[Omega] Accountability

Tshombesha had supposed to be the Suns' showing that they were still a force to be reckoned with out there in the galaxy, that even with the myriads of PMCs springing up out of the woodwork they were still worthy of being called part of the "Big Three." The corp had thrown obscene amounts of materiel, supply, support, everything Daye had asked for he'd gotten. In trickles, of course, because of the damned slowboat drops, but Daye had at least gotten it all the same.

And when Eclipse had shown up, it was pretty clear that the galaxy's eyes, or at least that of the mercenary community, were going to be on Tshombesha And it was going to be 9 Commando leading the charge for what little honor the Blue Suns could be said to have.

In theory, it should have been a rollover. In practice...

Art Daye sucked glumly on a fat wad of dip, leaning back in the uncomfortable chair behind his desk as he read over the casualty reports one last time. Even for a protracted stalemate, the datapad's list was still too fucking long, and some of the names on it too familiar. Casualties had been highest in the junior enlisted and officer ranks, of course, but at the end, during that last desperate stand in the capital of Elizabeth, everyone had been on the line.

Everyone from Dunn to Khor'shok to Rossi---

Mon Colonel, contact to the rear! Behind you!

---With a will, Daye forced his eyes open. He already had enough to live through from the DMZ, no need to add a jungle world to the list. But it was hard not to remember them, because any regular army officer would've been proud of those men in their last moments. Daye still wondered what he'd done to get such good men assigned to his unit. Either del'Serah appreciated his not going over to Darner Vosque's faction, or he'd just been lucky as fuck.

Even Kobus Puren had fought bravely that day, roaring Afrikaans profanity at the oncoming Eclipse forces, bantering with his fellow officers, and for once in his life treating Daye with a modicum of respect. And when Daye had ordered him to lead an attack on an Eclipse-held building---

Fokken let's do it, eh?! C'mon you okes, on me, everyone on me!

---it was just him and Dunn and "Katamayla" Khor'shok left now of the old guard, and of the unit's founders on Katamayla, just him and Khor'shok. They'd taken so many casualties that the Suns' high command had actually had to rotate 9 Commando off the line like in some old Earthbound war of attrition. He'd heard rumors that Eclipse had done the same too, and that Tshombesha was just devolving into an endless stalemate. Daye had lost fights because the enemy had seized key terrain, he'd lost fights because his superiors had underestimated an insurgency's will to fight. He'd never been pulled out of a fight because so many of his men were dead.

It was new. Daye had never been one for change, and this was one he was positive he didn't like. Not one fucking bit.

A new contract would take time. The corp would want to get 9 Commando back in fighting shape again before sending them out, and that meant Daye needed men, materiel, and time to get them both ready. But he'd done that with the old 9 Commando, the one that had left so many men lying facedown in the jungle, and what good had that done them? Daye was the CO, responsible for everything the unit did or failed to do. His unit had been the hallmark of brutal efficiency in the past, what had changed? What had gone so horribly wrong?

---We need a fucking medic up here! Right now!

Sir, they're all occupied, we can't--

Don't fucking finish that sentence, Khor'shok! Medic, goddammit!---

The casualty list scrolled impersonally down the datapad in front of him. It was like a funeral dirge, reading every dead man's name. Every death that Daye thought he'd prepared for, and had apparently deluded himself into thinking he'd done so.

When Rossi's name scrolled by, Daye couldn't take it anymore and shut off the 'pad.

Friegsid Khor'shok, Hegemony forage cap clashing horribly with his corporate attire, paced into Daye's office with no ceremony beyond an offhand salute. A datapad was clutched in his hand, and it was with shaking dismay that he passed it over to his CO. Even Daye could tell that the battered batarian was well and truly pissed, but something else seemed off about his attitude. "Fuck's this, Captain?

"Relay from command, Sir," growled the other. "They're not happy."

Daye frowned, trying to puzzle that out, and suddenly executed a double-take. Khor'shok's Cross of Goronak, the Hegemony decoration he'd always had pinned to his uniform or attached to his armor, was missing. "Unhappy enough to make you ditch your usual gong show?"

Things must have really been bad: Khor'shok didn't even bat an eye at the slight to his beloved decoration. "Command seems to think I'll be of better use elsewhere, Sir. I've had orders cut for a transfer to 6 Commando."

"What?" Daye was on his feet, though he couldn't for the life of him remember having gotten up. First Eclipse gutted his command, now 9 Commando was going to have its own fucking chain of command finish the job? "You're shitting me."

"No Sir. Apparently they feel I'll be of more use to Lamouline and his men." Khor'shok's scowl was practically audible; 6 Commando was more often to be found operating in smaller elements, no larger than a platoon normally, advising and training colonial militias and the like across far-flung systems or areas of operation. Robert Lamouline, the commander, was a tough soldier and a perfectly competent leader in his own right, but it was a very different sort of unit and mission from 9 Commando.

Besides, with at least half the unit needing replacements, not to mention new officers, Daye now needed Khor'shok more than ever. "That's bullshit and you know it."

The batarian shrugged helplessly. "Sorry, Colonel. Orders."

Daye gritted his teeth. "When will you be gone?" This was the corporation punishing him for his failure on Tshombesha, he just knew it---strip him of his best officers and men, leave his unit a skeleton force to be used in some writeoff, expendable contract. This was the mercenary world's form of holding a leader accountable. "Nevermind, fuck it. Anything else, Khor'shok?"

"Read the 'pad, Sir. Otherwise...I'd best collect my effects."

An exchange of salutes later and Khor'shok had gone. Teeth still gritted, Daye regarded the datapad. He'd thought it was just written confirmation of Khor'shok's new orders, but there was another document on there from some office pencilneck in charge of personnel:

LTC Arthur Daye is to be demoted one grade to rank of MAJ effective his receipt this message. Further, 9 CODO is to be reduced from battalion to company strength in order to facilitate faster rebuilding of the unit up to programmed strength. A further review of 9 CODO's future deployments will be forthcoming.

That wasn't just stripping 9 Commando of its best, it was fucking gutting the unit. Review of future deployments? Reduction to one-fourth of its current strength? Demoting its CO? Clearly Solem del'Serah or some other higher-up had had a tremendous amount riding on the Tshombesha contract.

With a muttered curse, Daye activated his omnitool. Dunn would want to know that 9 Commando was going to be facing the axe. And maybe, just maybe, he and the wily Centurion would be able to do something about it.