After the latest Alershian attack knocked out most of the planet’s communications network, it took almost three weeks for Lieutenant Williams to learn his brother was dead. With such a backlog of higher priority tactical messages crisscrossing the warzone, his brother’s body was probably already being shipped back to Earth by the time he received his official notice. “We regret to inform you that Sergeant Gavin Williams, 906th Infantry Regiment, was killed in action on the planet Konai. The Terran Constitutional Republic honors his sacrifice and wishes you condolences during this difficult time…” Williams hated the cold, detached efficiency of the letter. But as much as he might have wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to rip it to shreds in his anger and grief. This bland emotionless fleet communique was all he had left of his brother. 

Instead, Williams channeled his emotions into the only thing he could do: he volunteered for every supply mission he could, despite fewer and fewer of the crews sent out had been returning recently. Even though this was the young copilot’s first tour, he had already seen enough to know the fleet’s cargo pilots were the last link holding the dangerously thin supply chain to the planet’s surface. The war for this once prosperous colony against the Alershian alien horde had dragged on for months, leaving the ground forces shattered and low on everything from food rations to ammunition.

The fleet carrier Resolute’s massive hanger bay was bustling with activity. Ground crews loaded attack fighters with munitions, while cargo dropships were being crammed with every ounce of supplies they could carry. Williams, dressed in the dark grey flight suit of a TCR Navy pilot, ran his hands along the scarred and pocked metal of the M-25 Albatross cargo craft‘s wing. His external walk-around revealed just how much punishment this craft had taken. It was a testament to the fleet’s mechanics that half the dropships could still fly. As he watched the support crew use a heavy utility mech-walker to carry even more crates up to the dropship, he couldn’t help but think that every one of these supply runs could mean the difference between life and death for the infantry on Konai. How many more troops would have the energy to hold out just a little longer with just one more hot meal? Would his brother still be alive if during his last fight he had just one more grenade? These thoughts were driving Williams to get these supplies through, or die trying. He would do anything to help the grunts on the ground… even volunteer to fly with Captain Sato.

After inspecting the engine intakes, Williams paused to glance at the fleet’s most… unusual… pilot. 

With an old stained flight suit and constant bags under his eyes, Sato had obviously been on campaign without leave for too long. He had flown more missions than anyone else in the fleet, and the mental and physical toll was evident. That in itself made Sato unusual, with the casualty rates that fleet pilots had been suffering. But that wasn’t even the start of it.

Standing outside of his dropship, Sato was conferring with the ground crew chief who was responsible for the loading and maintenance of the M-25. Williams watched as the crew chief tried to hand Sato a datapad with the inventory for his flight. When the Captain remained frozen in place with wide eyes, the crew chief remembered who he was talking to. “Sorry sir.” The chief then cleared his throat, turned the datapad around in his hands five times, then handed it out again. Only now that his well known superstition was satisfied did Sato seem to visibly relax and then took the pad. Williams rolled his eyes.

Of course, the weird superstitions were not the worst of it. It was true that Sato had gained a reputation with higher command as a pilot who could always make a run.  The law of averages caught up to any pilot eventually – and the numbers on Konai were abysmal. But somehow, Sato seemed to defy all the odds, flying missions through enemy dominated skies and always making it back. Many of the dropship copilots in the fleet had heard of  Sato, and the legend was he had been so lucky because he used up the luck of those around him. There was no disputing copilots were grossly unlucky in his presence – he was the only captain in the fleet who had lost three without being killed himself. The first had been killed when an Alershian plasma weapon tore through his cockpit, vaporizing the copilot but leaving Sato with only a few minor burns. The second copilot had been killed by an alien artillery barrage while their dropship had been offloading supplies down on the planet. The third incident had Sato’s M-25 Albatross taking such heavy damage that it barely limped back to the fleet. The engines finally gave out within seconds of landing, causing it to crash onto the landing platform. The dropship was a total loss and his copilot suffered burns over half her body, resulting in her being medically evacuated home. Meanwhile, Sato walked away with just a few scratches. Sato’s new dropship had only solidified his reputation and mythos. Through sheer coincidence, the tail number of his new craft was 451208. Superstitious ground crews quickly realized that if you swapped the numbers with the respective letter in the alphabet, such as 1 was A and 2 was B etc., his new dropship’s tail number literally spelled out DEATH. It seemed morbidly appropriate. 

