General Ghan had some words about us. A couple of them were even nouns.
Seems he was hoping more for ace-pilot golden flyboys with a lengthy honour roster, rather than convicted killers with a minor in falling.
Still, after a half hour of swearing, he conceded that he did need drop troops. After I assured him that shooting my men and taking their kits would only get his more trustworthy soldiers smeared across the LZ, he was willing to listen to my proposal.
We need to whip the 233rd in to an independant and reliable regiment. Soldiers capable of operating loyally outside of stable command hierarchy, and outside the line of sight of a commissar.
So we’ll offer them a pardon and backpay, if they can complete specialist missions.
Granted, specialist missions usually carry an incredible casualty rate; but our previous remit was to find death in minor distractions. I’m going to need to use some puppets to explain it to the men, but they’ll learn the difference between probably-dead and certain-dead, or Butler will throw them out the airlock.
If it works, the General take the credit for the idea. Hunters Deal doesn’t have much of a ring to it anyway.