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his eyes to drift from face to face. A civilian would have been struck by how young they were, yet even the most inobservant civilian could hardly have failed to notice the shared expression in their eyes. The youngest Marine in the compartment was twenty-one years old, yet she had spent two years at the Slaughterhouse before qualifying and being formally enrolled among the Marine Corps. They had all been tested in the harshest of fires. The Imperial Navy might regard the Marines as a luxury and the Imperial Army might regard them as over-paid pretty boys, but Edward knew the truth. The Marines were, man for man, the single most effective fighting force in the Empire.

    The Terran Marine Corps had come into existence after the Third World War, yet it could trace its origins far further back, right back to John Paul Jones and the birth of the United States of America, a nation now barely remembered outside the American-ethnic worlds near Earth. The men and women in the compartment were heirs to a tradition that stretched back over a thousand years, one that placed loyalty and competence above all else. It was no wonder, Edward thought, that the Grand Senate was nervous about them. The Marines had far fewer opportunities for graft and corruption than any other service. Every Marine would sooner die than fail his comrades.

    And he was their commander. The Company was the largest permanent formation in the Marine Corps; Regiments, Battalions and Divisions were, at best, temporary formations, composed of Companies that could be mixed and matched at will. He’d been told, back when he'd decided to aim for commissioned status, that Captain’s rank was the best and worst in the entire Corps. The best because it was the position of ultimate trust; the worst because the lives of one hundred Marines depended upon their commander. His mistakes could get them killed. The Marine tradition of naming units after their commanding officer was not only a reward for good service, but a warning. The Marines were his, in the fullest sense of the word. Their lives were in his hands. He felt the weight of responsibility settling down on his shoulders and he smiled. He would not betray his men.

    “Take your seats,” he ordered, calmly, and waited until the Marines were seated. A civilian might have been surprised by how informal it was, but there was no need for him to assert his authority by acting like a dickhead. “There has been a development on Earth.”

    He paused, silently cursing himself under his breath. His mistake, his hasty words, had condemned his Marines to exile. “The Grand Senate wanted my opinion of what happened over the last two days,” he continued, finally. Marines learned from their earliest days to confess their mistakes and learn from them. Everyone, Marines included, made mistakes. The trick was to learn from them and not to repeat them. It wasn't quite as easy as it sounded...but then, nothing ever was. “I told them the truth.”

    “Big mistake there, sir,” Blake Coleman said, from the back.

    Edward fought down a smile as Sergeant Young glowered at Blake. Like many of the enlisted men, Blake was bored when he wasn't fighting or fucking...and he had no ambitions towards becoming a commissioned officer or an NCO. Smart remarks were the least of his problems, although Edward privately appreciated the humour. It helped to defuse the situation.

    “Quite,” he agreed, dryly. “The Grand Senate rewarded me for my honesty by exiling me – and you – to Avalon, a planet on the edge of the Rim. Our exile was my fault and I take full responsibility for it.”

    “Ah, it was getting boring here, sir,” Blake said, quickly.

    There were some chuckles. “Silence in the ranks,” Gwen thundered, with a look that promised trouble for Blake later. Even for Marines, there were limits. “Coleman, I’ll see you later.”

    Edward spoke again before anyone else could interrupt. “If any of you wish to seek a transfer