain?

"Sweetheart, have you seen my cover?" Captain Joe Nelson called as he entered his kitchen, buttoning his battle dress uniform blouse as he walked. His question was answered as he spied his four year old daughter, Beverly, standing on a chair with his uniform cap devouring the top of her brunette head. She brought up her left hand in an imitation salute, and her father playfully returned it while retrieving the cap.

"What was that?" Mrs. Nelson aswered finally, coming back up from the basement with an armload of various foodstuffs.

"Never mind, sweetheart." Nelson looked at his watch. I am so late... "Okay, Bev, you behave yourself while I'm gone and I'll take you along to the base next week, 'K?" Beverly smiled and saluted again. Nelson felt a pair of arms encircle him from behind, and felt a warm body snuggle next to his, as his wife's voice whispered softly into his ear.

"Be careful while you're out there riding baby-sitter. I'd hate for one of those kids to accidentally, you know..." She nudged his ear playfully. Beverly pretended not to notice.

"Don't worry, none of those kids could hit a stationary target with a nuke, much less tag my tank. Her name's good luck, you know." With that, he kissed his wife and daughter goodbye, and headed for the front door.

As she watched her husband exchange salutes and morning greetings with his aide and driver, Mary Nelson stood on the porch of her picturesquely quaint house, and an inexplicable chill of foreboding gripped her.

"Mary?" The tech said incredulously. "I've seen everything now. I've seen Dominator, Rolling Thunder, Brick o' Deth, lots of Tank names, but never Mary." He ran the aging Liberator through its warm up routines, and eased the twin throttles foreward just a bit. The MBT slid foreward on a frictionless cushion of warped gravity, out of the motor pool building and into the sun. Mary was one of the only three Liberators in the entire planetary militia, and for that matter one of the only three grav MBTs. Today, she was going on maneuvers.

"Centurion Tarsis, " Began Legatus Maximillian Vorst, "Your century will be dropped in a mock invasion...here" Legatus Vorst indicated a small, blue-green world just on the far side of the Shannedam County's TOG-Commonwealth frontline.

"By your command, Legatus, but may I ask why this...rock? Why are we mock invading a farm world and why only one century? We have three legions and several auxilia at our disposal." Tarsis studied the maps nonetheless, military mind easing into gear.

"Two objectives will be acheived, Centurion. One, the planet will no doubt send a distress call to line commonwealth and renegade units. This will draw them away from the strike force's true target. Two, it gives your newer recruits a cheesecake mission with which to hone their skills. Intelligence shows one company of defending armor, and it is track armor at that. There is no way they will offer any serious resistance. Go now, and carry out my will."

Tarsus saluted. "By your command."

Finally. Thought 1SG Charles as Captain Nelson exited his staff car and crossed toward him. "Pla-TOON" He called. "Tenn-SHUN!" The assembled soldeirs of the third platoon snapped to. 1SG Charles saluted his CO. "Good af- morning, Sir." Nelson returned the gesture.

"Good morning, First Sergeant." He addressed the members of third platoon. "Gentlemen, good morning. It has come to my attention that your platoon is in the most need of some in-tank training. According to the unit roster Captain Marcellus left you boys on foot for the last eight months while first and second platoons got to play with the Lancers. Well, you're not playing with Lancers today, either."

The men of third platoon looked visibly disappointed, being let down from the expectations growing from their new CO's speech. "Instead, you will mount and con our newly assigned Liberator grav tanks." A cheer went up amongst the soldiers. The tech crews, on cue, floated the three Liberators out, looking good despite the ages of the individual tanks, the new blue parade paint scheme gleamed on the hulls, and the barrels of the main gauss weapons shone silver in the morning sun. Captian Nelson hopped onto the bow of his command tank, and accepted his helmet from the maintenance tech who had conned the tank over from the hangar. He settled the helmet onto his head, and patched the com cord into the jack inside the commander's hatch. After spending several moments climbing into his turret position, he looked down at his first sergeant. "First Sergeant, mount the platoon"

"Pla-TOON, by squad, mount tanks!" The men split into three groups, with the third's platoon sergeant posting in the command bunker to monitor the unit along with his platoon leader as the CO took the platoon out to play.

BACK