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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/KamchatkasRevenge on 2025-10-01 22:21:35+00:00.

Joan

USFS Kandahar Province

The anticipation in the forward hold of the Kandahar Province is a different kind of energy than the usual ones before a ‘drop’… and this is a drop.

Of a sort.

Joan looks around, resisting checking over her uniform again, with shiny new Undaunted and Apuk medals to show off - including the Undaunted Power Armor Master badge, freshly awarded after her participation in finishing off Liextra.

Everyone has been excited. Landfall on a new world is always exciting for the Humans, and their excitement tends to get everyone else hyped up, but this is special. No one really knows what to expect from a Cannidor triumph, but plans have been laid for what is surely going to be a grand debut on the streets of another world.

For Joan there’s an extra hint of nervousness. She is up front, not quite guarding her khan and father as before, but holding a tribute for a ruler of hundreds of worlds. She would be presenting that tribute in front of an entire world’s worth of people, if not the bulk of Cannidor space.

Triumphs are rare, and the Cannidor are a warrior people. Few things are better than a victorious warrior coming home with trophies on display to celebrate their victory.

At the very front, a mixed color guard of Undaunted Marines and Apuk imperial troops had been selected to present the Undaunted colors and the Apuk Imperial war banner. Each unit behind them would also be carrying their own unit colors, banners or guidon respectively, each now flying fresh battle streamers and decorations in the Human style.

After the colorful honor guard two of the RAT tanks of the 3rd MACS had been paired up with a large flat bed hover trailer, a platform to display the glorious leadership of the victorious troops to the people.

With subtle axiom shields, of course. This is a celebration, not suicide.

On the main platform, Father is standing with some of the combatant mothers, and the senior officers that made up his command team from across the fleet. Of them, Princess Dar is out of formation, away from the other battle princesses who have chosen to attend as part of the main party. She’s standing up next to Father, behind him and slightly to the right about six paces, serving as his direct escort. The sword sworn would be marching at the sides of the platform, guarding their liege with their usual gusto. Everyone likes a chance to show off, after all.

Joan is only a bit behind Jerry and Dar, but admittedly feels a bit out of place with only one of her sisters on hand. Per her request she had been granted the honor of bearing the three trophies on their plush cushion.

Two had been turned to dark glass by the pure strength of warfire, making them look almost otherworldly or unreal. The last skull, Carness, had been cleaned and polished, the foul Gathara’s teeth finally clean after her many years of unsanitary existence.

Holding down the end of the platform is Judge Chaisa Rauxtim, someone Joan had become somewhat acquainted with over the Hag War. She is a hard woman, and looks resplendent in her white and gold ceremonial judge’s robes. Surrounded by her gold armored bailiffs, and with two aides bearing books of law, and a prosecutor by her side… well. Until the other day, Joan would have said Chaisa Rauxtim looked like a Primal.

That had been before she’d met her new adoptive grandmother. Chaisa is still impressive, but she doesn’t ooze the raw power of a Primal. Joan’s also pretty sure Chaisa Rauxtim was a significantly better person overall than Rikaxza, so she’d say any comparison between the two very different women is something of a wash.

Behind the Judge, the rest of the display has formed up… the ground portion, anyway. There’d be formation flybys from the Tear’s fighters once the march begins. Father is determined that this entire planet knows this was everyone’s victory and doesn’t want anyone to be left out.

For the actual formation of troops, there’s a sizable body of people. In front, right behind the platform, are twenty men in dress uniforms with berets and massive kukri war knives on their belts. Joan isn’t sure who Jerry had bribed or what devil’s bargain he’d struck to get the commandos in dress uniforms, but they look resplendent. Handsome, certainly, but the aura of strength they projected was even more worth taking note of.

They’re followed close behind by a section from FAST company, now with their own distinctive beret after a message from the protocol office on Centris, then almost a full company of Marines from the battalion in proper dress blues, no berets here; the white barracks cover with its high peak and black leather brim look sharper anyway, to Joan’s mind.

