"God damn it General. What have you done?" With powerful hands the Supreme Commander ground the cigar he had been angrily chewing on it a smoldering pile of tobacco in the heavy quartz ashtray on his desk. His hands moved to the printout on his desk, grabbing the flimsy sheaf up.

The man he had been addressing stood still in the centre of the room. He seemed shocked by the vehemence with which his once roommate at the academy addressed him.

"I assume this has to do with FOP 121?" The General

"Your damn right it has to do with FOP 121. 7 native scouts dead."

"Yes, that is why were here isn't it?"

"No, that's not why we're here. Those scouts were killed by a remotely operated perimeter weapon. That's a gross abuse of the rules. Granted it wasn't strictly prohibited based on their technology level, but they're at the bottom end of their technology band, let's try to remember that. It's more then that, I've heard that you've been saying some inflammatory things in public. Remember this is our duty and job, the opposing forces deserve to be accorded respect, regardless of their political, cultural, or technology level."

"I say the truth, it's our war to win and our world to keep, and blast any indig that gets in the way." He turned his large frame to the man who had been his friend for so long, "I don't understand what is the problem? After the war it will be our people who enforce the peace, anything good that comes to this world will be from us. You know that is so Kev." He saw that the use of his friends name had served to increase the Supreme Commanders agitation, rather then decrease it as he had expected.

"We are not 'roommies' at the academy any more Mark. This isn't us pulling some bullshit on our instructors. I am your Supreme Commander for this operation, and I will thank you to remember it." Keven paused at this point looking at his Armed Forces commander. He noticed the stiffening in the others posture. "It's been 30 years since we left the academy. 20 years that you led armored operations on more then a dozen worlds. Did you learn nothing?"

"You know better then that Sir. I am the best leader of men you have. I have delivered success in every operation I have commanded. I may not have gone to Advanced Command School like you Sir, but I have proven that I know what I am doing." Mark met the Supreme Commander's eyes squarely. For a second 4 orbs were aligned with each other, blue staring into black. The differences in the mens careers showed in the eyes. The Supreme Commander's blue eyes rimmed by pale skin; there were lines radiating out that showed the years that he had lived despite the regular rejuv treatments available to him; his eyes seemed to hint at depths of wisdom within them, despite the anger present on his face. The Generals black eyes hinted a depths equally as deep, only those depths contained the memories of a 1000 killings, of ordering men to die, of something worse. The lines on his face were speckled with scar tissue from an explosive device once detonated at his command post. He had survived that incident with little more then some scars, though several staff officers had not been as lucky.

"Mark, I'm sorry I wasn't there when Marissa died."

The sudden change in his commanding officers tone took the general by surprise, he broke his gaze from the truth in Keven's eyes. The combination of anger and shame at his own impotence to change what had happened struggled within him, to be supplanted by an old familiar rage. His eyes met the supreme commander's again; this time it was his friend who broke his gaze from what he saw in the others eyes.

"You negotiated the peace Keven. I beat their armies. The colony should have been safe. Marissa should have been safe." Marissa's colony had withstood the indigs initial assaults against them and when the military arrived the usual war had the usual result and the surviving indig nations had agreed to the human terms.

"Those fucking indig bastards used nukes. They burned her up, they burned her Keven. What good was your peace then? They burned her up!" Even as he said the words he knew that it wasn't Keven's fault. They followed the Rules. One of the indig nations had developed a super-weapon, which they had used on the human colony with devastating results, both for the humans and the colonies, and the indigs who hadn't realized that one rogue nation would catapult them back into a war with the humans they so recently made peace with. They did not wait for the human response to the breach of piece. The 3 other nations which had developed similar super weapons acted in concert and launched a mass assault on the rogue nation. Their nukes were simpler than the human equivalents, much more radiation was released from their explosions, nothing would live in that part of their world for a long time. Their assault essentially doomed any members of that nation to die childless by destroying every queen that nation had. Something even the humans hadn't done in their war with the indigs. A world weary with war held it's breath after on last spasm, and the peace had held. The humans established another colony and this time so far the indigs have held to their word. Too late for Marissa though he bitterly reflected.