The eerie numerical signature served as a grim omen for Sato, who was surrounded by death not only when his copilots tragically failed to return. On every successful mission, his dropship was filled with the bodies of soldiers who were killed in action- their body bags piled up on the surface of Konai and waiting for an M-25 to make it through to bring them back to the fleet’s morgues. Since Sato was the only pilot who could be counted on to not only drop off supplies, but also to bring the dead off the planet, he had earned the morbid callsign of  “Charon,” after the ancient Earth legend of the dark being who ferried the souls of the dead to the afterlife.

Needless to say, most copilots did everything they could to avoid flying with Sato. Williams simply watched on and wondered if Sato had carried his brother’s body from the hellscape below. 

An unusual sight snapped Williams’ thoughts back to the present. The last crate to be loaded on to their dropship was smaller than the standard ammunition box, and had a large red label marked “PRIORITY” stamped across its side. It was strange – all of these supply drops were priority. The grunts on the ground always seemed to be short of everything: ammunition, grenades, food, medical supplies, power cells, you name it. Literally every supply drop took precedence, which left Williams wondering what made this one so special.

After meticulously going through every line of inventory that he would be carrying, Sato pressed his thumb to the datapad, biometrically signing for the supply load. Not that it mattered. If the captain lost this shipment, it would be because his ship had added another crater to Konai’s surface. At that point, Sato wouldn’t be around for them to take it out of his pay anyway. Still, the bureaucracy must be served.

The ground crew chief ensured everything was in order and shook Sato’s hand. “Good luck Captain. This might be the last shipment to this sector for a while. God knows Kilo Outpost needs this.”

“Thanks. We’ll see you when we get back.” The Captain’s casual tone could not hide what both of them were undoubtedly thinking. Just yesterday, an Albatross flown by Captain Jefferson, another veteran pilot, had been shot down within sight of its destination in the same sector.

Sato turned to Williams, who had finished his exterior inspection. “Are you ready to climb aboard?”

“Yes sir. But I do have one question.” He jerked his thumb back to the cargo ramp.  “What’s the deal with that one crate marked ‘priority,’ sir?”

“That,” Sato nodded knowingly, “is one of the most important things you’ll ever carry on one of these missions. The 173rd has been waiting for that crate for a while.”

That just made Williams even more curious. The 173rd Infantry Regiment had been on the front lines for weeks, taking heavy casualties but holding the line against the Alershian attacks through superior firepower and stubborn determination. For a cut off and besieged unit, what could possibly be so important but so small? Maybe it was some sort of prototype weapon?

Williams was about to step into the cockpit, when Sato called out to him. “Uh, Rookie…”

Williams’ foot was hovering just above the step of the Albatross. He slowly lowered it back to the hanger deck. “Yes sir,” he said, trying to keep the frustration from his voice. He thought the whole thing was stupid. But because Sato outranked him, Williams turned around five times before climbing into the cockpit.

After Sato finished his own ritual, he climbed aboard and began strapping into the pilot’s seat. As Williams began the engine ignition sequence, he glanced over to the other pilot. “Captain, if you don’t mind me asking sir, do you really think all of that is necessary?”

“I do it before every mission.” Sato shrugged. “I haven’t been killed yet. I must be doing something right.”

Williams lifted an eyebrow. He had to admit, it was tough to argue with that. 

####

The M-25 Albatross separated from the Fleet Carrier and dropped “down” towards the planet. As the Albatross emerged from the Resolute’s massive shadow, the harsh blue-white light of Konai’s sun momentarily blinded both pilots. The F-class star was much brighter than Earth’s sun, and the auto-tinting canopy had trouble adjusting. Sato turned the Albatross’ nose towards the planet and prepared to enter its atmosphere. Against the black void of space, Konai resembled a shining orange marble. From here it looked beautiful and almost peaceful, not as if it was the front line in a brutal war against two civilizations.

As they crossed the fleet’s picket line, Williams kept his eyes glued to the long range scanners. “No sign of enemy fighters yet.”

