"One each and that's it."
"Yes!" he replied, taking out the bottles and throwing them across the room to everyone.
It was a bizarre situation, none of them would deny, but they at least tried to make the most of it. Mitch took a seat at the back wall and put his rifle down on the table. Jones took a seat opposite him.
"How long do you want to stay here? Move out at sundown?"
Taylor looked at his watch, noting it was only a few hours away.
"How badly do you think they want us?"
"The UEN? There must be plenty among them who wouldn't want to come after us, either through some sense of respect or fear."
"You think we command that kind of presence?"
"Wouldn't you?"
Taylor had to agree, but he gotten so tired of such fame and notoriety during peacetime that he'd tried to forget.
"It's not like the last war. You haven't got some ugly alien bastard leader trying to take your head off for some insult to his family or some such. But the MPs, that's another story. They'll chase you to the end of the Earth to drag you home in chains."
"The fact they have been given authority to operate here is my greatest concern. The United States could turn the tide in this war, and the UEN is clearly doing everything they can to create strong bonds there."
"What's the plan, Colonel?" asked Herrera.
Taylor didn't know for sure himself. He was trying to piece it all together in his head when his mind went back to the rooftop. Escape had been at the forefront of his thoughts for the last hour. Only now was he thinking of the purpose for being there in the first place.
"We can't stop this war," he muttered.
It was a grim realisation, and they were all starting to feel it. From the first shot in the war to that afternoon, Taylor had firmly believed they could bring a ceasefire and unite humanity under one banner once again, but it was not to be.
"What does that mean, Sir?" asked Acosta.
"That we're grinding ourselves down for the Krys to swoop in and take this planet for good. All the fighting we have done will have been for nothing. It's hopeless."
Jones kicked him under the table. "It's never hopeless. You of all people should know that as you've proven it enough times," he said. "So humanity is divided, so we fight each other, we always have. But let's not forget how hard we hit those alien bastards. They may weaken us, but they're already devastated themselves."
"But we have no idea what further resources they have."
"And they have no idea what human resolve is, and if they'd been strong enough to take this planet, they would have already, don't you think?"
Taylor was starting agree.
"They think this world is the paradise their race has been searching for thousands of years. If they could, they'd be here right now."
Taylor looked around and could see the dire faces of those sitting around the bar. Gone was the enthusiasm for the cold drinks they were still holding. It was replaced by a grim tone that made them all feel helpless. He knew he had to snap out of it before it destroyed the unit.
"Private," he said to Acosta.
"Yes, Sir."
"Why did you join the Corps?"
He hesitated for a moment; he had expected an order and not a question.
"Sir...I...I..."
"No pressure, just your gut feelings."
The others all turned their attention to the Private and were genuinely interested to hear his answer. Taylor was pleased he had successfully moved on from the dire situation of the World and for them to forget it for a moment.
"I lived my whole life in a town of just a couple of hundred people, Sir. Never went more than I guess about fifty klicks from my home. Then one day a Sergeant came through town with a few veterans and told me what the Marine Corps could offer me."
"And you believed him?" laughed Silva.
"The Corps has been good to me. Seen things I ain't ever expected to see ever, some bad, some good, but all new."
"You're a simple son of a bitch," said Silva.
The others laughed.
"You regret any of it?" asked Jones.
"How could I? When I missed the last war, I thought I'd missed out on the biggest thing ever happened in this world. Thought if I signed up, then maybe I might be around and not miss whatever happened next."
It was an interesting perspective and got Taylor thinking.
"Not a bad explanation," he admitted.
"Sir, and you, if you don't mind me asking. Why did you sign up?" asked Acosta.
He had to think about it for a moment.
"I honestly can't remember anymore. I can't recall ever wanting to do anything else."
"Maybe we were just born for the Corps?"
Taylor smiled. "Sounds like you should get that on a shirt, Private."
"I think I might when we get home, Sir. Think I could make some money selling 'em?"
Taylor liked the fact he knew they would be getting home; he didn't just hope for it. He wasn't sure if that was due to youthful hopefulness or confidence, but it didn't matter. Taylor was feeling better about things already. While he had his comrades at his side, they had a chance at accomplishing anything.
"We're in the middle of a war, and yet nobody knows where we are...in the wind," Jones mused.
Taylor looked around the little bar that appeared to be a long running family business. Pictures of several generations adorned the walls. He'd got comfortable now and had no desire to move. It had been a long day with an early start.
"We'll stay here the night."
"Is that wise?"
"Charlie, I figure whoever is after us will expect us to move by night. Their troops will have limited movement once the sun is down, and that'll mean we really stand out. In the day, we just look like everyone else, pretty much."
"Apart from that," Jones said, pointing to the stars and stripes patch on Taylor's arm.
He'd worn it for so many years he had forgotten it was even there. He reached around and pulled it from his sleeve and looked at the faded colours. He'd never been without it on his uniform, and it was a strange feeling he didn't appreciate. The others looked shocked, watching him stare at the patch until finally he looked up at them.
"Same for the rest of you. Get your colours off."
They reluctantly did so.
"You know without these on we could be considered spies rather than soldiers?" asked Silva.
"I think that's the least of our problems right now, don't you think?"
Taylor slipped the flag patch into a pocket out of sight and tried to act as if it didn't bother him. It occurred to him that he wasn't even acting in the service of the United States anymore, but that wasn't enough to make him take it off.
"You really think we can pass ourselves off as UEN troops?"
"Why not, Charlie? There’s God knows how many nationalities involved in this."
"And if we're called up on it, who are we supposed to be?" asked Silva.
"I dunno, say you're Dutch or something. I always hear how much they sound like us when they speak English."
"Maybe to a dullard," replied Jones.
"Maybe we'll get lucky."
Taylor got up and strolled over to Silva, slumping down in one of the sofas beside him. He dared not take his armour off should they be discovered, but it was still comfortable enough he could sleep there.
"So we really staying put?" asked Silva.
Taylor nodded and began to doze off.
"Rotate watches with two on," he muttered, but he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer and was out for count.
"Sure it's a good idea staying here?" Herrera asked Silva.
"None of the options we have got are ideal, but one thing's for sure, we couldn't continue on in the state we are in. We hit things fresh tomorrow, and we'll get out of here."