"The damn Rules. If we had crushed them fully Marissa would still be alive, we made peace too early." The flash of rage was gone from him now.

"We made peace when they were ready; how they dealt with the treaty breakers shows that they were ready." Keven looked to his friend for signs that he understood.

"She was my wife, and they didn't bring her back." Marissa's hair shone in the sunlight the day he met her. He a newly promoted commander of armoured forces, her the daughter of the colonists First Speaker, the man who had held the colonists together in the face of the indig assaults. Her smile had captured his heart, and her inner strength had surprised him as she had worked daily in the colonies heavily taxed hospital. They had been married after the end of the war, he was off planet supervising the dismantling of the force he had commanded for so many months previously, when the indigs had nuked the colony. He had planned on retiring on that world with her, finding something more to sustain him then his skills at war.

"Mark you are a brilliant commander of men. You have led successful campaigns on a score of worlds. But since Marissa's death you've been different. Do you know what they call you in the lines?" Keven paused looking at the general in front of him. Then answered his own question, "Black Mark."

The General smiled briefly despite himself, the named referred to the images left on satellite views after he finished an operation.

"Goddamn it that isn't funny! That kind of reputation undermines everything we are doing here, and anywhere the military's conducting operations." This whole interview wasn't going the way the Keven had wanted it to go. "General I don't think you understand what we are really doing here. Perhaps you should have gone to advanced command school. Your brilliance in the field has brought you here without the training for the ramifications of your actions."

"Your not thinking of pulling my command are you?" The General started to worry about his position for the first time since entering the room. "Keven, I'm a commander of men, I win wars, it's what I do, you can't take that from me."

The supreme commander spoke softly, "Damn it Mark. I don't know what to do with you. You never should have gotten this high in the military without advance command school. Our mission here isn't over, I won't say your irreplaceable but many more men would die if you aren't in command."

"The balloon goes up in 29 days, just tell me what to do and I'll do it. If you want me to keep my mouth shut, I can do that." The sudden shock at the thought he faced the possibility of dismissal nearly overwhelmed him, soldiering was his life.

"Mark, it's may not be enough that you keep your mouth shut. Your whole attitude is wrong. I wish I'd seen it earlier, but I thought grief over Marissa was to blame, I expected you to settle down again." The supreme commander paused for a second,

"Mark you are an excellent strategist, you have smashed army after army, and we've used you hard in our purposes. Maybe too hard, but you were the scalpel, and we were the surgeons who wielded you. Now, though the scalpel slices too much, too deep, we can't control you any more.

Violence is a cancer endemic to all races. On Earth we burned out our violence against each other, it very nearly destroyed us and is why we are out here establishing these colonies. Not every race is as violent as us, in fact I doubt any even come close. Some of our colonies thrive in harmony with their planets natives, and about as many come to conflict. If we weren't there likely they would have expended those energies on themselves, instead we make a target." Here the supreme commander stopped what was essentially the opening to the Academy's Interstellar Relations course.

"I know this standard lecture stuff. Do you think this a rational for why Marissa died?" The general asked without intention of receiving an answer. "The indigs see us as target, they fight us, but we don't smash them, we leave them enough strength to fight us again, they would be easier to control if we smashed all industry, bombed em back to the stone age. Instead you restrict our weapons to their technology verticals, our first combat excursion was with cross bows, do you remember? We lost classmates, friends, during that mission. With one automatic rifle we could have ended that mission in 1 day, not 4 fucking weeks in hell. With one aerial assault, one AG tank, one multiphase warhead, we could have saved Marissa. Damn it I'm tired of the rules limiting us and costing lives. For the sake of these ungrateful indigs."