Sato didn’t respond. They still had a long way to go. The human and Alershian fleets had battered each other with hit and run attacks for weeks. The human fleet had managed to protect a small section of Konai’s orbit, but they lacked the strength to provide cover over the entire planet. Alershain raiders could jump unsuspecting supply ships at any time. As the lonely Albatross raced towards its destination, Sato knew that the farther they flew from the protective envelope of the fleet’s big guns, the more likely an attack would be.

A few minutes later, as if to confirm the Captain’s worst fear, the scanners pinged. “Shit!” Williams exclaimed. “I have enemy contact.”

“How far out?”

Williams twisted the holographic controls on his console, trying to sort through the interference from Konai’s harsh star. “I can’t be sure. I estimate about… 30 to 40 seconds from firing range.”

“That doesn’t leave much choice,” Sato admitted. An M-25 Albatross was a sluggish ship and was equipped with only one small defensive turret along its top, which was the only area protected from the massive heat encountered during atmospheric reentry. On the other hand, the Alershian fighter craft was built for speed and offensive firepower. It would shoot them down long before the heavy Albatross could reverse course and make it back to the protective firepower of the fleet. There were only two characteristics in which the dropship outperformed an enemy raider: the first was the massive boosters which allowed the Albatross to take off vertically from a planet’s surface with heavy cargo loads; the second, which Sato hoped would save them, was the rate at which they could descend through the atmosphere and absorb friction and heat levels that would tear apart the nimble alien fighter craft.

Sato set his jaw and thrust the bulky cargo ship’s engines to maximum power. The Albatross surged with whatever acceleration it could manage towards the planet’s atmosphere. “We got to lose him in a dive.”

A small smile crossed Williams’ face. He was so determined to get this supply run through, he was glad the Captain hadn’t chosen to abort. If they had to make an aggressive entry, then Williams was ready and eager.

Sato kept the supply ship’s velocity as high as possible, risking an atmospheric entry angle right on the edge of the Albatross’ limits. He knew the Alershian behind them had to break off or risk burning up on entry.

Williams rotated his controls to zoom out. The alien fighter had indeed peeled off to enter Konai at a much shallower and safer angle. “He’s backing off Captain.” For the time being, they were safely out of weapons range.

“Good. Hopefully we bought enough time to lose this four armed alien bastard.” Soon the Albatross started a steady shaking and an orange hue glowed around the cockpit. Sato plunged the Albatross into Konai’s atmosphere with plenty of speed, relying on the ship’s thick hull to be able to take the punishment of searing air molecules ripping by at terminal velocity.

“60,000… 50,000… 40,000…” Williams read off their altitude as the ship plunged further and further towards the planet. As they dove deeper into Konai’s thick atmosphere, the Albatross shook harder and harder, making the hologram instruments difficult to read. Soon the smell of burning ozone permeated the cockpit.

Only when the Albatross had passed an altitude of 2,000 metres did Sato start to pull back on the controls, levelling off and bleeding off airspeed. The Alershain fighter was nowhere to be seen.

Williams quickly scanned his instruments. “Scanners look clear.” He wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. “That was one hell of a ride. I think we lost him.”

Sato wasn’t willing to celebrate just yet. He glanced around, scanning the local terrain. This part of the planet was once covered with lush rolling hills and a vast forest of yellow trees. However over the last few months, the area had been charred by Alershian plasma and cratered by human shells. Now all that remained was splintered trunks and glassed dirt. However, to the east, a river wound through a series of steep hills and jagged canyons. It was the perfect low altitude route to their objective if Alershian ships were in the area. By flying low through the hills, they could hopefully hide their lumbering cargo ship from the long range scanners of any Alershian patrols. “I’m bringing us in low through that river valley. Maybe that will provide us enough cover until we reach Kilo Outpost.”

“Roger that.” Williams looked out over the terrain. The landscape was littered with destroyed military vehicles from both sides. Many of the pilots morbidly joked that you didn’t need Tac-Nav systems to find the human outposts. All you needed to do was follow the chain of crashed Albatrosses that marked a clear path to their destination. 

Williams shook his head. Konai used to be a promising colony. With just a few genetic modifications, crops from Earth could grow extremely fast with Konai’s brighter light and rich soil. That was one of the reasons why the colony was able to support such a huge population so quickly. Konai had a population of millions before the invasion. Now most of the populated areas were ruins and the ecosystem had been destroyed. There was almost nothing left. And still the two races fought and died for it.

