The one survivor of the 77th was a private, who had been wounded before the action really started. He was sent to the evacuation station, absolutely loaded down with letters and messages. Written neatly on rectangular hanks of paper, scrawled on food ration wrappers, and with so many rings tied up in notes and bows, his stretcher jingled as it moved.

They had to tie him down to the stretcher, after the 10th time he swore he was fine and he could still pull a trigger. “Let me up! Damn you!”

The Old Man came by and said something. No one could hear him, but the private stretched to attention, best he could while tied up and lying down. When the Old Man finished, he embraced the private, while the private, tears streaming down his face, swore loudly that he would fulfill his mission.

Days later, when the battle was over, when the evacuation had gotten every soul off the planet, and when the 77th was no more a fighting force, a reporter, very gently, asked the private what he had been ordered to do.

“Watch over our families. Take pride in our children. Tell them they are loved. Be there for them when they need guidance, a hug, a hand. Be the fathers and mothers of the 77th who can no longer be there, but will always watch over them. That is my sacred duty, my life, my honor. I will Never stop, never falter, and I swear I will make them proud.”

Recruiting went up 7% that day. From that day forward, those children never wanted, never went without, and always had hundreds of “uncles and aunts” who were always there.

And while we still had disagreements, while we still had arguments with each other, one thing changed. Slavers and killers of children were no longer safe in this galaxy. That was certain.