The sun was high over the desert as the Troll’s crew stood to the side of the burial site for the three homeless veterans who had died in the fight the day before. The veterans, many wounded and patched by the crew, stood before the graves. The man Gerrin had spoken to right after the fight delivered the makeshift eulogy.

“His name was Frank Syrus. Former first sergeant. Say his name. He was one of us”.

“Frank Syrus”, the veterans murmured.

“He looked after us during the war, he looked after us since”, he continued. “Say his name”.

“Frank Syrus”, the veterans murmured again.

I never even knew it, Gerrin thought to himself while wiping the sweat from his forehead.

“He was Jeff Stimple, sergeant. He was Phil Zoberman, first corporal. Say their names”.

“Jeff Stimple”, the veterans responded. “Phil Zoberman”.

“Their bodies will rest here while their souls go out beyond the black. Remember them”.

“Frank Syrus . . . Jeff Stimple . . . Phil Zoberman”.

Twelve assembled veterans moved to the sides of the graves, came to attention, and saluted as all assembled began to hum Taps. Six of the men beside the graves climbed down into the holes, two per grave, while the remaining six picked up the bodies and handed them to the men in the graves. When the last of the grave tenders stood and climbed from the graves they all came to attention. The officiator continued ”Rest easy, comrades. We have the watch”.

“We have the watch”, the assembled repeated.

The ceremony concluded, the veterans moved to the graves and began shoveling. The officiator moved toward Gerrin and his crew. “It’s done”, he commented. “We’ll take it from here”.

“Thanks for your help”, Gerrin said.

“Thanks for the food. By the way, where’d you get it?”

“Well”, Reilly shrugged, “we found our friends’ ship on the way back and borrowed some of their food stores. I don’t really think they’ll object”.

“Borrowed some parts, too”, Aldous added. “They won’t be needing ‘em anytime soon”.

The officiator nodded. “Well, I guess you guys’re all set then”.

“I suppose”, Gerrin mused. “Anything else you need?”

“Nah, we’re good”, the officiator continued. “Well, good luck to ya, and fair skies”.

“Wait, one more thing”. Gerrin gestured to Loomie, who handed him a folded piece of paper. “This is our contact information. If you need us, give us a call”.

The officiator took the paper “Probably won’t need it, but…” he hesitated. “If ‘Sergeant Seth Gordon’ calls, you know it’s me”.

“’Sergeant Seth Gordon’. I’ll remember”. Gerrin shook hands with the man.

Gordon turned to his men as the Troll crew turned to walk back to their ship. After a minute Loomie asked “Think they’ll be okay?”

“Most likely”, Gerrin replied. “Old soldiers are hard to kill”.

“They’re kinda on their own here”, Aldous joined in. “Alliance don’t seem to give a gos-se”.

“We can only do so much”, Reilly broke in. “And we have to find a way to pay for this job going to pot”.

“They had our backs, we’re gonna watch theirs”, Gerrin answered firmly. “They call, we’ll be there”.

“’Rule 303’?” Reilly inquired skeptically.

“’Rule 303’. Now let’s go get the rest of our crew and find some work”.

.

.

.

.

.

. . . . . . . . . . . . The End (for now)