Suddenly, a bolt of plasma slammed into the riverbed below them, interrupting his thoughts with a geyser of steam and molten river rocks. Sato rolled the dropship to the left, narrowly avoiding another plasma bolt. 

“Where the hell did that come from?!” Williams shouted as he checked the scanners. The Alershain was back and almost right on top of them. The same hills that they hoped would have hidden them from their attacker had just allowed the alien fighter to slip behind them unnoticed. “Well this bastard is persistent. You have to give it that.” He craned his neck around to try and get a visual on their attacker. “Engaging the point defence turret.”

The single turret on the top of the Albatross sprang to life. The ship’s automatic targeting computer locked on to the enemy fighter and began spewing high velocity magnetic shavings. However, the distance between the two ships made the defence turret little more than harassing fire. There was little chance of a kill.

Sato banked the sluggish dropship around another bend in the river as a second bolt of plasma burned into the side of the nearby hill. The explosion threw rocky debris and dissipating plasma into the Albatross’ path.

As the dropship rocketed through the debris cloud, Sato’s instrument panel exploded in a shower of sparks. The cockpit instantly filled with the acrid smell of burnt electronics. “Damn it! Rookie, take control.” With the only set of working controls, Williams took over flying while the captain cut power to his panel to prevent any fire from spreading in the cockpit. 

“If we were outmatched before, we are for sure dead with a wounded bird,” Sato said through gritted teeth. “Sooner or later that fighter is going to get a clean shot or we’re going to crash into one of these damn hills.”

Williams realized the Captain was right. The Alershian’s greater manoeuvrability meant it had no problem banking side to side through the rolling hills of the river valley. Now, they were half blind, couldn’t outshoot it and couldn’t outperform it.

Except…

Williams had a sudden flash of inspiration. “Captain, keep the turret firing no matter what.” Williams banked the controls hard to the left. He had to disguise what they were doing long enough to find just the right spot. He then rolled level and eased just enough pressure off the controls to bring the Albatross’ nose up a tiny degree.

Sato took manual control of their turret. He kept a continuous stream of rounds flying behind them whether they had a target lock or not. He glanced over to Williams’ flight instruments. “You’re gaining too much altitude! Hug the river or we’re dead!” But Williams wasn’t listening. He banked left and right, all the while slowly gaining more altitude.

The Alershian was quick to seize the advantage which was opening up. With the human supply ship now a few hundred metres off the ground, the alien fighter could slip underneath their altitude and close the distance between them without fear of being hit by the humans’ sole topside turret. The stream of turret rounds flew harmlessly above it.

“Williams! He’s closing on us. Descend so I can get a shot!”

Williams just smiled. He saw exactly what he needed around the next bend. “Just keep its head down for a few more seconds Captain…”

The Alershian was now well within range for a probable hit. It fired again and barely missed the Albatross, frying the outer hull with plasma burns. The Alershian fighter was now so close its next shot was guaranteed to blow them out of the sky.

“Williams!” The Captain screamed.

But as the two ships continued to rocket down the river bed, Williams did not bank to avoid the next hill. Instead he flew straight at it until it seemed certain they would smash straight into the solid rock.

At the last second, Williams jammed his thumb onto the controls, firing the Albatross’ powerful takeoff boosters. The heavy dropship suddenly shot upwards, the extra boost being just enough for the ship to barely pop over the top of the hill.

The Alershian fighter on the other hand had less altitude and was moving much too fast. The Alershian pilot tried to pull up, but it never had a chance. The fighter slammed into the rocky terrain, enveloping the entire hillside in a burst of blue flames.

Williams yelled in triumph as Sato just sighed and sank into his seat. That was too close.

With a self satisfied grin, Williams turned to the Captain. “Not too bad right? If the ability to out-dive the Alershian didn’t work, I figured we had to use whatever advantage we had left.”

Sato looked back at the burning hillside. The kid did just save them, but that was way too risky of a move to try twice and expect to live through it. He then turned and gave his copilot a disturbingly penetrating stare. “A pilot doesn’t usually fly like that unless they have a death wish.”