"Mark the rules are there because other wise they would never learn. If we beat them with too advanced technology they will never respect us as warriors, they will not personalize their defeat, because they never had a chance. We beat them using weapons they understand. They remember that we are the biggest baddest bastards around and there is nothing to profit from fighting us. Not only that but most of them become sickened of the war in a short time, because we make it brutally real to them. It took 4 world wars to finally sicken us of war and unite our people. With most worlds all it takes is one...against us." The supreme commander stopped for a second, remembering all the faces and names of people he had thrown into the grinder in this galactic wide crusade. "The galaxy can not afford to have warlike races in it. We allow them to evolve on their planets, to burn out their cancers and eventually join the galaxy as responsible citizens. I need you to understand that it's as much about what you destroy as what you save. They must have an identity, they must be free, that is why we don't wipe them out."

"I don't know Keven, I know that's what we are doing, I know it but I think of Marissa and I just want to see them burn for it. Look I'll do whatever you ask of me, but don't take me out of it, not now, my whole life is this."

"You can relax Mark, I'm going to send you back to the lines. Your too important at this point to pull out. No more stunts, no more interviews, no more comments on the indigenous population of this world. I don't want to see any black marks on the satellite scans. This is your warning Mark. Win this war, but don't destroy this planets future." With that the supreme commander dismissed his subordinate, watching as he walked out of the office. The galaxy can't afford to have warlike races in it, he thought to himself, interstellar conflict offered horrors best left lying. Looking at his subordinate's and friend's broad back, Keven Wernick reflected; one race of warriors was more then enough danger to the stars.

-----

The central headquarters for the human forces was located in the old colony administrative centre, the larger holes in the walls were patched, but many bullet scars remained on the concrete facade of the 3 storey building. Here the colony's last survivors had fought and died against a native assaulting force more then 10 times their number. General Mark Preto noted the bullet holes as he left the central building and headed to his command vehicle. A 6 wheeled vehicle which was armored and carried a full comm suite in it rear compartment. He disdained riding in the thing, but this close to the balloon going up he couldn't afford to be far from commo range. He was adept with a field helmet, but the sheer volume of information needed to be co-ordinated and displayed overwhelmed the limited capabilities of the helmet computers. Closer to his vehicle he could see the bullet holes on the facades of buildings that ringed the central headquarters. His professional eye noted 2 things, the sheer volume of holes, and the tight concentrations of fire. The settlers hadn't gone down easy, the damage around him spoke of a last desperate stand all too common in human history. The incident that had gotten him hauled before the Supreme Commander was also another incident all to common to his history. Likely a psych had been in the bar while he had been talking to the his Division Commanders. The words he used were not enough to get him busted but obviously some person got a buzz in his ass and made some heat. His actions during his last campaign had rubbed some people the wrong way and made him some enemies within the community that was the galaxy. He had pacified that planet with fewer losses then projected for both sides, well ahead of expectations. That was good soldiering to him and damned be anyone who said different. Granted he had been aggressive in his campaign, but he'd adhered to the precious rules and beat the indigenous population fairly. That was where that nickname had started, somewhere there was a Portuguese soldier enjoying himself at Preto's expense. The General returned the salute of his driver in his open compartment and crouched as he hopped up into the little door to the rear compartment. Swinging the blasteel hatch shut he settled back onto an integrated bench, feeling the powerful thrumming of the vehicle's 6 drive motors spinning up.

From his position on the cushions of the bench he was facing to the rear of the vehicle, to his left were integrated consoles and displays, to his right a series of lockers and the hatch he had entered through. Across from him on another integrated bench sat Major General Arinori Ichimonji, commander of his 1st division forces. This included most of the support staff and artillery regiments, Intelligence brigade as well as another infantry brigades mainly deployed for scouting. 2nd division was 3 full infantry brigades each fielding approximately 1200 soldiers and one mechanized brigade totalling another 800 soldiers and support staff, as well as a 150 railgun equipped tanks. 3rd division was laid out like 2nd division with another brigade given over to mechanized vehicles in addition to the tank brigade, this time armoured troop transports that enabled them to deploy quickly to hot zones on the battlefield. All told there were less then 10,000 men to hold back an indig army totalling at least 10 times that number. Excluding the people in Central who would maintain a supervisory role, available as a reserve force if necessary.

