"Order squad 231 back before they get cut off. I am not losing another squad to this forsaken planet."<br/><br/>Overhead, a squadron of fighters screamed past them, lacing the advancing enemy horde with weapons, pieces of man and beast and far fouler things exploding under the withering fire. The horde only screamed in rage, and charged faster, as he slammed his helmet back on, and grabbed his rifle, joining his men on the wall, hundreds of weapons unleashing a cleansing fire upon the insane cultists and heretics. Hundreds fell every second, but he and his might as well have been pissing into the ocean for all the good it did. They closed to two hundred meters... one hundred fifty... one hundred... seventy five... fifty... twenty meters, and he tossed his rifle to the side, and drew the powerful two handed weapon from his back. "PREPARE FOR CLOSE COMBAT! In the name of the Shadow Dragon Legion, we will NOT give one more meter. HOLD THE DAMN LINE!"<br/><hr/>He jerked awake, his hand instinctively diving for the weapon beside him, and he paused, noting it was just himself and the first and second squads in the transport. He shuddered, and rubbed his eyes, shaking his head to clear out the battle fatigue and cobwebs. "How long was I out?"<br/><br/>One of the nine foot tall suits of armor tilted its head to the side slightly, before it replied. "About thirty seven seconds sir. A new sleep record for the last half millennia."<br/><br/>He gave the unit a flat stare, to which it simply snorted. "Sir, after that daemon on Ohsoverydullagain six, I doubt even your best death glare could rattle one of us. That thing knew how to glare."<br/><br/>Another laughed, and nodded. "And then there was that channeler at the last timeline, that boy could give that daemon a run for its money with pure ocular hostility."<br/><br/>He shook his head as his best two squads swapped stories, trying to maintain the illusion that all of them, including the other two hundred and sixty squads, as well as the ships, weren't as unstable as he was. "How long has it been since Ragnarok?"<br/><br/>That brought a halt to the conversation, all of them stopping and staring at the transport's floor. "Five thousand, one hundred seventy two years, five months, and two days sir. We will get home sir. We are going to make it."<br/><br/>He gave a noncommittal nod to that statement, before glancing at the chrono on his eye piece. "We have been transitioning for nearly four hours now. That is... unnaturally long. Any of the others broadcasting or getting a beacon?"<br/><br/>They started to respond with negatives, when the transport cut them off. "Transition interface ahead sir. Might wanna hold on, this one looks a bit... unstable."<br/><br/>They all groaned at the last statement, knowing what that usually heralded. Dropping in the middle of a damn battlefield or military base. They all braced, and about ten seconds later the transport was doing its level best to make them all imitate jumping beans in a can. No one bounced around, but a couple were cursing inventively under their breaths, before the transport just as suddenly stopped. "We are through sir, nothing hostile on sensors, popping the rear hatch."<br/><br/>He grabbed his helmet, and jerked it over his head, before hefting the massive rifle that he had been using for nearly three millennia, an old friend that had yet to let him down, just like the weapon now on his back, and the eight constructs behind him. They fanned out from the transport, spreading out to cover the eight main points, before suddenly becoming aware that the commander had stopped moving. He was staring into the distance, and shaking slightly, weapon held loosely in his hands, in danger of dropping. They glanced at each other, as he slung the rifle and tore his helmet from his head. "Sir, what is it?"<br/><br/>He didn't answer immediately, simply staring at the horizon, his soul singing, reverberating, with a sensation, a feeling, he had thought long lost. He took a deep unsteady breath, tears rolling down his weathered and scarred face, before he nodded to himself, like he was trying to convince himself of something. "We did it boys. We made it. Pop a beacon, and get everyone on this point."<br/><br/>They glanced at each other, the leader of squad one cautiously approaching, but this didn't seem like one of the usual bouts of becoming disassociated with reality. "Sir?"<br/><br/>He turned, his head cocking to the side slightly, a small, crooked smile, slowly spreading across his face. "We did it. We made it home. A bit longer than anticipated, the ride a good deal rougher, but we are... FINALLY..."<br/><br/>He paused, his head tilting back, enjoying the feel of the sun on his face, his eyes closed and a look of peace, long absent from his face, flickered across it. "HOME."