Then a group from the ship’s company, looking crisp in gleaming navy dress whites. The airedales had tried to beg off saying their participation was the formation flight, but Tyler Sarkin was leading a delegation of his people from across the squadrons anyway.

All the groups are mixed formations as opposed to being Bravo Company from the infantry battalion or something. They were made up exclusively of men and women who had received decorations for combat service during the Hag War. There had been a lot of those, so further selection had been made on seniority of award, then by lottery.

Behind them was a platoon’s worth of Apuk infantry, led by a squad of Marines and the rest of the ship’s battle princesses, all freshly decorated from the Hag war like their Undaunted brethren. All very excited to parade on another species homeworld too. This was quite literally history in the making after all, and Joan had no doubt that these particular Apuk would be the subject of considerable envy from their peers back in imperial space.

Next follows almost the entire Undaunted 1st Power Armor Battalion, the Bridger clan forces and their Crimsonhewer allies. The nearly the entire battalion’s worth of them, and what a glorious sight to behold they were!

Here at last were her sisters, out in front with Jaruna, Colonel Dertann and Sergeant Major Ramos. Her sisters were carrying the Bridger war banner and 1st Power Armor Battalion colors,  both freshly marked to indicate the unit had seen action. The war banner in particular had markings indicating that the unit had  been blooded, and had been victorious in multiple battles.

It’s just colorful marks and the occasional streamer, but if you know how to read the banner, it tells the story of a young unit that had made its name shine in battle after battle, with every Cannidor woman -  and Jericho Stone and the Apuk girl Cori - sticking their chests out with almost aggressive pride, ensuring the Bridger clan’s uniform made its galactic debut in style, the sharp blend of reds, white and black leather accessories contrasting nicely from Undaunted dress blues and dress whites.

The finale is four more of 3rd MACS’ tanks, one of the massive combat walkers of Jotunn company, and rounding things out is a Grenadier super heavy tank which loomed over the proceedings like a heavily armed building.

It had shaped up to be quite the display.

The warning light for imminent landing illuminates a bright, ominous red, and everyone makes a few last minute checks of their equipment before officers and NCOs begin to bark orders, bringing their troops to attention and then to port arms.

Ready to march.

Joan barely feels it as the Kandahar Province makes contact with the landing pad, settling on to her struts without a hint of bounce or other motion. Commander Sha’Ress, the Apuk mistress of the Province, and her flight team, clearly haven’t missed a chance to show off either.

The mighty ramps of the assault lander drop clear slowly, letting natural sunlight and a cool breeze into the bay.

Home.

That’s the other reason she’s nervous. She’s forgotten a lot of things, but she remembers her home, a little anyway, and remembers her birth mother. She had been born here on Canis Prime and now, returning as a changed woman, she can only wonder at how she’s going to feel.

The ramp locks into place and the light goes green, leading Jerry to step up on to the turret of one of the tanks pulling the platform. His sword gleams as he calls out in an axiom-enhanced voice to ensure not only they, but a lot of the nearby crowd, can hear him.

“Forward! March!”

Two taps of his boot heel on the turret of the tank has the two vehicles smoothly moving down the ramp in unison. Another massive display of skill, if it isn’t computer-assisted. Jerry doesn’t move back on to the platform as his blue cape billows with the wind and motion. As humble as he can be, her father does have a flair for the dramatic when appropriate, and as he comes into full daylight and the rays of Canis Primes’ sun catch the length of high quality, polished metal, he flourishes it up into a formal salute towards their destination.

The palace of the Golden Khan.

The crowd is, to say the least, very enthusiastic about this kind of behavior.

Then Jerry drops his salute and sheaths his sword, stepping back on the platform to join his officers.

It’s always interesting watching him work. Jerry has a lot of different faces, and Joan has been privileged to see many of them. Maybe she’s just a fan girl for her own father, but, in the end, she can only conclude that he’s really cool.

A public address system kicks in, Human martial anthems starting to play in the background as the voice of…

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