Daarran. Day 37 of detached assignment.
(Daarran is a veteran of the Argon Front, tasked with integrating lancers into special units across the Federation.)
I begin. Today we run, despite their weakness. Never has there been a sorrier bunch of keeners than these four. I'm their pivot, all around see my altitude, and yet they can't hold a simple line against a single charging kumas. If even one falls out or drops a lance tip into the dirt, I will drag them by the neck until the rest understand why there is no time limit on war. There is survival, and there is slavery. Middle ground is for poets and politicians. Soldiers serve...or die.
I continue. Furon has disappointed the squad yet again. "Dust in his fur?" I don't think so. Five leagues in he casts aside the shield to examine a crystal formation, then collects insects with a net. A net! Held upside-down over a cliff for discipline, he remarks on how pretty the clouds are on the rocks below. For this, I left the glacier?
