“Join StarForce and see the Galaxy. Join StarForce and fight the alien hordes. I thought they said alien whores. Mud wrestling in an Arcturan brothel, I thought. But no . . . they really meant alien hordes. I ended up in a bloody foxhole being shot at by Brood corpse warriors. Would they listen to me, when I tried to explain there had been a misunderstanding? No. They bloody well would not. And now they send me here on a bloody peacekeeping mission. Except there’s no peace to keep, and I’m not allowed to shoot the people shooting at me because of politicians, and I’m not allowed to deploy my robogrunts because it’s against the shooter’s bloody religion. I tell you there are times when I would rather be fighting the Assimilators again.”

“You’ve got him nostalgic for the Brood,” said Medico Mark, pointing an accusing finger at me. “You’re a monster.”

“My work here is done,” I said. “I shall bid you goodnight.”

“BastardForce,” Ragequit shouted. “That’s what we should be called. People would respect BastardForce!”

I left the mess to ironic applause from the rest of the squads. They were grateful really though. Because Lopez had been right. The militias would think twice about trying to off us after today. At least I hoped that was the case.

My room had not got any bigger during my absence. It was still the same standard issue cell that all stormtroopers get on an Orbital Platform. It had a porthole looking out at the stars because I had requested one. It had a picture of Maria mag-clipped to the wall. Wherever my wife was now I hoped it was better than here.

I stared at her as I removed my armor and my helmet. Then I lay down on my bed and stared at the ceiling. Sleep would not come. I turned over the events of the day in my head.

Was there something I could have done different?

It was hard to see how. The Jihad were always going to come at us.