Arinori was a small dark man, with neat features. He had risen as high as he would likely go on the combat side of the house, and for some reason he persistently refused to go to Advanced Command School. The diplomats side of the house's loss remained Preto's gain in the form of the most efficient subordinate he had ever had. Arinori had a unique ability to integrate an incredible amount of information and make very accurate predictions as to the enemy's behavior. From his position as commander of the 1st division he co-ordinated the operation of the infantry in the forward observation posts and other intelligence apparatus. Without Arinori's oftentimes crucial and decisive analysis many of General Mark Preto's operations would have been much longer in the field.

"So Arinori it seems our Supreme Commander received a report about our conversation at the bar the other night. Check to see if we can identify the psych from his bar tab."

"Bound to have happened eventually, you're just talking and we have to get people to commit either way somehow. Though this may not have been a psych." Arinori's voice was deeper then his size suggested, and the last bit was pitched lower yet. Still it was audible over the noise of the command car as it left the colony and headed out towards Preto's operational headquarters.

"What do you mean by that Ari?" Preto spoke as he started to open the locker next to him. He could tell that from the look on Arinori's face he wasn't going to like the news, and he hadn't yet had a chance to recover from his chewing out by the Supreme Commander. That was why this locker in his command car was always kept stocked full of certain prerogatives of command. It was one of those prerogatives, over the rocks, that he poured for himself now.

Arinori had sat quietly while the General went through the little ritual that he had carried with him through many planets he had served on. He declined an offer of a drink for himself and when he saw that his commanding officer was situated and properly refreshed he relayed the news he had pulled from his intelligence network that morning.

"There was some encrypted traffic from 2nd divisional headquarters last night."

"I assume you haven't been able to decrypt it ?"

Arinori grimaced slightly, "No, it's in a level 8 cipher."

The General quirked an eyebrow at that. "Where was this traffic too? Central I presume?"

Arinori gave curt nod. Already Preto was beginning to regret the apparent mistake he had made with Major General Kris Sunderson, the man he had handpicked to lead the his 2nd division.

"That Swede controls over 4000 men and 150 tanks, effectively half our forces. Who else do we have in that division?" The General was already attempting to formulate plans to compensate for the sudden loss of manpower from his cause, however he had to be open to all possibilities.

"Brigadier General Robert Hartnet has seniority among the Brigade Commanders. He should at least ensure us his infantry brigade, if not the the other 2 brigades. Tanks go their own way," with a grin to his superiors past, "but I think they'll sort themselves out quick enough and be on board. All we need to do is arrange a situation where Hartnet has to assume command at the right time." Arinori didn't continue along that line, he knew his superior would let him know what to do when he was ready. In the meantime Arinori was laying his plans.

Before the General had a chance to fully respond to his subordinates implied solution the sudden change in inertial forces as the vehicle suddenly slowed very nearly caused him to spill his drink.

"What the hell!" he spoke in a voice that indicated dire consequences for what ever had almost spilt his 100 year old scotch. The vehicle had come to a complete halt and he opened the intercom to the driver's compartment. "Sergeant? There had better be a good explanation for that sudden cessation of our forward momentum?" He asked in a command tone that had sent men to die to hold a piece of land.

"Sir, I apologize for the sudden stop, there is an accident on the road ahead."

"What ?! Did you just witness an accident? Are there injuries Sergeant?"

"Uh..no Sir, there appear to be no injuries, I didn't see the accident, it was just kinda there ahead of me around the curve."

"All right Sergeant, give me an estimate on how long til it's cleared?"

"Uh, sir , yes sir, well..uh..sir I can't make an estimate."

"What?" the Generals temper was starting to roar, "No don't tell me, I'm coming out, if this is an ambush Sergeant I'm personally going to make sure the indigs kill you first." It was obviously not the Sergeant's fault, however the General was running a short fuse today. He opened the Blasteel hatch and poked his head out, eyeballing the situation before stepping to ground. That was when the horn sounded. Whang! went the generals head off of the coaming of the hatch, he was wearing the soft cap of command, not the helmet of a soldier and paid for it as a splitting pain tore throughout his body.

