You don’t know why you paused to watch this particular group by a campfire, a collection of humans and aliens both scaled and furred. You don’t know a single one of them, they must have just made it in from the front. You wouldn’t consider them a military unit, despite the firearms laying on laps or propped up against crates by their side. Only a handful of them are of fighting age, maybe half if you stretch that definition beyond what galactic law would stomach. The rest are grandparents, grandchildren, mates or kin either by blood or by hardship. Not fighters by any means, not by even the wildest stretch. But they can sing in their shared Imperial pidgin dialect, some holding hands as they do.

"Walasa-Dis-Am
This freedom for-ever.

Walasa-Dis-Am
This freedom for-ever.

Tears and death you gave,
My mothers and fath-ers.

Now we face you down,
My sisters and broth-ers.

We will strike at you,
No Gods, No Mast-ers.

We live free for them,
Our sons and daught-ers.

Walasa-Dis-Am
This freedom for-ever.

Walasa-Dis-Am
This freedom for-ever."

You jerk your head back when one of the little girls stares at you from under her mother’s arm, hero-worship in her eyes. You duck your head down and press on before anyone notices. They’re all going to die here. Not your people. Not your problem.

You at least have your priorities straight, you always knew how this was going to go. How was it supposed to end any other way? You’re ready to make those hard choices, but your squaddies might prove to be a mixed bag on that front. Trooper ‘Terrier’ Garcia may be the member of your squad that hangs out the most with Alexander Hail and his die-hard Red Hand veterans, but you know she’s a stone cold pragmatist that will do whatever she must to make it. Trooper Bones is probably right on the other end of that spectrum. His momma raised him right, too right it seems, and you know he’s popular and friends with many of the rebels on a personal, especially in the Libertan camp.

They’re your boys and girls, you’re damn proud of them. How many humans can say they spat in the eye of the Empire and bloodied their nose when payback came knocking? Not many, that’s for sure. But will they follow you? Feet first into hell, you know it. Against the Savis at least. But will they turn on the rebels when the time comes if it means getting of this rock? Gunning down their friends and comrades if you give the word? Sure. Probably. If you give the order that is. You hope.

[2/3]