Trying to put on an air of bravado, Williams just scoffed. “I said we would make this run or die trying.”

After a moment’s silence, Sato stared forward and mumbled in a hushed voice, “Getting yourself killed is probably not the closure you are looking for.” 

Those words hit Williams like a shot to the chest. Did Sato know about his brother? Williams stared at him for a moment, before sheepishly looking out the cockpit window to avoid eye contact. 

The Captain then continued, “This war already has enough dead heroes.” He then gave a sad shake of his head. “Believe me. I have carried more than my share.”

####

A few minutes later, the crew could make out the faint outline of their objective. The outpost sat on a small hill which gave it a commanding view of the entire area. Surrounded by trenches and automatic sentry gun turrets, it had once been a formidable fortress, whose landing fields and heavy artillery emplacements could support any fighting units for miles in any direction. Now Kilo Outpost was one of the last standing strongholds in the entire sector. Shattered and badly mauled units were limping in from all directions, hoping to rally together with the 173rd and form some kind of defense that could hold out against the Alershian onslaught.

Williams keyed the radio and transmitted, “Kilo Outpost this is Dropship 451208. We are inbound and requesting landing clearance.”  

“Roger. Good to see you 451208.” A voice crackled in reply. “Cleared to land inside the perimeter.”

The pilots could see that they were not the only ones who had been defending against Alershian attacks. As they flew over the perimeter, Sato and Williams could see just how brutal the last battle had been for the 173rd. The outpost’s outer perimeter was in shambles, with gaps blown out of the fortifications. Most of the buildings at the heart of the compound were smoking ruins and a pile of melted debris in the centre of the camp marked where their heavy artillery had once kept watch over the base. Still, the grunts held on.

Williams gave one final check of the instruments and then deployed the landing struts. “Landing configuration confirmed. Cleared to land.” He eased the Albatross’s forward momentum and gently set the dropship in the center of the compound. As Williams killed the engines, the sandstorm of dirt they had kicked up slowly faded.

Before the pilots had even unstrapped their harnesses, a squad of troopers emerged from their bunkers they had dug out from under the ruins. Beleaguered and dirty troops, some of which looked like they hadn’t slept in days, formed a semi-circle around the dropship. “They must be even more desperate for ammo than we thought,” Williams commented as they climbed out of their seats.

Williams opened the cargo door, and could immediately feel the difference in Konai’s atmosphere. The air was heavy and the whole planet smelled of dirt, explosives, and urine.

As a squad of soldiers moved to begin offloading crates of supplies, a proud but dishevelled looking colonel with bags under her eyes came up to the pilots. Like all of the soldiers in her command, her uniform was caked with mud and she carried the same standard issue rifle as the lowest ranking trooper. Obviously this was a leader who led from the front. She and Sato saluted each other.

“It’s good to see you again, maam.”

“I’m damn glad to see you too, Charon.” 

Unlatching the first of the supply crates, Williams listened with surprise to their familiarity, as not many high ranking officers called pilots by their callsigns rather than rank. Obviously Sato had delivered to this outpost multiple times before. The captain was probably the one man most responsible for this entire regiment’s continued ability to hold this position. 

“I was told this will be your last shipment for a while,” Sato commented, watching Williams help two soldiers pick up a crate of anti-personnel mines. “The southern sector is getting hit just hard and the fleet doesn’t have enough dropships to cover everywhere.”

The colonel let out a weary sigh. “Well, we’re happy with anything you can bring in. With more and more survivors from other units straggling in, our supplies are stretched even further. We will hold out as long as we can, but I don’t want to have to throw rocks at the alien bastards.” She then pointed over to a dark stairwell that led underneath the rubble. A shredded but proud Terran Constitutional Republic flag hung from the ceiling, standing vigil over the entrance. This collapsed bunker deep underground was one of best protected and coldest areas left in the compound, and had thus become the 173rd’s makeshift morgue. Down below the rocks and smashed concrete, dozens of filled body bags were waiting. 

“We also have an upload for you.” the colonel muttered with a sigh. “More soldiers waiting for their last ride home.”

Sato nodded solemnly. “I’ll see they are taken care of.”

