On a cool, dry morning in the small town of Nueva Valladolid, citizens of all classes and ethnicities gathered around a dusty little plaza in the center of which stands an old olive tree, brought from Hispania itself by one of the earliest settlers, a symbol of resilience and prosperity that filled its inhabitants with an intrinsic pride, a living reminder of the innate duty of the locals to overcome adversity as necessary. In the distance, the fervent mountain range of Palencia and the monstrous Espiguete where the King resides, seem to omnipresently observe the spirit of his subjects; Firm, immobile, ruthless, they are the daily reminder that Death is inevitably one more stage in everyone's life.
They crowded around the olive tree leaving the old leader of the city in the center. "Queridos amigos, queridas amigas: Henos aquí, reunidos en esta ocacion para despedir a un gran guerrero, un gran amigo entre nosotros..."
"Dear friends: Here we are, gathered on this occasion to bid farewell to a great warrior, a great friend among us..."
Under the olive tree, on a small stone altar, the charred piece of a starboard fin of what was an M9 Gladiator. What remained of an insignia and the pilot's name "Gait..." could barely be seen painted on the metal.
"...Nicolas Gaitan, nacido en estas tierras, criado por el desierto, adoptado por las montañas, forjado en las estrellas ha dado su vida gloriosomente por el largo y dificultoso camino de un futuro mejor para los que vendran..." "...Nicolas Gaitan, born in these lands, raised by the desert, adopted by the mountains, forged in the stars, has gloriously given his life along the long and difficult path of a better future for those to come..."
The mountainous horizon was firmly reflected the crystalline eyes of a family, a father, a mother, an older sister, a middle brother, and a younger sister.
"...podremos sentir tristeza pues somos humanos y amamos, pero tambien respeto y amor eterno al recuerdo inamobible de nuestros seres queridos. Continuamos así perpetuando el ciclo de la vida y la muerte, del honor y el deber, de la pasión y del orgullo de ser quienes hemos sido desde los inicios..." "...we can feel sadness because we are human and we love, but also respect and eternal love for the immovable memory of our loved ones. We thus continue to perpetuate the cycle of life and death, of honor and duty, of passion and proud to be who we have been since the beginning..."
She wore thick khaki pants, hard black synthetic material boots, a thick leather jacket with embedded steel plates on his shoulders and crossing his right shoulder a pouch with cartridges for the IMF "Pedreñal Mk. 2" locally made that hung from his belt, over his left leg.
"...Por tradicion, por costrumbre y por deber, hemos de continuar con el trabajo de quienes han sembrado y perecido. Y regaremos su esfuerzo hasta ver el fruto maduro de un sueño cumplido. Señorita Mercedes Gaitan, hermana de Nicolas, sea bienvenida y acerquese por favor..." "...By tradition, custom and duty, we have to continue with the work of those who have sown and perished. And we will water their efforts until we see the ripe fruit of a fulfilled dream. Miss Mercedes Gaitan, Nicolas's sister, be welcome and come closer please..."
Two tears ran down her cheeks, she looked at her parents who firmly and in a mutual embrace looked at their daughter full of duty and pride; they wielded a slight smile on her face and with a firm walk like that olive tree and safe as the mountains she went to the altar, where the leader of the combat group, presented a flight badge, a new PDA and a brand new combat helmet; half-local, half-optronic, made in Kusari, brought back from some Hogosha black-market deal.
"...Y así nuestra querida hermana seguira llevando el fuego de nuestros antepasados, felicitaciones y exitos... Las estrellas son nuestras y hacia ellas iremos. Que viva el Imperio!" "...And so our dear sister will continue to carry the fire of our ancestors. Congratulations and successes... The stars are ours and we will go towards them. Long live the Empire!"
With the helmet under her right shoulder she raised the insignia high in her right hand, and from the seriousness of her face she shouted with fervor...
"¡Las estrelas son nuestras y hacia ellas iremos!" "The stars are ours and towards them we will go!"
From the crowd hundreds of arms shot up in seconds and through the air roared.
"!Te saludamos hermana nuestra, Que viva el Imperio!" "We salute you sister, long live the Empire!"
Applause, shouts of encouragement and laughter took over the atmosphere, the guitars began to play and the barrels of sherry were opened...
In that small city, within the Empire they will celebrate that day and the others to come.
They will keep alive the tradition and heritage not only of the materiality of those who have left, but also the spirit and pride of knowing that together they can and they will succeed.