[b]Classified Muster Point, Urshic Border[/b]

Jonathan Stavin sat up on his elbows, blinking blearily. The woman next to him stirred, murmuring something and turning over. Dawn had crept up on the two of them. Jon could see light peeking through the gaps in his campaign tent. 

He rolled out of bed, touching his bare feet to the cold ground. The cool air felt good on his bare skin, but he knew he would chill if he didn't put on clothes quick. He stood up, pulling on socks, then his pants, then his boots. He kicked the cot.

"Hey, discipline master." He said, kicking the cot again. "Get up."

She stirred, then sat up, blinking as he had done. The blanket that covered her slipped from chest, and Jon looked away, finding something else to busy himself with,namely, finding his shirt.

Discipline master Augusta Severina, naked as the day she was born, stepped out of the cot and began to get dressed as well. The two of them had been having these trysts for months now, ever since the last action of Imperial Penal Assault Unit 31-3, where the formation had suffered 70% casualties. In the face of such awful death, the two of them had clearly decided that, personal feelings aside, the shadow of mortality looming over them both had to be exorcised. 

 Jon hated Augusta, vehemently hated the woman, who had executed men and women he'd served with for years, cackling while doing so. He had watched with horror, then disgust, then shame, then resignation as she had flogged them to the bone. As she had frog marched them through minefields and into interlocking stubber fire. 

Despite all this, however, they made vigorous, animalistic love almost every night. He hated himself for doing it; hated that he had sunk to such a thing with a woman who had been his enemy. One of the hated Imperials, who brought truth to the planet at the edge of a sword. In cruel irony, he had been placed in charge of a punishment unit composed from the defeated cast offs of other non imperial militaries, including the survivors of his own mercenary unit that had tried, and failed, to stand against the Raptor.

The lovemaking was Augusta's addition to that humiliation. She could, at any moment, kill him,and not one question would be asked. Her proverbial boot lay on his neck, and she derived no lack of amusement from being his only source of physical comfort in a world devoid of any validation or respite.

"New influx today." She said, buttoning her field blouse. "Gear and new meat."

"I'll let em know." Jon said, buckling his flak vest on. "Anything else?"

Augusta turned to face him, placing a crimson peaked cap on her head, which was topped by a close cropped shock of red hair. Her green-eyed gaze was as cold as steel, and sent a shiver down Jon's spine. 

"No. We're still waiting on the order to mobilize." She said, "May the light of the Imperial Truth guide you, Colonel."

"Right." Jon said, cursing inwardly. "You too."

__________________________________

"My treatise on the flaws of this 'Imperial Truth' is really quite simple: that it claims to be secular.

Secular truths come from rational processes; empirical studies, peer reviewed evidence, etc. A secular truth is by its nature a consensual truth, made by many people all looking at one thing and agreeing it is so. 

The 'Imperial Truth' claims it is secular,  but brooks no argument or debate. To disagree with it, to raise concern with it is to drop the blade of Demokles on one's own head. In this it is no better than the superstition it claims to replace."

Caleb Raum, The Lie Of The Imperial Truth

 "Off the truck you miserable sods!" The imperial army soldier yelled, laying into the convicts closest tp him with a baton. "Get off! Now!"

The grey-fatigued prisoners scrambled to get away from him, hopping off the back of the cargo 8 and onto the cold ground of the Urshic steppe. One unlucky soul tripped, falling the three feet to the ground headfirst. He landed with a sickening crunch, and did not move.

That was the first man Caleb Raum had ever seen die. He would see many more, but he always remembered that death the most. The callous, indifferent nature of it. The way the red light on the collar around his neck slowly winked out as the other convicts thumped into the ground beside him. 

He retched, just barely avoiding vomiting as he scrambled to his feet. The trooper that had been herding the convicts from the back of the truck had hopped down now, and was pushing the disembarked men and women to a muster point. Caleb could see that other trucks had been in their convoys and were doing the same thing. He squinted. 

He couldn't see a prison anywhere. His heart rate spiked as his body dumped adrenaline into his system. Oh god above, where was the prison? Were they going to shoot them and bury them all in a ditch?

The fact there was no visible ditch anywhere in sight did nothing to calm him. He cursed. If he'd have just known what publishing that stupid pamphlet was gonna do he'd have burned the thing. The unfairness of his circumstances and self pity burned brightly in him as he stumbled along with the other convicts, fat tears rolling down his face as they were marched. He wasn't the only one. In fact, he was one of the quieter lamenters. Some of them were wailing, literally wailing in despair. 

Caleb sniffed, pulling himself together. At least he wasn't them. That was something. 

Eventually, this miserable procession crested the gentle slope of a hill, revealing a small city of canvas tents. A small detail of soldiers in red peaked caps and leather stormcoats met the procession. Their leader was a talk, strong woman with green eyes and red hair. Her voice was loud and commanding as she addressed this sorry gaggle. 

"Allow me to formally welcome you all to Imperial Penal Assault Unit 31-3." The woman growled.

Caleb's heart sank. He was a learned man, a scholam graduate. Spoken or written language held little mystery to him.

There was nothing good about the combination of those words. Suddenly, the rational part of his brain yearned for the quick execution of the firing squad.

"Fitted around your neck are collars." The woman continued, "Do not tamper with them. They will detonate. Do not stray too far from camp grounds. They will detonate. Do not disobey orders from me, the other discipline cadre, or your officers."

She gestured to herself, and the other similarly garbed soldiers behind her. 

"If you do, the collars will detonate. All punishment in 31-3 is summary." She said, "You have all been found wanting in some way. Some of you are killers. Rapists. Recidivists. Thieves. The severity of your crimes varies, but know this:"

She had been pacing as she delivered her speech, but now she stopped, her booted feet stamping against the hard ground. 

"Here, you are all scum. Here, you will earn redemption for your sins. For most of you, it will be post mortem."

She spat onto the ground, then nodded at the Army soldiers that had herded them here.

"Unlock their mag cuffs and get entrenching gear issued. There's work to do."