"Hey move that truck, I got dispatches for the General. " The voice was pitched high and carried shrilly over the background noises of men cursing each other as they argued over 2 jeeps entangled in each other, blocking the hard packed roadway.

"Hold your horses goddammit," The General yelled over the top of the hatch to the source of the voice and the horn. His hand to the lump forming on the top of his head. He hopped down to the ground as the voice sounded shrilly again from behind him.

"Come on move it along you lazy bastards. The General won't appreciate you slowing his messenger."

"I imagine I know what the General will appreciate, and I think he'll appreciate you helping us shift those wrecks so the god damn road will be open again."

"Hey I'm a courier, that's work for infantry, my dispatches are too important. I am Colonel Ernst Stanton, assigned to the First Division, I'm part of the General Black Mark Preto's Headquarters Staff. He will have something to say if you delay me." The courier was walking up, partially blinded by the same sun that had hidden the wreck from the driver's eyes. His tone spoke of his importance, he seemed to capitalize every significant word.

"No, you were part of his Headquarters staff." The General said softly.

"I'm sorry what did you say," The Colonel was up to the General now, expecting to find another Colonel riding in the command car his jeep had caught up too, his eyes widened as he started to take in the stars on the man's shoulders, and then the distinctive features of the man himself. Shifting gears with a definite shock to his system he saluted and started to speak.

"Sir, I have important dispatches for you." The courier extended a briefing folder he had been carrying as a symbol of authority moments before.

The General returned the salute and took the documents from the man. It was a series of documents relating to munition and ordinance supply. Hardly earth-shattering time sensitive information.

"Colonel, did you honk your horn earlier at me?" He asked mildly

"Uh, General, I was unaware that you were in the car in front of me."

"So you did honk your horn then?"

"umm, yes sir."

"How long have you been in this army son?"

"10 years sir"

"You look like a brown nosing shit Stanton, are you a brown nosing shit?"

"Uhh, sir, no sir." Stanton did not like the way this was going.

"I think that it is time you did some of a soldier's work." Turning to his driver now, "Sergeant I want you to form a party from those men there, and get that wreck cleared. Mr. Stanton shall be working with you."

Stanton smiled at being let off easy after all, he just needed to command the work party to move the wrecks and he would be doing his job.

"Sergeant, one more thing." The General looked at his driver solidly. "Relieve Col. Stanton of his personal possessions and weapon. In Lieu of a proper environment to hold a summary court-martial, I'm dismissing the charges as long as Mr. Stanton performs disciplinary duty."

"Yes sir." The driver moved in towards the fallen Colonel, ready to execute his orders.

"Court-martial? What ? Sir ? I don't understand." Stanton was white with shock at the General's decision.

"Yes court martial Stanton. For insubordination, for conduct unbecoming an officer, for any number of things." Cutting off Stanton's protests, Preto pointed to the wrecks and waited. Stanton gave over his weapons to the driver, they would only be in his way if he was actually working on the wreaks, and not supervising, anyways. Stanton knew that when a General was upset the best thing to do was to follow orders without argument, and that is what he did as he marched purposefully towards the entangled cars. It was because he was distracted by his recent screwup in front of the General that he missed the sinkhole. At least that is what he told himself later when he was cleaning mud off his uniform, after he had moved the wrecks under the general's driver's through direction.

The General meanwhile had climbed into his command car and was gone as soon as the wrecks were moved clear enough for it to pass. Leaving his driver to finish the task and catch a ride with Stanton back to the base. He had a chuckle at memory of the look on Stanton's face when he realized that he was name dropping the very name of the person he was addressing, causing Arinori to give him a tense quizzical look. Preto understood Arinori's tension in the passenger seat next to him, the General had earned his stripes in tanks and was whipping this 6 wheeled vehicle along the track in the way that most tankers drive when liberated of several tonnes of mass. That brought another chuckle to his throat as he bore on towards camp, finally the tension from his morning was melting out of him. The time for action was close and then all the stress would be gone and he would be doing what he did best: Waging War.