(no subject)
Verbal log. Nova Corps Operative: 11249-44396/Richard Rider--Last Survivor of the Nova Corps, and general of the United Front. General. About a year ago, it would've been music to my ears to hear a word like that associated with my name (same with the word "Avenger").
Now? Not so much. I guess that just comes with the territory of being the general in charge of one of the bloodiest defeats in the remembered history of the universe. Tartus Minor.
The Annihilation Wave nearly destroyed us: countless dead, countless left for dead--all because I forgot to look up. The damn Bugs nailed us from orbit. We barely got away and in the chaos, some of the ships got separated, and only just regrouped again--some we still haven't heard from since we abandoned the planet. We might never hear from them again. Like as not they got picked off one by one by the Wave.
Not so long ago, something like that would've left me a worthless, quivering ball of guilt, overwhelmed with my failure, but I'm a different man now. Mostly thanks to Drax tearing apart the boy I used to be.
No, now I move forward, think of the body count, and learn from it. Live with the guilt, so it'll probably eat me alive later--but not now. Not yet. I don't have time for that yet.
There's a war on, you know.
And most of my generals and tacticians are freaking morons.
"--because the Kree are strong. It was a great honor for them to die in service to their world--"
"Except that we don't have a never-ending supply of soldiers, in case you haven't noticed!" Nova cut in. "Look at this! 2,567 dead in the 3rd battalion alone. We're going to have to take the fifth and sixth battalions and merge them into one, to have anything resembling a complete fighting force, and all you keep doing in the face of that is go on about how it's okay all those soldiers died. It's not okay. Treating seasoned, skilled soldiers like they're nothing more than warm bodies to be thrown at the advancing lines is throwing away a valuable resource we're running out of."
A resource. I see people, living and breathing, homesick and not, soldiers and medics, as a resource now. Every day I scare myself a little more.
After a moment of silence, he said, "I want Ronan in charge of the new battalion."
"Ronan is a traitor and a criminal! He's--"
"--A damn shot better at tactical retreats and actual leadership."
"I'm warning you, Terran, you're crossing a line you oughtn't be crossing! The Kree comprise over half your fighting force and the House Fiyero--"
I was finally cracking and losing my temper. Could you blame me, though? Maybe it was the guilt, maybe it was because I hadn't slept in 4 or 5 days, an even then had only slept for about four hours, but either way, it was almost a blessing there was an interruption right then, because I might've pissed off the generals enough to make them go into a snit, leave, and take half my army with them.
"Well the House Fiyero can kiss my--"
Now? Not so much. I guess that just comes with the territory of being the general in charge of one of the bloodiest defeats in the remembered history of the universe. Tartus Minor.
The Annihilation Wave nearly destroyed us: countless dead, countless left for dead--all because I forgot to look up. The damn Bugs nailed us from orbit. We barely got away and in the chaos, some of the ships got separated, and only just regrouped again--some we still haven't heard from since we abandoned the planet. We might never hear from them again. Like as not they got picked off one by one by the Wave.
Not so long ago, something like that would've left me a worthless, quivering ball of guilt, overwhelmed with my failure, but I'm a different man now. Mostly thanks to Drax tearing apart the boy I used to be.
No, now I move forward, think of the body count, and learn from it. Live with the guilt, so it'll probably eat me alive later--but not now. Not yet. I don't have time for that yet.
There's a war on, you know.
And most of my generals and tacticians are freaking morons.
"--because the Kree are strong. It was a great honor for them to die in service to their world--"
"Except that we don't have a never-ending supply of soldiers, in case you haven't noticed!" Nova cut in. "Look at this! 2,567 dead in the 3rd battalion alone. We're going to have to take the fifth and sixth battalions and merge them into one, to have anything resembling a complete fighting force, and all you keep doing in the face of that is go on about how it's okay all those soldiers died. It's not okay. Treating seasoned, skilled soldiers like they're nothing more than warm bodies to be thrown at the advancing lines is throwing away a valuable resource we're running out of."
A resource. I see people, living and breathing, homesick and not, soldiers and medics, as a resource now. Every day I scare myself a little more.
After a moment of silence, he said, "I want Ronan in charge of the new battalion."
"Ronan is a traitor and a criminal! He's--"
"--A damn shot better at tactical retreats and actual leadership."
"I'm warning you, Terran, you're crossing a line you oughtn't be crossing! The Kree comprise over half your fighting force and the House Fiyero--"
I was finally cracking and losing my temper. Could you blame me, though? Maybe it was the guilt, maybe it was because I hadn't slept in 4 or 5 days, an even then had only slept for about four hours, but either way, it was almost a blessing there was an interruption right then, because I might've pissed off the generals enough to make them go into a snit, leave, and take half my army with them.
"Well the House Fiyero can kiss my--"