The colonel gave a sad smile. “You always do.” She then reached into her pocket and pulled out a dirty round metal washer from their machine shop. She turned it over in her hand five times, then reverently placed it in Sato’s hand. “For the ferryman…” 

The fleet had a tradition where high ranking officers would present commemorative coins to personnel for singular acts of excellence or bravery. Months before, on Sato’s first mission to Kilo Outpost, the colonel had been so impressed with Sato’s ability to be the only pilot to get through the enemy dominated skies, that she had presented him with one of her personal coins. Now, there were no more fancy coins on this war ravaged planet, but the colonel respected Charon’s need for routine and superstition. Everytime he made it through and returned her fallen heroes to the fleet, the colonel would present him with a “coin.” It could be a round scrap of metal, a top of a food ration lid, anything to continue their good luck ritual.

With the last of the ammunition crates offloaded, Williams surveyed his work. An Albatross was a massive supply ship, but even fully loaded the amount of supplies it could carry was just a tiny fraction of what the 173rd needed. Williams knew this ammo would save a lot of lives, he just wished he could do more. 

With a sudden realization, Williams noticed that none of the soldiers were actually opening the crates. He thought the soldiers would be desperately grabbing for every bullet and grenade they could before the next attack. Instead, every soldier seemed to be waiting for something, as they nervously glanced back at the Albatross in anticipation. What else were they waiting for?

The small “PRIORITY” crate was the last thing still in the dropship’s now empty hold. Sato nodded and pointed. “Special delivery.” The colonel smiled and slapped Sato on the back. Her exhaustion momentarily gone, the colonel grabbed the small crate and hauled it out onto the landing pad.

Williams noticed more and more worn out and exhausted soldiers gathering around. Some of the soldiers elbowed their buddies and nodded to the colonel and the mysterious box and there was a hum of excitement growing around the Albatross.

The colonel gently set her prize down and reached for a pry-bar. She opened up the crate and stuck both hands inside. She paused to look out over her exhausted troops, then triumphantly raised both fists into the air, one holding a small brown package, the other a stack of data chips. 

“Mail call!” she yelled. The soldiers of the 173rd cheered.

####

The two pilots stood on the landing pad for a few minutes watching as the soldiers combed through their mail. Despite the dirt and exhaustion, they all seemed reinvigorated. A few soldiers, sitting on unopened crates of desperately needed ammunition, were using their helmets’ tactical displays to watch videos from family and friends. A corporal was crying, but they were tears of relief, as he had just received word that his sister was alive and had made it off of the planet in the early days of the evacuation. Another soldier opened a box from her mother to find it contained the most valuable commodity on Konai: clean, fresh socks. The unit may be short on rations, but one private was passing out homemade cookies, sharing the few precious treats with his buddies. Meanwhile, the colonel was outside the command post hanging printouts of letters on a bulletin board. They were from Konai’s refugees, thanking the soldiers for fighting to retake their homes. One letter had a brightly colored drawing of a soldier, with “My Hero” written in clumsy child’s handwriting.

Sato nodded to himself satisfied. He still had to review their upload manifest for their return trip, but he had wanted to spend a few moments appreciating how much they had done today for the 173rd. It was a rare treat for the man whom the fleet associated so much with death, to appreciate the brighter moments in life.

As for Williams, he was inspired by the 173rd’s strength, but the mission still left him confused. As Sato turned and started to review the manifest datapad, Williams spoke up. 

“There is something I don’t understand, sir.”

The captain continued to scroll through the data without looking up. “What’s that?”

“Why was the mail a priority? It obviously helped their morale, but even the colonel admitted they needed all of the ammunition they could get.” He shook his head, thinking back to their near collision in the canyon. “I almost got us killed, and I was fine with that when I knew we were bringing in bullets and grenades – those things could save lives. It could keep someone from ending up like my brother. But… cookies?” Williams threw his hands up in frustration. “I thought that crate was going to have some kind of secret weapon.”

Sato didn’t respond at first. He was still staring at the screen. When he finally did look up, he had a strange look in his eyes. He met Williams’ stare  and gave him a sad smile. 

“That was a weapon. One they desperately needed if they’re going to win this fight.” He then put his hand on Williams’ shoulder in a fatherly way.  “It takes more than just bullets to win a war. You also need hope.”

