"I think the rebels are tough bastards," you say with a shrug, "but they've got nothing on us."
"They seemed pretty tough to me," another trooper interjects.
"Maybe," you toss back, "but we're still bigger bastards than they are."
Laughter echoes across the strike deck.
"But seriously," you continue, "look what we accomplished. Even scattered and cut off, this platoon gave the rebels a bloody nose in their own backyard. We caused so many disruptions that they had to abandon the entire area. We've got them on the back foot, and next time the battle will be on our terms."
You see new determination all around you, and very quickly the good-natured banter returns.
You spend about half an hour with the platoon, and on the whole you're impressed by their professionalism. The fatigue hanging over them is obvious, but each one of them works diligently on their maintenance tasks and the murmur of friendly banter rarely subsides. These are battle-hardened troopers, and they seem to have accepted you as their leader. That realization helps to lift some of your own fatigue.
But the time for the officer briefing is fast approaching, and you bid the platoon farewell to head back to the upper decks.
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