Dufresne Livezone, Ithacae
June 28 2513 Earth Standard Calendar

     Less than an hour before I tear down everything I've supported for forty years... everything I've killed for, everything my men and women have died for. 
     I looked at the chrono readout displayed on my helmet’s visor. "0200 LOCAL" displayed in big green block letters before me. Less than an hour. Did I really want to do this? I glanced at my squadmates lined up next to me in the drop ship. I wished I could tell them... but how would they believe me? Men and women who had been with me for a lifetime. Some I trained myself from their snot-nosed green days.  Reflexively, I checked the ammo readout on the Griggs X5.  The magazine was full. Obviously.  Just like the six more stowed in my kit.  So were all of theirs.  Damn, I really hope we won't exchange any business end first.
     "0205 LOCAL" Forty Minutes. The Company had made me an incredibly wealthy man.  I could have retired anytime in the last decade and not needed to ever work again, not needed to continue the lie and just walked away.  With my ratings I was a shoe in for a talk show or Non Combat TV, if I wanted. The pay on those NC-TV shows weren't as good, but still over 100,000 SMVs a year. The sour feeling in the pit of my gut came back at the thought.  How many soldiers had gotten canceled under my command over the years? Too many for me to take a cushy Spinoff Contract now.  I'd carry them to the grave if I did.  No, I needed to set the record straight, no matter what it cost. 
     "0220 LOCAL" Twenty-five Minutes. Col. Drop-time was the slowest measure of time in the universe. I glanced around the drop ship's cabin. This would be the last time I would serve with these men and women.  The last time they would have any respect for me, even though I was doing this for them as much as those who came before them.  More, even: they needed to know what they served while they still had breath to change it. I unconsciously felt for the datacard concealed in my armor.
     "0235 LOCAL" Ten minutes. Drop-time was a portable black hole, it must be. "Ten minutes to the DZ, boys and girls! Commence Pre-Drop Checks! Cut speed!" My throat was tight. I sounded flat, no energy. Always bad for ratings. I went over every strap and clasp of my armor, checked readouts for fuel availability for the drop jet, and performed the million little things that were required to make sure that not a single gremlin factor snuck in. I couldn't afford any errors. Not now. 
     "0240 LOCAL" The ready beacons lit up in the cabin. "This is it, kiddies! Time to fly!" More energy, more excited. Good. Better ratings.  My squad picked up on the difference, and hollered back. 
     "0245 LOCAL" "GO! GO GO GO GO!" The big bay doors at the back of the drop ship swung open, and the moonless night sky of Ithacae opened to us. In pairs, the squad jumped from the craft. Their drop jets kicked in, helping to steer the unit towards the southeast. I launched last... and throttled hard towards the north.