The lieutenant looked back at the soldiers of the 173rd. Although he stayed quiet, it was obvious he wasn’t convinced. To a grunt pinned down in a firefight, could a letter really be more important than a heavy weapon?

Sensing his copilot’s doubt, Sato closed the datapad, then cleared his throat. “You know Williams, I have flown with a lot of different copilots during my tour. Not all of them have ended well. I am sure you have… heard that.”

Williams scoffed. “It may have come up once or twice throughout the fleet.”

Sato smiled. He was well aware of his reputation. “Well it has been… really nice to have a copilot with such good luck for a change. He motioned to the dark stairwell that led underground. “I’d like to show you something.”

####

Walking under the tattered TCR flag, Sato led Williams to the crumbling stairs,  then began their descent down into the bunker’s ruins. Without power, the cold and dark stairwell seemed to be an entrance to another world, far from the hectic war raging above them. The tomb-like quiet was broken only by the sound of the two pilots’ steps as they descended further into the underworld. 

Whereas Williams was uncomfortable amongst the body bags lining the cold floor, not knowing if he should stay quiet or mumble some only half remembered religious benediction from his youth, Sato seemed almost at home amongst the fallen heroes. He considered this grim job his most sacred duty to those who had given literally everything to defend people they didn’t even know. The least Sato could do was to get them home. 

Sato nodded to each body as he passed. In his mind, he knew every one was a brother or sister, father or mother, best friend or loved one to someone somewhere. He just never saw it with his own eyes until today. He stopped at one body near the back of the bunker. It was listed as item BB-200821 in the upload manifest. 

Sato turned to Williams. He didn’t have to say anything.

William’s body went rigid, and his pulse roared in his ears. With his heart hammering in his chest, he took one hesitant step forward, and saw the label attached to the bag. 

Williams, Gavin. Sergeant. 906 Inf.

The words blurred. His brain refused to process them. He read them again, as if they might change – but they didn’t. A sound escaped Williams’ throat – somewhere between a gasp and a broken sob – and his knees buckled beneath him. 

A lifetime of memories crashed over him at once: The two of them as kids, building models together. Gavin saying he was the one who broke the window to save his little brother from punishment.  That time they capsized the canoe on the lake. The last time they spoke – Gavin’s voice steady as he packed up and set out for the war, promising he’d be careful.

Williams dropped to his knees at his brother’s side, pressing against the thick, impersonal plastic of the body bag, and began to bawl.

For a long time, the only sound in the bunker was Williams’ grief. Sato moved a respectful distance away, giving his copilot as much time as he needed. He had seen grief before—had carried bodies, had watched the toughest and meanest soldiers in the fleet shatter under the weight of losing a buddy. But something about this moment felt different. Eventually, when the storm of sobs had faded into shaky, uneven breaths, Sato crouched beside him and placed a smaller bag at his feet.

BB-200821-A. Personal Items: Williams, Gavin.

Williams sniffed, rubbing at his eyes with the sleeve of his uniform, then reached for the bag with trembling hands. Inside was everything that was left of his brother. Identification tags, standard-issue gear, a few data chips, a worn-out button with the icon of their favorite sports team.

And something strange.A crumpled scrap of ration packaging.

Confused, Williams turned it over in his hand and saw the words scrawled in hurried handwriting. It was the type of thing a desperate man wrote out when he knew his time was short.

“My dear brother. I doubt you will ever get this, but the enemy is only meters from our trench and we are down to our last few rounds. I had to tell you one last time I love you…”

Williams’ hands trembled. Sato was right. In his brother’s last moments, he hadn’t wished for a new prototype weapon. He had wanted nothing more than to talk to someone he loved one last time. He had just wanted to say goodbye.

Another sob started deep in Williams’ chest. And this time he cried for twice as long. This wasn’t the cold, dispassionate letter that had informed him of Gavin’s death—detached, bureaucratic, indifferent. This was his brother. Not a file number, not a statistic in some war report. Just a man, sitting in the dirt, knowing he was about to die, and using his last moments to say what mattered. Williams wiped his face with the back of his hand, his breath still unsteady. The war had taken Gavin’s life, but it hadn’t taken his last words.

And Williams would carry them for the rest of his own.