"Today was a great day. We couldn't ask for more. We achieved success without any cost," said Kelly, "Most days won't be this good, but let them enjoy it. And let's be certain to keep the stocks of beer high. We are going to ask a lot of our people over the coming days and weeks. They need to know they have something to look forward to. Something worth coming back for."
"And beer is worth coming back for?"
"It's not the beer that does it. It's this, this spirit, this excitement, and enthusiasm. Knowing the beer is here just reminds them where the party is."
* * *
Taylor stood on the deck of the Washington's loading bays. Before him was Major Moye and his people, as well as a number of other troops he had inducted into his ranks. It was just a small portion of the marines being assembled throughout the fleet. Taylor climbed up onto a storage box to address them.
"You all know what your mission is. I would be out there with you myself, were it not for the Admiral's express orders. With any luck, it'll be a walk in the park, a few days or weeks of moping about a ship with no excitement at all. Take the opportunity you have when not on duty to get what rest you can. You need it and you've earned it. But always remember, your job is to ensure the safety of the ship you are aboard. And to that end, stay sharp, and good luck!"
Taylor stepped down and went straight to Moye and shook his hand.
"Thanks for thinking of me, Colonel."
"Not like I had a lot of options, Major. Besides, in my own Regiment, you're the only officer I could trust."
"There'll be more. Give it time. Do you believe there is any chance of us finding a habitable planet?"
Taylor shook his head.
"I'd say absolutely zero. I figure this will be the first of a countless number of similar missions over the years to come. But who knows? Stranger things have happened."
"They certainly have."
"Good luck, Major."
Moye saluted, turned back to his people, and ordered them aboard the transports. Taylor wanted nothing more than to go with them. Despite not expecting them to find what they were looking for, it was highly likely they’d find trouble.
"They'll be okay," a voice said behind him. He recognized it as Parker and turned quickly to look upon her with his own eyes.
"You know I don't like sending others to do the dirty work," he replied.
"What now?"
"Right now I only have two priorities. Scouting the system is something that is out of my hands, so I turn to the other. Filling the ranks of the Regiment. How is recruitment going?"
"Better, but far from great."
"How many recruits do you now have in training?"
"I accepted thirty-five, but seven dropped out in the first day. I'm wondering if we should even give them the choice of quitting."
"Yes, we must. If they aren't committed, then they aren't worth having. I will not have reluctant personnel in my Regiment. If you sign up with me, you're in till death or absolute victory."
"And if they don't believe the latter is an option?"
"Then we’d better ensure we have a good death."
"Is there such a thing?"
Taylor nodded. "Damn right there is, now, about this training. You're still in charge of recruitment, but seeing as I have nothing else of importance to do, I will be overseeing the process and getting involved at every stage. I want to know we are getting good people and that they have the best training. Show me how you're progressing with them.
"Mitch, their time is their own."
"No, they belong to us now. Until such time as they quit or flunk out, their time is ours to do with as we please. Let's go."
Parker led him towards the bunkroom where they were now living.
"All the recruits I've taken on so far are from the Detroit."
"The Detroit?"
"It's one of the transport barges. They've started calling them after the cities they came from. There was never more than a single barge in any city, so it sort of makes sense. I figured we'd try and take Americans first and foremost."
"Why?"
"Well, because..."
"Inter-Allied is not an American Regiment. God knows what we are. American? British? Lunar Colony? You can't even stop at human, as we aren't all that."
"Okay, how do you want me to proceed?"
"You take the best recruits you can find. I don't care what ship they come from. I don't care if they're men, women, black, or white. It doesn’t matter. You just make sure they're the best, you hear?"
"Okay."
"I'm not even sure our name Inter-Allied even means anything anymore. It was merely to symbolize the unity between two nations."
"Then go by our other name."
Taylor stopped and looked at her in surprise. "What do you mean?"
"The Immortals?"
Taylor thought about it for a moment.
"We're a mix of outfits from different nations, and it is your choice to make now. The name served us well, and there isn't a soul in this fleet that doesn't know the name."
"We are ultimately all marines now, by definition of what we do aboard this fleet. But I don't want to rob those other units of their heritage. Immortals it is."
"The Immortal Regiment? Parker asked, "Sounds good."
Taylor laughed. "Well, good, I wouldn't want us to sound anything unimportant."
They reached the quarters of the recruits. It was familiar, as it was the exact same layout and design as their own. He stopped in the doorway and turned to Parker.
"Everything we got," said Taylor, "it’s not exactly tough conditions to get them motivated."
"You're assuming that we lead a life of luxury," replied Parker.
"True."
"And it's not like I can have them out in the wilderness, slogging through the mud and sleeping in dugouts. If only."
"So we're gonna have to find new ways to toughen them up. What sort of backgrounds have they got?"
"I tried to focus on anyone with prior experience that might help. A few have been in the Corps. We’ve got ex-cops, private security, doormen, and gym instructors. Had to take what I could get."
One of the recruits closer to the door finally noticed them and called out.
"Attention on deck!"
Many of them almost jumped out of their skin and tried to get up and look presentable. Not one of them had a uniform. They wore their own civilian clothing.
"As you were!" Taylor yelled.
He didn't want to address them as a unit. He wanted to see them individually and to look into their eyes; see what kind of people they were. He passed down the line of beds slowly, looking at every single one of them, and studying every little detail. He looked at the photos of loved ones they had pinned to the beds and jewellery hanging from the hooks. It was clear to him from the clothing, they were from every social standing that could be thought of. But he didn't say a word to any of them, not until he reached a familiar face.
"Mia Moore," he said.
She was lying casually in her bed on top of the sheets, wearing nothing more than her underwear and a tight fitting black t-shirt. She looked provocative, and yet like she was ready to pounce and rip someone's throat out at a moment's notice.
"Not afraid one of these fine specimens will try and jump you with a look like that?" he asked her.
She gestured over to the bunk opposite. Taylor looked over to see a well-built man in his late twenties. He had a black eye and was nursing a damaged ego. Taylor laughed.
"What's your name, Son?"
"Adrian Hill, Sir."
"You learnt a valuable lesson here. Or at least, I hope you did."